u/Old_Following_3732

My name is Baxter and i live in Cave Creek, a small town where nothing interesting ever happens. The biggest excitement most people get is football games at Cave Creek High or gossip at the diner downtown. Everybody knows everybody, and every building has some old story attached to it.

Especially The Owl’s Nest.

The bookstore sat at the end of Main Street between an antique shop and an old barber shop with dusty windows. It looked ancient even during the daytime. Crooked wooden shelves leaned against the walls, and the air always smelled like old paper and rain.

I started working there two weeks after school ended.

Mr. Saxworthy, the owner, hired me almost immediately. He was tall, thin, and always wore dark sweaters no matter how hot it got outside. He spoke softly, like he was afraid the books might overhear him.

“You seem responsible, Baxter,” he told me during the interview. “That’s important here.”

I should’ve asked what he meant.

At first the job was easy. I stocked shelves, rang up customers, and cleaned the upstairs reading room. Sometimes I worked late by myself while Mr. Saxworthy handled inventory downstairs.

It was a Thursday night around closing time when the noises started. Rain hammered against the windows while I stacked books in the horror section. I remember checking the clock: 9:47 PM.

Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

I froze.

“Mr. Saxworthy?” I called.

No answer.

The footsteps stopped.

A cold feeling snaked through my stomach. The bookstore suddenly felt too quiet, like the entire building was holding its breath.

Then I heard whispering.

Not words exactly. More like someone speaking just low enough that I couldn’t understand them.

I grabbed my phone flashlight and slowly climbed the stairs. I peered into the dark room but it was empty. 

That’s when i noticed it, one of the rocking chairs near the fireplace was moving.

“What is happening?” i asked suspiciously into the thin air. 

SLAM.

A door shut somewhere downstairs.

I nearly fell trying to run out of there.

Mr. Saxworthy was standing by the register when I hit the bottom of the stairs, perfectly calm.

“You okay, Baxter?” he asked.

“Someone’s up there.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No one is.”

His answer made my skin crawl more than the noises did.

After that night, things got worse.

Books fell off shelves when nobody touched them. I’d hear breathing behind me and turn around to find empty aisles. Sometimes the lights flickered only in the back corner of the store where old photographs hung on the wall.

That’s where I first saw her.

I was dusting the history section when I noticed someone standing between the shelves. A girl. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. She had long blonde hair that fell in waterfalls down her shoulders. Her skin was pale like ivory and her eyes… the most beautiful green i had ever seen. 

She wore a white dress that looked old-fashioned, like something from another decade.

For a second I thought a customer had wandered in after closing. Then she smiled at me. Not a normal smile. A sad one.

And suddenly the lights blinked. When they came back on... she was gone. I dropped the books I was holding.

That night I couldn’t sleep.

The next day I searched the bookstore for anything that might explain what I’d seen.

 That’s when I found the photograph. It was hidden inside a drawer beneath the register.

A younger Mr. Saxworthy stood beside the same blonde girl I’d seen in the store. His arm wrapped around her waist. Both of them smiling at the camera.

Written on the back in faded ink were the words:

Julie — Summer 1996.

My stomach twisted.

That afternoon I showed the picture to Mr. Saxworthy.

“Who is she?” I asked.

The colour drained from his face for just a second. He snatched the photo from my hand.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly.

“You’re literally standing next to her” i replied, pointing at the old picture.

“You should focus on your work, Baxter” he thrusted a thumb behind him. 

That was it. he didn't give an explination, he didn't even make eye contact.

I started noticing Julie everywhere. At school, in the reflection in windows. At the end of empty hallways inside Cave Creek High.

Once I saw her standing on the bleachers during basketball practice.

I finally spoke to her three days later.

I was at my locker after school when I saw her reflection in the metal door behind me.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

When I turned around, she stood only a few feet away.

Up close, her eyes looked almost glowing green.

“The bookstore has secrets,” she said softly.

Her voice sounded distant, like an echo underwater.

“What are you?”

Her expression darkened.

“Find the files.”

Then she disappeared.

Not walked away.

Disappeared.

That night I waited until Mr. Saxworthy locked up and left. I still had a spare key.

Rain poured over Cave Creek while I slipped inside The Owl’s Nest alone. The store felt colder than ever.

I searched through old cabinets in the office behind the register until I found a locked filing drawer.

It took me ten minutes to pry it open.

Inside were newspaper clippings, police reports and old photographs. It looked like jumk except for one document sitting right ontop.

Julie Harper.

Death Certificate.

Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.

My hands shook as I read the date.

October 14th, 1996.

Thirty years ago.

There was also a newspaper clipping beside it:

LOCAL GIRL MISSING — POLICE SUSPECT RUNAWAY

It looked like no body was ever officially discovered. I stared at the papers, my heart pounding. Why would Mr. Saxworthy keep this... unless...

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

I looked toward the ceiling.

Then I heard Julie’s voice whisper behind me.

“He lied.”

I spun around.

She stood there clearer than ever before, not transparent... she almost looked... alive.

“He killed me,” she whispered, tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

“He said if he couldn’t have me… nobody could.”

I felt sick.

“How?”

“He used that.” she said, her green eyes drifted toward a massive leather-bound book sitting on the desk.

I slowly looked at the book.

It was enormous. Heavy enough to crush someone’s skull.

The front door suddenly rattled.

Julie’s expression changed instantly.

“He’s here.”

A key slid into the lock.

Mr. Saxworthy stepped inside dripping rainwater from his coat.

For a moment, he smiled when he saw me.

Then he noticed the files spread across the desk.

The smile vanished.

“You shouldn’t have looked through those,” he said quietly.

Fear locked my legs in place.

“She told me,” I whispered.

His face twitched.

“You’ve seen her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“She’s still here.”

Mr. Saxworthy sighed like a tired old man.

“I loved her.”

“You murdered her.”

“She betrayed me.”

His voice suddenly sharpened.

“She was leaving town with someone else.”

He stepped closer.

“I gave her everything.”

The lights flickered violently around us.

Books began falling from shelves upstairs.

Julie was near.

“You’re insane,” I said.

Mr. Saxworthy grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt.

“She ruined my life.”

Then every light in the bookstore exploded off at once.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Mr. Saxworthy panicked.

“Julie?” he whispered.

I heard her voice from upstairs.

Soft laughter.

Then footsteps.

Creeeak.

Creeeak.

Mr. Saxworthy let go of me and stared upward in terror.

“No…”

The footsteps moved across the ceiling slowly, deliberately, leading him toward the staircase.

Like she wanted him to follow.

And he did.

I grabbed the massive book from the desk and followed behind him.

The upstairs reading room was freezing cold.

Julie stood near the fireplace staring directly at Mr. Saxworthy.

“You left me there,” she whispered.

Mr. Saxworthy stumbled backward.

“I was angry—”

“You buried me beneath the floor.”

I felt my blood turn to ice.

Julie slowly pointed toward the wooden boards near the rocking chair.

Mr. Saxworthy started crying.

Actually crying.

“I’m sorry.”

Julie looked at me.

Not angry.

Not frightening.

Just sad.

Then she whispered:

“End it.”

Mr. Saxworthy turned suddenly like he finally realized I was there.

His eyes widened when he saw the book in my hands.

“No, Baxter—”

I swung before I could think.

The heavy book slammed against the side of his head with a sickening crack.

He collapsed instantly.

The same way he killed Julie.

Silence filled the room.

Then Julie looked at me one final time.

The sadness in her face was gone now.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A warm breeze moved through the bookstore.

And slowly—

she faded away.

The rocking chair stopped moving.

The whispers disappeared.

And for the first time since I started working at The Owl’s Nest…

the building felt empty.

My name is Baxter and i live in Cave Creek, a small town where nothing interesting ever happens. The biggest excitement most people get is football games at Cave Creek High or gossip at the diner downtown. Everybody knows everybody, and every building has some old story attached to it.

Especially The Owl’s Nest.

The bookstore sat at the end of Main Street between an antique shop and an old barber shop with dusty windows. It looked ancient even during the daytime. Crooked wooden shelves leaned against the walls, and the air always smelled like old paper and rain.

I started working there two weeks after school ended.

Mr. Saxworthy, the owner, hired me almost immediately. He was tall, thin, and always wore dark sweaters no matter how hot it got outside. He spoke softly, like he was afraid the books might overhear him.

“You seem responsible, Baxter,” he told me during the interview. “That’s important here.”

I should’ve asked what he meant.

At first the job was easy. I stocked shelves, rang up customers, and cleaned the upstairs reading room. Sometimes I worked late by myself while Mr. Saxworthy handled inventory downstairs.

It was a Thursday night around closing time when the noises started. Rain hammered against the windows while I stacked books in the horror section. I remember checking the clock: 9:47 PM.

Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

I froze.

“Mr. Saxworthy?” I called.

No answer.

The footsteps stopped.

A cold feeling snaked through my stomach. The bookstore suddenly felt too quiet, like the entire building was holding its breath.

Then I heard whispering.

Not words exactly. More like someone speaking just low enough that I couldn’t understand them.

I grabbed my phone flashlight and slowly climbed the stairs. I peered into the dark room but it was empty. 

That’s when i noticed it, one of the rocking chairs near the fireplace was moving.

“What is happening?” i asked suspiciously into the thin air. 

SLAM.

A door shut somewhere downstairs.

I nearly fell trying to run out of there.

Mr. Saxworthy was standing by the register when I hit the bottom of the stairs, perfectly calm.

“You okay, Baxter?” he asked.

“Someone’s up there.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No one is.”

His answer made my skin crawl more than the noises did.

After that night, things got worse.

Books fell off shelves when nobody touched them. I’d hear breathing behind me and turn around to find empty aisles. Sometimes the lights flickered only in the back corner of the store where old photographs hung on the wall.

That’s where I first saw her.

I was dusting the history section when I noticed someone standing between the shelves. A girl. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. She had long blonde hair that fell in waterfalls down her shoulders. Her skin was pale like ivory and her eyes… the most beautiful green i had ever seen. 

She wore a white dress that looked old-fashioned, like something from another decade.

For a second I thought a customer had wandered in after closing. Then she smiled at me. Not a normal smile. A sad one.

And suddenly the lights blinked. When they came back on... she was gone. I dropped the books I was holding.

That night I couldn’t sleep.

The next day I searched the bookstore for anything that might explain what I’d seen.

 That’s when I found the photograph. It was hidden inside a drawer beneath the register.

A younger Mr. Saxworthy stood beside the same blonde girl I’d seen in the store. His arm wrapped around her waist. Both of them smiling at the camera.

Written on the back in faded ink were the words:

Julie — Summer 1996.

My stomach twisted.

That afternoon I showed the picture to Mr. Saxworthy.

“Who is she?” I asked.

The colour drained from his face for just a second. He snatched the photo from my hand.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly.

“You’re literally standing next to her” i replied, pointing at the old picture.

“You should focus on your work, Baxter” he thrusted a thumb behind him. 

That was it. he didn't give an explination, he didn't even make eye contact.

I started noticing Julie everywhere. At school, in the reflection in windows. At the end of empty hallways inside Cave Creek High.

Once I saw her standing on the bleachers during basketball practice.

I finally spoke to her three days later.

I was at my locker after school when I saw her reflection in the metal door behind me.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

When I turned around, she stood only a few feet away.

Up close, her eyes looked almost glowing green.

“The bookstore has secrets,” she said softly.

Her voice sounded distant, like an echo underwater.

“What are you?”

Her expression darkened.

“Find the files.”

Then she disappeared.

Not walked away.

Disappeared.

That night I waited until Mr. Saxworthy locked up and left. I still had a spare key.

Rain poured over Cave Creek while I slipped inside The Owl’s Nest alone. The store felt colder than ever.

I searched through old cabinets in the office behind the register until I found a locked filing drawer.

It took me ten minutes to pry it open.

Inside were newspaper clippings, police reports and old photographs. It looked like jumk except for one document sitting right ontop.

Julie Harper.

Death Certificate.

Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.

My hands shook as I read the date.

October 14th, 1996.

Thirty years ago.

There was also a newspaper clipping beside it:

LOCAL GIRL MISSING — POLICE SUSPECT RUNAWAY

It looked like no body was ever officially discovered. I stared at the papers, my heart pounding. Why would Mr. Saxworthy keep this... unless...

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

I looked toward the ceiling.

Then I heard Julie’s voice whisper behind me.

“He lied.”

I spun around.

She stood there clearer than ever before, not transparent... she almost looked... alive.

“He killed me,” she whispered, tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

“He said if he couldn’t have me… nobody could.”

I felt sick.

“How?”

“He used that.” she said, her green eyes drifted toward a massive leather-bound book sitting on the desk.

I slowly looked at the book.

It was enormous. Heavy enough to crush someone’s skull.

The front door suddenly rattled.

Julie’s expression changed instantly.

“He’s here.”

A key slid into the lock.

Mr. Saxworthy stepped inside dripping rainwater from his coat.

For a moment, he smiled when he saw me.

Then he noticed the files spread across the desk.

The smile vanished.

“You shouldn’t have looked through those,” he said quietly.

Fear locked my legs in place.

“She told me,” I whispered.

His face twitched.

“You’ve seen her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“She’s still here.”

Mr. Saxworthy sighed like a tired old man.

“I loved her.”

“You murdered her.”

“She betrayed me.”

His voice suddenly sharpened.

“She was leaving town with someone else.”

He stepped closer.

“I gave her everything.”

The lights flickered violently around us.

Books began falling from shelves upstairs.

Julie was near.

“You’re insane,” I said.

Mr. Saxworthy grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt.

“She ruined my life.”

Then every light in the bookstore exploded off at once.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Mr. Saxworthy panicked.

“Julie?” he whispered.

I heard her voice from upstairs.

Soft laughter.

Then footsteps.

Creeeak.

Creeeak.

Mr. Saxworthy let go of me and stared upward in terror.

“No…”

The footsteps moved across the ceiling slowly, deliberately, leading him toward the staircase.

Like she wanted him to follow.

And he did.

I grabbed the massive book from the desk and followed behind him.

The upstairs reading room was freezing cold.

Julie stood near the fireplace staring directly at Mr. Saxworthy.

“You left me there,” she whispered.

Mr. Saxworthy stumbled backward.

“I was angry—”

“You buried me beneath the floor.”

I felt my blood turn to ice.

Julie slowly pointed toward the wooden boards near the rocking chair.

Mr. Saxworthy started crying.

Actually crying.

“I’m sorry.”

Julie looked at me.

Not angry.

Not frightening.

Just sad.

Then she whispered:

“End it.”

Mr. Saxworthy turned suddenly like he finally realized I was there.

His eyes widened when he saw the book in my hands.

“No, Baxter—”

I swung before I could think.

The heavy book slammed against the side of his head with a sickening crack.

He collapsed instantly.

The same way he killed Julie.

Silence filled the room.

Then Julie looked at me one final time.

The sadness in her face was gone now.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A warm breeze moved through the bookstore.

And slowly—

she faded away.

The rocking chair stopped moving.

The whispers disappeared.

And for the first time since I started working at The Owl’s Nest…

the building felt empty.

My name is Baxter and i live in Cave Creek, a small town where nothing interesting ever happens. The biggest excitement most people get is football games at Cave Creek High or gossip at the diner downtown. Everybody knows everybody, and every building has some old story attached to it.

Especially The Owl’s Nest.

The bookstore sat at the end of Main Street between an antique shop and an old barber shop with dusty windows. It looked ancient even during the daytime. Crooked wooden shelves leaned against the walls, and the air always smelled like old paper and rain.

I started working there two weeks after school ended.

Mr. Saxworthy, the owner, hired me almost immediately. He was tall, thin, and always wore dark sweaters no matter how hot it got outside. He spoke softly, like he was afraid the books might overhear him.

“You seem responsible, Baxter,” he told me during the interview. “That’s important here.”

I should’ve asked what he meant.

At first the job was easy. I stocked shelves, rang up customers, and cleaned the upstairs reading room. Sometimes I worked late by myself while Mr. Saxworthy handled inventory downstairs.

It was a Thursday night around closing time when the noises started. Rain hammered against the windows while I stacked books in the horror section. I remember checking the clock: 9:47 PM.

Then I heard footsteps upstairs.

I froze.

“Mr. Saxworthy?” I called.

No answer.

The footsteps stopped.

A cold feeling snaked through my stomach. The bookstore suddenly felt too quiet, like the entire building was holding its breath.

Then I heard whispering.

Not words exactly. More like someone speaking just low enough that I couldn’t understand them.

I grabbed my phone flashlight and slowly climbed the stairs. I peered into the dark room but it was empty. 

That’s when i noticed it, one of the rocking chairs near the fireplace was moving.

“What is happening?” i asked suspiciously into the thin air. 

SLAM.

A door shut somewhere downstairs.

I nearly fell trying to run out of there.

Mr. Saxworthy was standing by the register when I hit the bottom of the stairs, perfectly calm.

“You okay, Baxter?” he asked.

“Someone’s up there.”

“No,” he said quickly. “No one is.”

His answer made my skin crawl more than the noises did.

After that night, things got worse.

Books fell off shelves when nobody touched them. I’d hear breathing behind me and turn around to find empty aisles. Sometimes the lights flickered only in the back corner of the store where old photographs hung on the wall.

That’s where I first saw her.

I was dusting the history section when I noticed someone standing between the shelves. A girl. Maybe eighteen or nineteen. She had long blonde hair that fell in waterfalls down her shoulders. Her skin was pale like ivory and her eyes… the most beautiful green i had ever seen. 

She wore a white dress that looked old-fashioned, like something from another decade.

For a second I thought a customer had wandered in after closing. Then she smiled at me. Not a normal smile. A sad one.

And suddenly the lights blinked. When they came back on... she was gone. I dropped the books I was holding.

That night I couldn’t sleep.

The next day I searched the bookstore for anything that might explain what I’d seen.

 That’s when I found the photograph. It was hidden inside a drawer beneath the register.

A younger Mr. Saxworthy stood beside the same blonde girl I’d seen in the store. His arm wrapped around her waist. Both of them smiling at the camera.

Written on the back in faded ink were the words:

Julie — Summer 1996.

My stomach twisted.

That afternoon I showed the picture to Mr. Saxworthy.

“Who is she?” I asked.

The colour drained from his face for just a second. He snatched the photo from my hand.

“I don’t know,” he said flatly.

“You’re literally standing next to her” i replied, pointing at the old picture.

“You should focus on your work, Baxter” he thrusted a thumb behind him. 

That was it. he didn't give an explination, he didn't even make eye contact.

I started noticing Julie everywhere. At school, in the reflection in windows. At the end of empty hallways inside Cave Creek High.

Once I saw her standing on the bleachers during basketball practice.

I finally spoke to her three days later.

I was at my locker after school when I saw her reflection in the metal door behind me.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I whispered.

When I turned around, she stood only a few feet away.

Up close, her eyes looked almost glowing green.

“The bookstore has secrets,” she said softly.

Her voice sounded distant, like an echo underwater.

“What are you?”

Her expression darkened.

“Find the files.”

Then she disappeared.

Not walked away.

Disappeared.

That night I waited until Mr. Saxworthy locked up and left. I still had a spare key.

Rain poured over Cave Creek while I slipped inside The Owl’s Nest alone. The store felt colder than ever.

I searched through old cabinets in the office behind the register until I found a locked filing drawer.

It took me ten minutes to pry it open.

Inside were newspaper clippings, police reports and old photographs. It looked like jumk except for one document sitting right ontop.

Julie Harper.

Death Certificate.

Cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head.

My hands shook as I read the date.

October 14th, 1996.

Thirty years ago.

There was also a newspaper clipping beside it:

LOCAL GIRL MISSING — POLICE SUSPECT RUNAWAY

It looked like no body was ever officially discovered. I stared at the papers, my heart pounding. Why would Mr. Saxworthy keep this... unless...

A floorboard creaked upstairs.

I looked toward the ceiling.

Then I heard Julie’s voice whisper behind me.

“He lied.”

I spun around.

She stood there clearer than ever before, not transparent... she almost looked... alive.

“He killed me,” she whispered, tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

“He said if he couldn’t have me… nobody could.”

I felt sick.

“How?”

“He used that.” she said, her green eyes drifted toward a massive leather-bound book sitting on the desk.

I slowly looked at the book.

It was enormous. Heavy enough to crush someone’s skull.

The front door suddenly rattled.

Julie’s expression changed instantly.

“He’s here.”

A key slid into the lock.

Mr. Saxworthy stepped inside dripping rainwater from his coat.

For a moment, he smiled when he saw me.

Then he noticed the files spread across the desk.

The smile vanished.

“You shouldn’t have looked through those,” he said quietly.

Fear locked my legs in place.

“She told me,” I whispered.

His face twitched.

“You’ve seen her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“She’s still here.”

Mr. Saxworthy sighed like a tired old man.

“I loved her.”

“You murdered her.”

“She betrayed me.”

His voice suddenly sharpened.

“She was leaving town with someone else.”

He stepped closer.

“I gave her everything.”

The lights flickered violently around us.

Books began falling from shelves upstairs.

Julie was near.

“You’re insane,” I said.

Mr. Saxworthy grabbed my arm hard enough to hurt.

“She ruined my life.”

Then every light in the bookstore exploded off at once.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Mr. Saxworthy panicked.

“Julie?” he whispered.

I heard her voice from upstairs.

Soft laughter.

Then footsteps.

Creeeak.

Creeeak.

Mr. Saxworthy let go of me and stared upward in terror.

“No…”

The footsteps moved across the ceiling slowly, deliberately, leading him toward the staircase.

Like she wanted him to follow.

And he did.

I grabbed the massive book from the desk and followed behind him.

The upstairs reading room was freezing cold.

Julie stood near the fireplace staring directly at Mr. Saxworthy.

“You left me there,” she whispered.

Mr. Saxworthy stumbled backward.

“I was angry—”

“You buried me beneath the floor.”

I felt my blood turn to ice.

Julie slowly pointed toward the wooden boards near the rocking chair.

Mr. Saxworthy started crying.

Actually crying.

“I’m sorry.”

Julie looked at me.

Not angry.

Not frightening.

Just sad.

Then she whispered:

“End it.”

Mr. Saxworthy turned suddenly like he finally realized I was there.

His eyes widened when he saw the book in my hands.

“No, Baxter—”

I swung before I could think.

The heavy book slammed against the side of his head with a sickening crack.

He collapsed instantly.

The same way he killed Julie.

Silence filled the room.

Then Julie looked at me one final time.

The sadness in her face was gone now.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

A warm breeze moved through the bookstore.

And slowly—

she faded away.

The rocking chair stopped moving.

The whispers disappeared.

And for the first time since I started working at The Owl’s Nest…

the building felt empty.

After school that day i had decided i needed a change. Cave Creek high was dreary enough, maybe a fresh look would life my spirits. I opened my laptop and began typing.

The website didn’t have a name.

Just a black screen and a single line of text:

Human hair. Real memories included.

I should’ve closed it. I know that now. But I’d been scrolling for hours, tired of overpriced extensions that looked fake after two washes. These were cheap. Too cheap. And something about that line 'real memories' felt like a joke I was in on.

So I ordered them.

They arrived three days later in a plain cardboard box with no return address. When I opened it, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Powdery. Floral. Old. Not unpleasant, just… outdated, like it belonged to someone who wasn’t around anymore.

The hair itself was beautiful. Thick, soft, dark brown with strands that caught the light like glass. When I touched it, I felt a strange warmth, like it had been sitting in the sun.

“Worth it,” I said out loud, already reaching for my tools.

After a quick youtube tutorial i felt confident. Installing them was hard though. The wefts kept slipping, tightening, almost resisting me. At one point I actually laughed, nervous for no reason.

“What, you don’t want to be worn?” i said running my fingers through the strands.

The thought stuck with me longer than it should have.

When I finished, though, I looked incredible. Fuller hair, longer, heavier and it framed my face differently, made me look like a slightly better version of myself.

I took pictures. I posted one.

Everyone loved it.

That night i dreamt i was standing in a house I didn’t recognize, staring into a mirror that wasn’t mine. The room smelled like the box, that same old perfume. My reflection looked like me, but something about it felt… off.

Then I saw her.

She was standing behind me.

Older. Thin face, sharp eyes, lips pressed into a line like she had something to say but had been holding it in for years. Her hair was the same i had just ordered.

I tried to turn around, but I couldn’t move.

“You shouldn’t wear what isn’t yours,” she said.

I woke up with my heart racing and my room filled with that smell.

At first, I told myself it was just a dream.

Then the hair started moving.

Not dramatically. Not like in movies. Just subtle shifts. Strands curling around my fingers when I wasn’t touching them, brushing against my neck when there was no breeze. Once, I felt a firm tug at the back of my head, like someone testing the weight of it.

“Okay,” I said into my empty apartment. “Not funny.”

That night, I dreamt again or the same house and the same mirror. This time, she stood closer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“I kept everything in it,” she continued, lifting a section of my hair. “Every year. Every moment.”

And suddenly, I wasn’t just looking anymore. I was remembering.

Except they weren’t my memories.

A younger version of her brushing her hair slowly, carefully, like it mattered more than anything else. Sitting by a window, waiting for someone who never came. Standing in a kitchen, silent, the air thick with things unsaid.

Grief. Loneliness. Time stretching too long.

I woke up crying.

By the third day, I tried to take them out.

They wouldn’t come.

I soaked them in conditioner, tried to loosen the bonds, worked patiently like I always do. But they felt… fused. Like they weren’t attached to my hair anymore, like they were part of my scalp.

When I pulled harder, pain shot through my head so sharply I dropped my hands.

Not just physical pain.

Something deeper.

Like I was tearing through thoughts that weren’t mine but had settled in anyway.

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at myself. “Okay, we’ll go to a professional.”

But when I picked up my phone, I forgot who I was going to call.

For a second—just a second—I didn’t recognize my own reflection.

The memories got worse.

They came when I was awake now.

I’d be making coffee and suddenly i would know how many mornings she’d stood in a different kitchen, stirring a cup that always went cold. I’d look out my window and feel a crushing certainty that someone had left me years ago and never come back.

I started talking differently. Slower. Sharper.

Once, I caught myself saying, “Men always leave eventually,” ... I don’t even believe that.

At least, I didn’t.

The first time I saw her outside the mirror, I stopped breathing.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection, making sure it matched me when the lights flickered.

And then she was there.

Not behind me.

Beside me.

Her head tilted slightly, studying me like I was something she didn’t quite approve of.

“You took my hair,” she said.

My throat went dry. “I bought it.”

Her expression didn’t change. “So did they.”

“Who?” i said.

But I already knew the answer didn’t matter. She reached out and touched a strand. I felt it like fingers directly on my scalp.

“I’m not finished,” she said softly.

I stopped sleeping.

Because when I slept, I lived her life.

Years passed in hours. I aged. I waited. I lost things I couldn’t even name. And every morning I woke up back in my body—but less of it felt like mine.

My posture changed. My thoughts slowed, deepened, darkened. That flowery smell never left me.

I snapped on the fifth night and grabbed scissors.

“I don’t care what you are,” I said, my voice shaking as I faced the mirror. “I’m cutting them out.”

For once, she wasn’t there. I grabbed a thick section and cut.

The scream that filled the room wasn’t mine. The mirror cracked straight down the middle.

And when I looked up she was behind me. Not in the reflection. In the room.

“You don’t cut memories,” she said.

“Please,” I whispered dropping the scissors. “I didn’t know. Just take it back.”

She watched me for a long time. Then she stepped closer. Up close, she looked… tired. Not angry. Just worn down by too much time.

“You wore mine,” she said.

Her hand slid into my hair, deep against my scalp.

“And now,” she continued, tightening her grip, “I’ll wear yours.”

Something inside me shifted. I can’t explain it better than that. It felt like being pulled backward while something else stepped forward. My thoughts blurred, stretched, tangled with hers. my memories and life, slipping away.

I still look like me. I know that. I stand in front of the mirror every morning and I see my face, my hair (our hair) perfect and full... almost... alive.

I move my hands. I smile. But the movements feel… chosen. Measured. Like they belong to someone who’s learning how to be me. And somewhere, deep underneath all of it, I’m still here.

Watching her live my life.

Feeling every second pass.

Held in place.

Like a memory she refuses to let go of.

After school that day i had decided i needed a change. Cave Creek high was dreary enough, maybe a fresh look would life my spirits. I opened my laptop and began typing.

The website didn’t have a name.

Just a black screen and a single line of text:

Human hair. Real memories included.

I should’ve closed it. I know that now. But I’d been scrolling for hours, tired of overpriced extensions that looked fake after two washes. These were cheap. Too cheap. And something about that line 'real memories' felt like a joke I was in on.

So I ordered them.

They arrived three days later in a plain cardboard box with no return address. When I opened it, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Powdery. Floral. Old. Not unpleasant, just… outdated, like it belonged to someone who wasn’t around anymore.

The hair itself was beautiful. Thick, soft, dark brown with strands that caught the light like glass. When I touched it, I felt a strange warmth, like it had been sitting in the sun.

“Worth it,” I said out loud, already reaching for my tools.

After a quick youtube tutorial i felt confident. Installing them was hard though. The wefts kept slipping, tightening, almost resisting me. At one point I actually laughed, nervous for no reason.

“What, you don’t want to be worn?” i said running my fingers through the strands.

The thought stuck with me longer than it should have.

When I finished, though, I looked incredible. Fuller hair, longer, heavier and it framed my face differently, made me look like a slightly better version of myself.

I took pictures. I posted one.

Everyone loved it.

That night i dreamt i was standing in a house I didn’t recognize, staring into a mirror that wasn’t mine. The room smelled like the box, that same old perfume. My reflection looked like me, but something about it felt… off.

Then I saw her.

She was standing behind me.

Older. Thin face, sharp eyes, lips pressed into a line like she had something to say but had been holding it in for years. Her hair was the same i had just ordered.

I tried to turn around, but I couldn’t move.

“You shouldn’t wear what isn’t yours,” she said.

I woke up with my heart racing and my room filled with that smell.

At first, I told myself it was just a dream.

Then the hair started moving.

Not dramatically. Not like in movies. Just subtle shifts. Strands curling around my fingers when I wasn’t touching them, brushing against my neck when there was no breeze. Once, I felt a firm tug at the back of my head, like someone testing the weight of it.

“Okay,” I said into my empty apartment. “Not funny.”

That night, I dreamt again or the same house and the same mirror. This time, she stood closer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“I kept everything in it,” she continued, lifting a section of my hair. “Every year. Every moment.”

And suddenly, I wasn’t just looking anymore. I was remembering.

Except they weren’t my memories.

A younger version of her brushing her hair slowly, carefully, like it mattered more than anything else. Sitting by a window, waiting for someone who never came. Standing in a kitchen, silent, the air thick with things unsaid.

Grief. Loneliness. Time stretching too long.

I woke up crying.

By the third day, I tried to take them out.

They wouldn’t come.

I soaked them in conditioner, tried to loosen the bonds, worked patiently like I always do. But they felt… fused. Like they weren’t attached to my hair anymore, like they were part of my scalp.

When I pulled harder, pain shot through my head so sharply I dropped my hands.

Not just physical pain.

Something deeper.

Like I was tearing through thoughts that weren’t mine but had settled in anyway.

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at myself. “Okay, we’ll go to a professional.”

But when I picked up my phone, I forgot who I was going to call.

For a second—just a second—I didn’t recognize my own reflection.

The memories got worse.

They came when I was awake now.

I’d be making coffee and suddenly i would know how many mornings she’d stood in a different kitchen, stirring a cup that always went cold. I’d look out my window and feel a crushing certainty that someone had left me years ago and never come back.

I started talking differently. Slower. Sharper.

Once, I caught myself saying, “Men always leave eventually,” ... I don’t even believe that.

At least, I didn’t.

The first time I saw her outside the mirror, I stopped breathing.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection, making sure it matched me when the lights flickered.

And then she was there.

Not behind me.

Beside me.

Her head tilted slightly, studying me like I was something she didn’t quite approve of.

“You took my hair,” she said.

My throat went dry. “I bought it.”

Her expression didn’t change. “So did they.”

“Who?” i said.

But I already knew the answer didn’t matter. She reached out and touched a strand. I felt it like fingers directly on my scalp.

“I’m not finished,” she said softly.

I stopped sleeping.

Because when I slept, I lived her life.

Years passed in hours. I aged. I waited. I lost things I couldn’t even name. And every morning I woke up back in my body—but less of it felt like mine.

My posture changed. My thoughts slowed, deepened, darkened. That flowery smell never left me.

I snapped on the fifth night and grabbed scissors.

“I don’t care what you are,” I said, my voice shaking as I faced the mirror. “I’m cutting them out.”

For once, she wasn’t there. I grabbed a thick section and cut.

The scream that filled the room wasn’t mine. The mirror cracked straight down the middle.

And when I looked up she was behind me. Not in the reflection. In the room.

“You don’t cut memories,” she said.

“Please,” I whispered dropping the scissors. “I didn’t know. Just take it back.”

She watched me for a long time. Then she stepped closer. Up close, she looked… tired. Not angry. Just worn down by too much time.

“You wore mine,” she said.

Her hand slid into my hair, deep against my scalp.

“And now,” she continued, tightening her grip, “I’ll wear yours.”

Something inside me shifted. I can’t explain it better than that. It felt like being pulled backward while something else stepped forward. My thoughts blurred, stretched, tangled with hers. my memories and life, slipping away.

I still look like me. I know that. I stand in front of the mirror every morning and I see my face, my hair (our hair) perfect and full... almost... alive.

I move my hands. I smile. But the movements feel… chosen. Measured. Like they belong to someone who’s learning how to be me. And somewhere, deep underneath all of it, I’m still here.

Watching her live my life.

Feeling every second pass.

Held in place.

Like a memory she refuses to let go of.

After school that day i had decided i needed a change. Cave Creek high was dreary enough, maybe a fresh look would life my spirits. I opened my laptop and began typing.

The website didn’t have a name.

Just a black screen and a single line of text:

Human hair. Real memories included.

I should’ve closed it. I know that now. But I’d been scrolling for hours, tired of overpriced extensions that looked fake after two washes. These were cheap. Too cheap. And something about that line 'real memories' felt like a joke I was in on.

So I ordered them.

They arrived three days later in a plain cardboard box with no return address. When I opened it, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Powdery. Floral. Old. Not unpleasant, just… outdated, like it belonged to someone who wasn’t around anymore.

The hair itself was beautiful. Thick, soft, dark brown with strands that caught the light like glass. When I touched it, I felt a strange warmth, like it had been sitting in the sun.

“Worth it,” I said out loud, already reaching for my tools.

After a quick youtube tutorial i felt confident. Installing them was hard though. The wefts kept slipping, tightening, almost resisting me. At one point I actually laughed, nervous for no reason.

“What, you don’t want to be worn?” i said running my fingers through the strands.

The thought stuck with me longer than it should have.

When I finished, though, I looked incredible. Fuller hair, longer, heavier and it framed my face differently, made me look like a slightly better version of myself.

I took pictures. I posted one.

Everyone loved it.

That night i dreamt i was standing in a house I didn’t recognize, staring into a mirror that wasn’t mine. The room smelled like the box, that same old perfume. My reflection looked like me, but something about it felt… off.

Then I saw her.

She was standing behind me.

Older. Thin face, sharp eyes, lips pressed into a line like she had something to say but had been holding it in for years. Her hair was the same i had just ordered.

I tried to turn around, but I couldn’t move.

“You shouldn’t wear what isn’t yours,” she said.

I woke up with my heart racing and my room filled with that smell.

At first, I told myself it was just a dream.

Then the hair started moving.

Not dramatically. Not like in movies. Just subtle shifts. Strands curling around my fingers when I wasn’t touching them, brushing against my neck when there was no breeze. Once, I felt a firm tug at the back of my head, like someone testing the weight of it.

“Okay,” I said into my empty apartment. “Not funny.”

That night, I dreamt again or the same house and the same mirror. This time, she stood closer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“I kept everything in it,” she continued, lifting a section of my hair. “Every year. Every moment.”

And suddenly, I wasn’t just looking anymore. I was remembering.

Except they weren’t my memories.

A younger version of her brushing her hair slowly, carefully, like it mattered more than anything else. Sitting by a window, waiting for someone who never came. Standing in a kitchen, silent, the air thick with things unsaid.

Grief. Loneliness. Time stretching too long.

I woke up crying.

By the third day, I tried to take them out.

They wouldn’t come.

I soaked them in conditioner, tried to loosen the bonds, worked patiently like I always do. But they felt… fused. Like they weren’t attached to my hair anymore, like they were part of my scalp.

When I pulled harder, pain shot through my head so sharply I dropped my hands.

Not just physical pain.

Something deeper.

Like I was tearing through thoughts that weren’t mine but had settled in anyway.

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at myself. “Okay, we’ll go to a professional.”

But when I picked up my phone, I forgot who I was going to call.

For a second—just a second—I didn’t recognize my own reflection.

The memories got worse.

They came when I was awake now.

I’d be making coffee and suddenly i would know how many mornings she’d stood in a different kitchen, stirring a cup that always went cold. I’d look out my window and feel a crushing certainty that someone had left me years ago and never come back.

I started talking differently. Slower. Sharper.

Once, I caught myself saying, “Men always leave eventually,” ... I don’t even believe that.

At least, I didn’t.

The first time I saw her outside the mirror, I stopped breathing.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection, making sure it matched me when the lights flickered.

And then she was there.

Not behind me.

Beside me.

Her head tilted slightly, studying me like I was something she didn’t quite approve of.

“You took my hair,” she said.

My throat went dry. “I bought it.”

Her expression didn’t change. “So did they.”

“Who?” i said.

But I already knew the answer didn’t matter. She reached out and touched a strand. I felt it like fingers directly on my scalp.

“I’m not finished,” she said softly.

I stopped sleeping.

Because when I slept, I lived her life.

Years passed in hours. I aged. I waited. I lost things I couldn’t even name. And every morning I woke up back in my body—but less of it felt like mine.

My posture changed. My thoughts slowed, deepened, darkened. That flowery smell never left me.

I snapped on the fifth night and grabbed scissors.

“I don’t care what you are,” I said, my voice shaking as I faced the mirror. “I’m cutting them out.”

For once, she wasn’t there. I grabbed a thick section and cut.

The scream that filled the room wasn’t mine. The mirror cracked straight down the middle.

And when I looked up she was behind me. Not in the reflection. In the room.

“You don’t cut memories,” she said.

“Please,” I whispered dropping the scissors. “I didn’t know. Just take it back.”

She watched me for a long time. Then she stepped closer. Up close, she looked… tired. Not angry. Just worn down by too much time.

“You wore mine,” she said.

Her hand slid into my hair, deep against my scalp.

“And now,” she continued, tightening her grip, “I’ll wear yours.”

Something inside me shifted. I can’t explain it better than that. It felt like being pulled backward while something else stepped forward. My thoughts blurred, stretched, tangled with hers. my memories and life, slipping away.

I still look like me. I know that. I stand in front of the mirror every morning and I see my face, my hair (our hair) perfect and full... almost... alive.

I move my hands. I smile. But the movements feel… chosen. Measured. Like they belong to someone who’s learning how to be me. And somewhere, deep underneath all of it, I’m still here.

Watching her live my life.

Feeling every second pass.

Held in place.

Like a memory she refuses to let go of.

The website didn’t have a name.

Just a black screen and a single line of text:

Human hair. Real memories included.

I should’ve closed it. I know that now. But I’d been scrolling for hours, tired of overpriced extensions that looked fake after two washes. These were cheap. Too cheap. And something about that line 'real memories' felt like a joke I was in on.

So I ordered them.

They arrived three days later in a plain cardboard box with no return address. When I opened it, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Powdery. Floral. Old. Not unpleasant, just… outdated, like it belonged to someone who wasn’t around anymore.

The hair itself was beautiful. Thick, soft, dark brown with strands that caught the light like glass. When I touched it, I felt a strange warmth, like it had been sitting in the sun.

“Worth it,” I said out loud, already reaching for my tools.

Installing them was harder than usual. The wefts kept slipping, tightening, almost resisting me. At one point I actually laughed, nervous for no reason. “What, you don’t want to be worn?”

The thought stuck with me longer than it should have.

When I finished, though, I looked incredible. Fuller hair, longer, heavier—it framed my face differently, made me look like a slightly better version of myself.

I took pictures. I posted one.

Everyone loved it.

That night dreamt i was standing in a house I didn’t recognize, staring into a mirror that wasn’t mine. The room smelled like the box—like that same old perfume. My reflection looked like me, but something about it felt… off.

Then I saw her.

She was standing behind me.

Older. Thin face, sharp eyes, lips pressed into a line like she had something to say but had been holding it in for years. Her hair was the same i had just ordered.

I tried to turn around, but I couldn’t move.

“You shouldn’t wear what isn’t yours,” she said.

I woke up with my heart racing and my room filled with that smell.

At first, I told myself it was just a dream.

Then the hair started moving.

Not dramatically. Not like in movies. Just subtle shifts—strands curling around my fingers when I wasn’t touching them, brushing against my neck when there was no breeze. Once, I felt a firm tug at the back of my head, like someone testing the weight of it.

“Okay,” I said into my empty apartment. “Not funny.”

That night, I dreamt again or the same house and the same mirror. This time, she stood closer.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

“I kept everything in it,” she continued, lifting a section of my hair. “Every year. Every moment.”

And suddenly, I wasn’t just looking anymore. I was remembering.

Except they weren’t my memories.

A younger version of her brushing her hair slowly, carefully, like it mattered more than anything else. Sitting by a window, waiting for someone who never came. Standing in a kitchen, silent, the air thick with things unsaid.

Grief. Loneliness. Time stretching too long.

I woke up crying.

By the third day, I tried to take them out.

They wouldn’t come.

I soaked them in conditioner, tried to loosen the bonds, worked patiently like I always do. But they felt… fused. Like they weren’t attached to my hair anymore—like they were part of my scalp.

When I pulled harder, pain shot through my head so sharply I dropped my hands.

Not just physical pain.

Something deeper.

Like I was tearing through thoughts that weren’t mine but had settled in anyway.

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at myself. “Okay, we’ll go to a professional.”

But when I picked up my phone, I forgot who I was going to call.

For a second—just a second—I didn’t recognize my own reflection.

The memories got worse.

They came when I was awake now.

I’d be making coffee and suddenly I’d know how many mornings she’d stood in a different kitchen, stirring a cup that always went cold. I’d look out my window and feel a crushing certainty that someone had left me years ago and never come back.

I started talking differently. Slower. Sharper.

Once, I caught myself saying, “Men always leave eventually,” and I don’t even believe that.

At least, I didn’t.

The first time I saw her outside the mirror, I stopped breathing.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection—watching, really, making sure it matched me—when the lights flickered.

And then she was there.

Not behind me.

Beside me.

Her head tilted slightly, studying me like I was something she didn’t quite approve of.

“You took my hair,” she said.

My throat went dry. “I bought it.”

Her expression didn’t change. “So did they.”

“Who?”

But I already knew the answer didn’t matter.

She reached out and touched a strand.

I felt it like fingers directly on my scalp.

“I’m not finished,” she said softly.

I stopped sleeping.

Because when I slept, I lived her life.

Years passed in hours. I aged. I waited. I lost things I couldn’t even name. And every morning I woke up back in my body—but less of it felt like mine.

My posture changed. My thoughts slowed, deepened, darkened.

And the smell—God, the smell—never left.

I snapped on the fifth night.

I grabbed scissors.

“I don’t care what you are,” I said, my voice shaking as I faced the mirror. “I’m cutting them out.”

For once, she wasn’t there.

Good.

I grabbed a thick section and cut.

The scream that filled the room wasn’t mine.

It was older. Raw. Furious.

The mirror cracked straight down the middle.

And when I looked up—

She was behind me.

Not in the reflection.

In the room.

“You don’t cut memories,” she said.

I dropped the scissors.

“Please,” I whispered. “I didn’t know. Just take it back.”

She watched me for a long time.

Then she stepped closer.

Up close, she looked… tired. Not angry. Just worn down by too much time.

“You wore mine,” she said.

Her hand slid into my hair, deep against my scalp.

“And now,” she continued, tightening her grip, “I’ll wear yours.”

Something inside me shifted.

I can’t explain it better than that. It felt like being pulled backward while something else stepped forward. My thoughts blurred, stretched, tangled with hers.

My memories.

My life.

Slipping.

I still look like me.

I know that.

I stand in front of the mirror every morning and I see my face, my hair—our hair—perfect and full and almost alive.

I move my hands. I smile.

But the movements feel… chosen.

Measured.

Like they belong to someone who’s learning how to be me.

And somewhere, deep underneath all of it, I’m still here.

Watching her live my life.

Feeling every second pass.

Held in place.

Like a memory she refuses to let go of

"Charlotte!" i cried, trying to dodge the other teenagers in the hallway.

Charlotte looked up from pulling something out of her locker, her short black bob bouncing off her cheeks.

"Mia!" she waved a hand excitedly at me and opened her arms for a hug.

"What adventure do you have for us tonight?" i asked embracing her, getting a nose full of her sweet perfume.

She smiled and put a finger up to her lips, shutting her locker and ushering me towards are next class.

Giggling along side her i didn't even realize my shoulder had connected with a tall brown hair boy, till the book in his hand went flying onto the ground in front of me.

"Oh, i'm so sorry!" i said reaching for it, just to have him growl and snatch it out from under my fingers.

I turned to watch him brood away, never making eye contact.

"Who was that?" i said straightening and turning to Charlotte.

"Mhh" she thought "I think his name is Noah, i have english lit with him. I overheard my dad talking last year on the phone a few times about it. I guess something horrible happened when he first moved here but i have no idea". She tossed her hair and smiled broadly.

"Oh weird" i said turning back to him one more time.

Charlottes dad was the Sheriff in town. Sheriff Doherty, and a weird guy in my opinion, but his daughter was my best friend so... who cares. He disappeared behind two guys laughing and pushing each other.

We pushed through the door to our classroom and found 2 seats at the back.

The afternoon sun had gone behind the clouds, not that the sun lasted for more than an hour at a time here at Cave Creek High, and it started to look like night would come earlier than expected tonight.

"Okay" Charlotte said, when Ms. Springer had turned her back to face the white board "So the book i was telling you about".

I pushed a bundle of orange hair out of my eyes and looked up at her.

"I found it in my dads study. It has all these creepy pictures he drew and stuff that has happened at Ghost rock" she said.

"We know what happened at Ghost rock, Char" i shrugged my shoulders.

"I know" she said "the kids that went missing in the 90s, thats not what i'm talking about".

I pushed my eyebrows together and motioned for her to continue.

"The have been more apparently, like since then over the years" she whispered.

I sighed "Well that why no one goes there at night... hang on is this what were so excited about? The run aways?".

"No, Mia, listen. apparently its some kind of creature!"

I rolled my eyes.

"My dad thinks its something called a Black Annis and it kidnaps children, its freaky looking too. Long black hair, blue face... impossibly long claws".

"Charlotte..." i started "Did you say anus?".

Tilting her head to the side, she hissed "We both know i didn't".

Ms. Springer cleared her throat and we both turned to meet her eyes.

"Really?!" She cried "Do i have to separate you two?".

I shuffled through the impossibly loud buss, pushing past kids hanging out into the isle and dodging the balled up paper flying through the air.

"Theres two at the back" Charlotte said grabbing into the loop on my back pack and pulling my further down the isle.

When we were settled she turned to me "Okay so can you steal your moms car to go to Ghost rock?".

"I can but... Listen Charlotte i don't want to be mean... i know you believe your dad but he's kind of a... quack?" i said putting my knees up onto the slick grey leather back seat in front of me.

Charlottes mouth opened to say something but was quickly cut off.

"Well who could have guessed the two of you would tune out to be criminals" a sickly sweet voice came spilling over us.

Isabella Fox and Ava Waverly were staring down at us when we turned up to look.

I sunk down into the seat "Shit".

"A car jacking too" Ava giggled.

"And the sheriffs daughter. Maybe we will join you tonight and see if we can catch you in the act. Ghost rock did you say?" Isabella said poking a finger at the front of Charlottes shirt "Im sure your loony father would have an stroke if he found out.

She swatted it away and spat "Fuck off, Bella".

They used to be best friends before i moved to Cave Creek in grade 6. I always thought Isabella was a little hurt when Charlotte dropped her. She clung onto Ava immediately and made her a mean little clone.

I blocked out most of the ride home, watching Isabella and Ava take turns poking fun at us. More watching her than actually listening.

Her long long hair spilled over the seat back, a stark contrast to my stringy shoulder blade length orange waves. How can someone so perfect on the outside be so ugly on the inside.

It had been dark for only about and hour as i listened at the inside of my bedroom door. My parents had long gone to bed and i had no siblings to worry about. My phone lit up in my pocket.

Char: 'ETA?'.

Mia: 'I think their ZZzzzZZZzzz".

Char: 'LETS DO THIS!".

I tiptoed down the stairs grabbing my jacket off the bottom of the railing and headed for the door. My parents hadn't set the alarm in years so that concern could be put to bed.
Snagging the keys from the front hooks and pulling the door open i took off into the cold night.

"Oh gosh its so creepy hear at night" i whispered putting the car into park and turning to my friend.

"Don't be a baby, this will he fun!" she cooed and exited the small sedan.

We walked through the trees for about minutes till we reached the the cave. A quick climb of Ghost Rock took us right to the entrance. Charlotte was giddy like a child, the flashlight in her hand vibrating with excitement.

A crack somewhere behind us sent us flying into each others arms.

"What was that?!" i moaned staring into the dark woods behind us.

"The Black Annis probably" she said turning slowly to look into my eyes "she probably came for this..." she reached her hands slowing into her bag and pulled out a dusty bottle. Holding it up to the side of her face her eyes were watery and big. "Its....." she said slowly "Vodka".

I pushed her off my violently "Stop it" i said turning back towards the pitch blackness.

When my eyes refocused i swear i saw something run from one side to the other. I grabbed Charlottes wrist and knocked the bottle out of her hand.

"Hey!" she cried and bent down to pick it up.

"Shut up, theres something in here" i took a step back. All at once a shriek pierced then echoed through the cave sending me on my heels and Charlotte into her ass. A figured rushed me and wrapped its arms around me pulling me back into the cave.

'What is happening?!" Charlotte screamed getting onto her feet and focusing her flashlight on me.

I scrambled to get out of its grip and far enough away that i could see what had me caught. Avas bright green eyes shone in the light just as a voice came from further inside the cave.

"Gotcha!" she said satisfied as ever.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and turned on the flash to see a fully illuminated Isabella standing with her arms crossed.

"Are you insane?" i said standing and brushing the dirt of my knees.

Still holding the flash on her she began to giggle and doubled over, but when she did a large black shadow was standing directly behind her.

I reached forward and grabbed charlottes hand pulling her in closer to me.

"Isabella?" i said slowly, watching her straighten happily.

"What?" she said wiping a tear from her eye and smiling broadly.

I backed up slowly pulling Charlotte with me, who had undoubtedly saw the same thing as her breath had deepened and quieted beside me.

"Run...".

All at once 10 long black shiny claws reached around Isabellas head and dug into her beautiful face. She didn't even have time to scream, it had pulled her back into the darkness at an impossible and she was gone.

Ava began screaming and Charlotte and i took off. We threw ourselves out of the cave and went tumbling down the rock. Ava was still screaming when we manged to scramble to our feet and sprint to the car.

"We cant leave Ava in there!" she cried breathlessly suddenly stopping and pulling her hand out of my grasp.

"No No Charlotte, now is not the time to be a hero. We go home and call your father. We get help. Thats the smart thing to do".

I went to grab her arm and she again yanked it away from me.

"Do you hear that?" she said putting a finger up to her lips.

I looked at her, then past her.

"I don't hear anything" i said throwing my hands up then motioning back towards the parking lot.

"Exactly" she said.

I furrowed my brows and looked at the ground trying to focus on just my sense of hearing. The forrest had gone silent... dead silent. You could no longer hear Avas screams, the wind through the trees not even a leaf rustle beneath our feet.

How would some thing like that even be possible. We both began running again at the same time.

The back of the car came into view and i clicked the auto start and unlocked buttons at the same time.

When the headlights blinked on they illuminated the rest of the lot and standing only 3 feet in front of the sedan was a tall black figure. Its skin was so pale it looked blue.

Small circular eyes with tiny black pupils sat at the top its long face. It was so tall it crouched over and looked like the grim reaper holding something in its shiny black claws.

Charlotte and i were frozen in place as it raised the object in its grasp higher. My heart was beating so fast but i couldn't move i was paralyzed with fear.

In its hand was Avas small body... or half of it.

Cut clean at the waist, just her upper half. He mouth hung open in agony, the things hand wrapped around her neck.

"No fuck this" i cried pushing Charlotte towards the road.

We didn't look back.

The sound of our feet pounding against the asphalt and her back pack bouncing violently off of her rang out into the night.

We ran for what felt like an hour before we crashed through her front door.

"Dad!" she screamed running up the stairs .

The next morning was hard. We had told anyone who would listen what happened but no one believed us.

When we went back there was no sign of Isabella or Ava anywhere. My parents car was untouched and alone in the middle of the empty parking lot. They sent officers down to Ghost Rock but nothing was recovered.

Charlotte shook beside me as our parents stood by the car in a heated argument, my fathers face an inch away from Sheriff Dohertys. Her poor dad was red faced but stoic. He knew we weren't lying... he knew everything. What was he going to do though? Risk the whole town thinking he was crazy too? No.

"Char" i said, still staring ahead "Im sorry i called your dad a quack".

Its weird to have a wake without any body's. I thought, leaning against the red brick of the school.

"Charlie... do you think they will ever find them" Cam asked, leaning his shoulder into mine.

It had been months and Ava and Isabella were still missing. So young, so popular, such a shame. At least thats what his mom thought. Droning on and on with her church friends.

Across the small field surrounded with candles and other students, a giant memorial set in the middle, i thought i saw Emily. Just a glimpse... just for a moment, but long enough to send a flutter through my heart.

I shook my head and turned to Cam "sorry buddy, i gotta go. Practice comes early".

I wasn’t even supposed to be on that road.

The highway had been closed miles back, but i ignored the barricade, choosing the narrow dirt detour that cut through the woods.

It was late and the silence pressed against my ears like something alive. My headlights carved a tunnel through the darkness, illuminating nothing but skeletal trees and drifting fog.

Then the engine died.

No sputter, no warning. Just silence.

"Shit" i swore under my breath and twisted the key. Nothing.

Checking my phone i found that i had no signal. Of course it didn’t. I stepped out, the cold biting instantly through my thin wind breaker. The air smelled… wrong. Like damp soil and something faintly metallic.

That’s when i noticed a crossroads.

"Uhm... whats happening?" i whispered into the air.

Four paths met in a perfect X just ahead, though i could’ve sworn the road had been straight seconds ago. A lone figure stood in the center, silhouetted against the fog.

I hesitated. “Hello?”

The figure didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, it turned.

“Evenin’, Charlie.”

My stomach dropped “How do you know my name?” i called.

The man smiled, stepping closer into the headlights. He looked ordinary enough... dark suit, polished shoes... but something about his face refused to settle in my vision, like it kept shifting when i wasn’t looking directly at it.

“Everyone who ends up here is expected,” the man said calmly. “Crossroads are… important places.”

I forced a laugh. “Look, man, my car broke down. If you’ve got a phone...”

“I have something better,” the man interrupted. “A solution.”

That when i felt it, a tug in my chest. Not fear exactly. Temptation.

“What do you want?” i asked, pulling my jacket tighter around my arms.

The man’s smile widened. “Not want. Offer. You get your heart’s deepest desire. I get… something of equal value.”

My mind raced, but one thought pushed everything else aside.

Her.

Emily Carter. Head cheerleader. Untouchable. She didn’t even know i existed.

“What if…” i swallowed, hard “What if I wanted someone to love me?”

“Not just someone,” the man said softly. “Her.”

My blood ran cold. “You can do that?”

“I can do anything,” the man replied. “But it comes at a price. Your soul. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Just… eventually.”

I sucked in a deep breath. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve laughed. Should’ve run.

Instead, i said, “And she’ll really love me?”

“Completely,” the man said. “Mind. Body. Soul.”

Something sharp pricked my palm. I hadn’t seen the blade, but suddenly the man was holding my hand, pressing it against a small, blackened coin.

“Deal,” the man whispered.

The next day, Emily Carter smiled at me.

By lunch, she was sitting beside me.

By the end of the week, she was mine.

Cam must have noticed too, across the lunch room he gave me a confused look. I just shrugged and wrapped my arms around her.

It felt like a dream. Her laughter, her touch, the way she looked at me like i was the only person in the world. I forgot about the crossroads. Forgot about the deal.

Until the whispers started.

At first, it was faint. A voice just behind me, too quiet to understand. I would turn, there would be no one there.

Then reflections began to move wrong. In mirrors, in windows, i would see myself standing still while my reflection leaned closer, grinning.

“Charlie…” it would mouth.

Sleep became impossible. Every time i closed my eyes, i saw that man at the crossroads, smiling wider and wider, teeth stretching too far.

Emily noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said one night, sitting on my bed. “You barely look at me anymore.”

“I’m just tired,” I muttered.

The whisper came again, louder this time.

She’s not real.

I flinched.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.”

But it didn’t stop. The voice grew clearer, more insistent.

She doesn’t love you. She can’t.

I stared at her. She smiled—perfect, rehearsed, almost mechanical.

Look closer.

I did.

For just a second, her face… slipped. Like a mask poorly fitted. Her smile stretched too wide. Her eyes didn’t blink.

I jerked back. “What the hell!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice suddenly flat.

“You...your face?”

“My face?” she tilted her head, unnatural, too slow.

The whisper roared now.

She’s wrong. Fix it.

I clutched my head. “Stop! stop!”

“Charlie,” Emily said, reaching for me.

Her hand felt cold. Dead.

Something snapped.

I shoved her away. “Don’t touch me!”

She hit the wall hard, confusion flashing across her face... real confusion, or something pretending to be it.

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

She’s lying.

“I’m not lying!” she cried, as if she heard it too.

My breathing grew ragged. The room seemed to pulse. Her face kept shifting—normal, wrong, normal, wrong.

“Make it stop,” I whispered.

The whisper answered.

You know how.

They had found me a few hours later.

I was sitting on the floor, covered in blood, rocking back and forth.

Emily lay across the room, unmoving.

“They told me she wasn’t real,” I kept muttering. “They told me she wasn’t real…”

The police thought it was a breakdown. Stress. Delusion.

They never noticed the small, blackened coin clutched in my hand.

Or the faint voice echoing in the room, just before the lights flickered out.

“Pleasure doing business, Charlie.”

I used to count the cracks in the hallway tiles so I wouldn’t have to look up.

Looking up meant seeing them. Their faces. Their smirks. The way their eyes slid over me like I was something sticky on the floor.

“Hey, Clara,” someone would whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Did your mirror break this morning, or did it just refuse to show you?” I learned to keep my head down. To shrink. To disappear.

But you can’t disappear from your own reflection.

Every morning, the mirror waited for me—merciless, honest. My uneven skin, my dull eyes, the way my features never seemed to sit right together. I’d stare until my vision blurred, wondering what it must feel like to be beautiful.

That’s how I ended up at the antique shop.

I hadn’t meant to go in. I was just walking, trying to outpace the day, when I noticed the sign swinging gently in the wind:

Cave Creek Vintage Hideout

The windows were dusty, crowded with strange objects—cracked porcelain dolls, tarnished mirrors, bottles filled with liquids that caught the light in unsettling ways.

Something about it pulled at me.

Inside, it smelled like old wood and something faintly sweet… and rotten.

A bell chimed when I stepped in.

“Help you?” a voice rasped from somewhere behind a shelf.

The shopkeeper emerged slowly. He looked ancient, his skin thin and papery, his eyes too sharp for his age.

“I’m just looking,” I muttered.

I drifted through the aisles, running my fingers along chipped frames and cold metal trinkets. Thats when i noticed the small clear vial. A faded label was tied around its neck with thin string.

Belladonna

I picked it up. The liquid inside shimmered, dark and inviting.

“That’s not for you.”

I jumped. The shopkeeper was suddenly right behind me.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze lingering on my face in a way that made my stomach twist.

“It changes how you’re seen,” he said finally.

My heart stuttered. “How?”

A thin smile stretched across his lips. “That depends on how much you want it.”

I tightened my grip on the vial. “Does it… make you prettier?”

The word felt pathetic as it left my mouth.

“Prettier,” he repeated softly, as if tasting it. “Yes. But nothing comes without… side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?”

He shrugged. “Perception isn’t a simple thing. Change how others see you, and you may change how you see them. Or yourself.”

I didn’t care.

“How much?” I asked.

—

I didn’t even hesitate when I got home.

My hands shook as I unscrewed the cap. The liquid smelled faintly floral, almost comforting.

“Just a drop,” I whispered to myself.

I tilted my head back and let one drop fall into each eye.

It burned.

Not like irritation—like something alive was crawling across my vision. I gasped, stumbling back, gripping the sink as tears streamed down my face.

When my vision cleared, i listed my head. The mirror looked… different.

No.

I looked different.

My skin was smooth. My features balanced. My eyes—brighter, larger, almost luminous.

I leaned closer, my breath catching.

“Is that… me?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to look away.

—

The next day at school, everything changed.

People stared—but not the way they used to.

Their eyes widened. Conversations faltered when I walked by.

“Clara?” someone said, confused “Wait… is that actually her?”

I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Something intoxicating. At lunch, a girl who had laughed at me for years slid into the seat across from me.

“Hey,” she said, smiling too wide. “You look… amazing. What did you do?”

I smiled back. It felt like power.

—

I started using the drops every day.

Then twice a day.

Then more.

Each time, I became… better. More perfect.

People wanted to talk to me. Sit with me. Be near me. I should have been happy.

But something else was happening. At first, it was small. A flicker. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A face that looked… wrong, just for a second. I told myself I was imagining it.

Until I wasn’t.

—

It was during math class when I saw it clearly for the first time. The girl in front of me Lena, who used to call me “cave face” turned around to ask for a pencil.

For a split second, her face… slipped.

Her skin stretched too tight, her smile splitting wider than it should. Her eyes looked black and empty, almost hungry.

I screamed.

The classroom snapped back to normal.

“Clara?” the teacher said sharply. “What is wrong with you?”

Lena stared at me, confused. Human.

I laughed shakily. “Nothing. I just... nothing.”

But it kept happening. Faces would twist. Eyes would darken. Mouths widening into impossible shapes. They whispered, too—but not in words I understood.

At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Their real faces.

Not human.

Never human.

—

I used more drops.

I needed to see clearly.

I needed to understand.

Instead, it got worse.

The world warped. People’s features melted and shifted constantly now, like masks they couldn’t keep in place.

“They’re not real,” I whispered to myself. “They’re not human... I can see them now.”

My reflection still looked perfect.

But my eyes…

My pupils were huge. Swallowing the colour.

There were faint red veins spidering out from the corners. I didn’t care though the beauty was worth it.

—

The day I snapped felt inevitable.

Lena was laughing with her friends by the lockers.

I saw her again. Really saw her. Her face split open like a rotten fruit. Teeth too long. Tongue writhing. Her eyes locked onto mine, and this time when when smiled at me, it wasn't the way a person smiles.

“She’s possessed,” I whispered.

The word felt right.

Obvious.

“She’s one of them.”

My hands started shaking. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

No one else noticed.

No one else could see. I had to do something before it spread, before it took everyone.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could, a metal water bottle and ran at her.

She barely had time to turn before I swung.

The sound—

I still hear it sometimes.

People screamed. Someone pulled me back. Hands grabbed me, shouting, chaos—

But all I could see was her face, flickering between human and something monstrous.

“I’m helping you!” I screamed. “I’m saving you!”

—

Darkness came slowly after that.

At first, it was just blurriness.

Then shadows swallowing the edges of everything.

Then… nothing.

By the time I got home, I could barely see shapes.

I fumbled for the vial, desperate.

More drops.

More clarity.

More beauty.

But when the liquid touched my eyes this time there was no clarity, only pain.

Blinding, all-consuming pain.

I screamed until my throat tore.

And then—

Nothing.

—

I woke up the next morning to sunlight.

Soft. Warm.

Normal.

I blinked.

I could see perfectly.

I sat up, my heart racing.

“What… happened?” i said, rubbing my temples.

Everything felt… distant. Fuzzy.

Like a dream I couldn’t quite remember.

I stumbled to the mirror.

My reflection stared back.

Plain, uneven and... ugly.

I stared at myself for a long time.

Then I frowned.

“…Why was I crying?”

Somewhere, deep in my mind, something scratched at the surface.

A memory. A warning. A name.

Belladonna.

I turned toward my desk, where the vial sat empty.

For a moment... just a moment I thought I saw something move inside the glass.

A shadow.

Watching me.

Waiting.

I used to count the cracks in the hallway tiles so I wouldn’t have to look up.

Looking up meant seeing them. Their faces. Their smirks. The way their eyes slid over me like I was something sticky on the floor.

“Hey, Clara,” someone would whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Did your mirror break this morning, or did it just refuse to show you?” I learned to keep my head down. To shrink. To disappear.

But you can’t disappear from your own reflection.

Every morning, the mirror waited for me—merciless, honest. My uneven skin, my dull eyes, the way my features never seemed to sit right together. I’d stare until my vision blurred, wondering what it must feel like to be beautiful.

That’s how I ended up at the antique shop.

I hadn’t meant to go in. I was just walking, trying to outpace the day, when I noticed the sign swinging gently in the wind:

Cave Creek Vintage Hideout

The windows were dusty, crowded with strange objects—cracked porcelain dolls, tarnished mirrors, bottles filled with liquids that caught the light in unsettling ways.

Something about it pulled at me.

Inside, it smelled like old wood and something faintly sweet… and rotten.

A bell chimed when I stepped in.

“Help you?” a voice rasped from somewhere behind a shelf.

The shopkeeper emerged slowly. He looked ancient, his skin thin and papery, his eyes too sharp for his age.

“I’m just looking,” I muttered.

I drifted through the aisles, running my fingers along chipped frames and cold metal trinkets. Thats when i noticed the small clear vial. A faded label was tied around its neck with thin string.

Belladonna

I picked it up. The liquid inside shimmered, dark and inviting.

“That’s not for you.”

I jumped. The shopkeeper was suddenly right behind me.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze lingering on my face in a way that made my stomach twist.

“It changes how you’re seen,” he said finally.

My heart stuttered. “How?”

A thin smile stretched across his lips. “That depends on how much you want it.”

I tightened my grip on the vial. “Does it… make you prettier?”

The word felt pathetic as it left my mouth.

“Prettier,” he repeated softly, as if tasting it. “Yes. But nothing comes without… side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?”

He shrugged. “Perception isn’t a simple thing. Change how others see you, and you may change how you see them. Or yourself.”

I didn’t care.

“How much?” I asked.

—

I didn’t even hesitate when I got home.

My hands shook as I unscrewed the cap. The liquid smelled faintly floral, almost comforting.

“Just a drop,” I whispered to myself.

I tilted my head back and let one drop fall into each eye.

It burned.

Not like irritation—like something alive was crawling across my vision. I gasped, stumbling back, gripping the sink as tears streamed down my face.

When my vision cleared, i listed my head. The mirror looked… different.

No.

I looked different.

My skin was smooth. My features balanced. My eyes—brighter, larger, almost luminous.

I leaned closer, my breath catching.

“Is that… me?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to look away.

—

The next day at school, everything changed.

People stared—but not the way they used to.

Their eyes widened. Conversations faltered when I walked by.

“Clara?” someone said, confused “Wait… is that actually her?”

I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Something intoxicating. At lunch, a girl who had laughed at me for years slid into the seat across from me.

“Hey,” she said, smiling too wide. “You look… amazing. What did you do?”

I smiled back. It felt like power.

—

I started using the drops every day.

Then twice a day.

Then more.

Each time, I became… better. More perfect.

People wanted to talk to me. Sit with me. Be near me. I should have been happy.

But something else was happening. At first, it was small. A flicker. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A face that looked… wrong, just for a second. I told myself I was imagining it.

Until I wasn’t.

—

It was during math class when I saw it clearly for the first time. The girl in front of me Lena, who used to call me “cave face” turned around to ask for a pencil.

For a split second, her face… slipped.

Her skin stretched too tight, her smile splitting wider than it should. Her eyes looked black and empty, almost hungry.

I screamed.

The classroom snapped back to normal.

“Clara?” the teacher said sharply. “What is wrong with you?”

Lena stared at me, confused. Human.

I laughed shakily. “Nothing. I just... nothing.”

But it kept happening. Faces would twist. Eyes would darken. Mouths widening into impossible shapes. They whispered, too—but not in words I understood.

At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Their real faces.

Not human.

Never human.

—

I used more drops.

I needed to see clearly.

I needed to understand.

Instead, it got worse.

The world warped. People’s features melted and shifted constantly now, like masks they couldn’t keep in place.

“They’re not real,” I whispered to myself. “They’re not human... I can see them now.”

My reflection still looked perfect.

But my eyes…

My pupils were huge. Swallowing the colour.

There were faint red veins spidering out from the corners. I didn’t care though the beauty was worth it.

—

The day I snapped felt inevitable.

Lena was laughing with her friends by the lockers.

I saw her again. Really saw her. Her face split open like a rotten fruit. Teeth too long. Tongue writhing. Her eyes locked onto mine, and this time when when smiled at me, it wasn't the way a person smiles.

“She’s possessed,” I whispered.

The word felt right.

Obvious.

“She’s one of them.”

My hands started shaking. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

No one else noticed.

No one else could see. I had to do something before it spread, before it took everyone.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could, a metal water bottle and ran at her.

She barely had time to turn before I swung.

The sound—

I still hear it sometimes.

People screamed. Someone pulled me back. Hands grabbed me, shouting, chaos—

But all I could see was her face, flickering between human and something monstrous.

“I’m helping you!” I screamed. “I’m saving you!”

—

Darkness came slowly after that.

At first, it was just blurriness.

Then shadows swallowing the edges of everything.

Then… nothing.

By the time I got home, I could barely see shapes.

I fumbled for the vial, desperate.

More drops.

More clarity.

More beauty.

But when the liquid touched my eyes this time there was no clarity, only pain.

Blinding, all-consuming pain.

I screamed until my throat tore.

And then—

Nothing.

—

I woke up the next morning to sunlight.

Soft. Warm.

Normal.

I blinked.

I could see perfectly.

I sat up, my heart racing.

“What… happened?” i said, rubbing my temples.

Everything felt… distant. Fuzzy.

Like a dream I couldn’t quite remember.

I stumbled to the mirror.

My reflection stared back.

Plain, uneven and... ugly.

I stared at myself for a long time.

Then I frowned.

“…Why was I crying?”

Somewhere, deep in my mind, something scratched at the surface.

A memory. A warning. A name.

Belladonna.

I turned toward my desk, where the vial sat empty.

For a moment... just a moment I thought I saw something move inside the glass.

A shadow.

Watching me.

Waiting.

I used to count the cracks in the hallway tiles so I wouldn’t have to look up.

Looking up meant seeing them. Their faces. Their smirks. The way their eyes slid over me like I was something sticky on the floor.

“Hey, Clara,” someone would whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Did your mirror break this morning, or did it just refuse to show you?” I learned to keep my head down. To shrink. To disappear.

But you can’t disappear from your own reflection.

Every morning, the mirror waited for me—merciless, honest. My uneven skin, my dull eyes, the way my features never seemed to sit right together. I’d stare until my vision blurred, wondering what it must feel like to be beautiful.

That’s how I ended up at the antique shop.

I hadn’t meant to go in. I was just walking, trying to outpace the day, when I noticed the sign swinging gently in the wind:

Cave Creek Vintage Hideout

The windows were dusty, crowded with strange objects—cracked porcelain dolls, tarnished mirrors, bottles filled with liquids that caught the light in unsettling ways.

Something about it pulled at me.

Inside, it smelled like old wood and something faintly sweet… and rotten.

A bell chimed when I stepped in.

“Help you?” a voice rasped from somewhere behind a shelf.

The shopkeeper emerged slowly. He looked ancient, his skin thin and papery, his eyes too sharp for his age.

“I’m just looking,” I muttered.

I drifted through the aisles, running my fingers along chipped frames and cold metal trinkets. Thats when i noticed the small clear vial. A faded label was tied around its neck with thin string.

Belladonna

I picked it up. The liquid inside shimmered, dark and inviting.

“That’s not for you.”

I jumped. The shopkeeper was suddenly right behind me.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.

He studied me for a long moment, his gaze lingering on my face in a way that made my stomach twist.

“It changes how you’re seen,” he said finally.

My heart stuttered. “How?”

A thin smile stretched across his lips. “That depends on how much you want it.”

I tightened my grip on the vial. “Does it… make you prettier?”

The word felt pathetic as it left my mouth.

“Prettier,” he repeated softly, as if tasting it. “Yes. But nothing comes without… side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?”

He shrugged. “Perception isn’t a simple thing. Change how others see you, and you may change how you see them. Or yourself.”

I didn’t care.

“How much?” I asked.

—

I didn’t even hesitate when I got home.

My hands shook as I unscrewed the cap. The liquid smelled faintly floral, almost comforting.

“Just a drop,” I whispered to myself.

I tilted my head back and let one drop fall into each eye.

It burned.

Not like irritation—like something alive was crawling across my vision. I gasped, stumbling back, gripping the sink as tears streamed down my face.

When my vision cleared, i listed my head. The mirror looked… different.

No.

I looked different.

My skin was smooth. My features balanced. My eyes—brighter, larger, almost luminous.

I leaned closer, my breath catching.

“Is that… me?”

For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to look away.

—

The next day at school, everything changed.

People stared—but not the way they used to.

Their eyes widened. Conversations faltered when I walked by.

“Clara?” someone said, confused “Wait… is that actually her?”

I felt something warm bloom in my chest. Something intoxicating. At lunch, a girl who had laughed at me for years slid into the seat across from me.

“Hey,” she said, smiling too wide. “You look… amazing. What did you do?”

I smiled back. It felt like power.

—

I started using the drops every day.

Then twice a day.

Then more.

Each time, I became… better. More perfect.

People wanted to talk to me. Sit with me. Be near me. I should have been happy.

But something else was happening. At first, it was small. A flicker. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A face that looked… wrong, just for a second. I told myself I was imagining it.

Until I wasn’t.

—

It was during math class when I saw it clearly for the first time. The girl in front of me Lena, who used to call me “cave face” turned around to ask for a pencil.

For a split second, her face… slipped.

Her skin stretched too tight, her smile splitting wider than it should. Her eyes looked black and empty, almost hungry.

I screamed.

The classroom snapped back to normal.

“Clara?” the teacher said sharply. “What is wrong with you?”

Lena stared at me, confused. Human.

I laughed shakily. “Nothing. I just... nothing.”

But it kept happening. Faces would twist. Eyes would darken. Mouths widening into impossible shapes. They whispered, too—but not in words I understood.

At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. Their real faces.

Not human.

Never human.

—

I used more drops.

I needed to see clearly.

I needed to understand.

Instead, it got worse.

The world warped. People’s features melted and shifted constantly now, like masks they couldn’t keep in place.

“They’re not real,” I whispered to myself. “They’re not human... I can see them now.”

My reflection still looked perfect.

But my eyes…

My pupils were huge. Swallowing the colour.

There were faint red veins spidering out from the corners. I didn’t care though the beauty was worth it.

—

The day I snapped felt inevitable.

Lena was laughing with her friends by the lockers.

I saw her again. Really saw her. Her face split open like a rotten fruit. Teeth too long. Tongue writhing. Her eyes locked onto mine, and this time when when smiled at me, it wasn't the way a person smiles.

“She’s possessed,” I whispered.

The word felt right.

Obvious.

“She’s one of them.”

My hands started shaking. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

No one else noticed.

No one else could see. I had to do something before it spread, before it took everyone.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could, a metal water bottle and ran at her.

She barely had time to turn before I swung.

The sound—

I still hear it sometimes.

People screamed. Someone pulled me back. Hands grabbed me, shouting, chaos—

But all I could see was her face, flickering between human and something monstrous.

“I’m helping you!” I screamed. “I’m saving you!”

—

Darkness came slowly after that.

At first, it was just blurriness.

Then shadows swallowing the edges of everything.

Then… nothing.

By the time I got home, I could barely see shapes.

I fumbled for the vial, desperate.

More drops.

More clarity.

More beauty.

But when the liquid touched my eyes this time there was no clarity, only pain.

Blinding, all-consuming pain.

I screamed until my throat tore.

And then—

Nothing.

—

I woke up the next morning to sunlight.

Soft. Warm.

Normal.

I blinked.

I could see perfectly.

I sat up, my heart racing.

“What… happened?” i said, rubbing my temples.

Everything felt… distant. Fuzzy.

Like a dream I couldn’t quite remember.

I stumbled to the mirror.

My reflection stared back.

Plain, uneven and... ugly.

I stared at myself for a long time.

Then I frowned.

“…Why was I crying?”

Somewhere, deep in my mind, something scratched at the surface.

A memory. A warning. A name.

Belladonna.

I turned toward my desk, where the vial sat empty.

For a moment... just a moment I thought I saw something move inside the glass.

A shadow.

Watching me.

Waiting.

Its weird to have a wake without any body's. I thought, leaning against the red brick of the school.

"Charlie... do you think they will ever find them" Cam asked, leaning his shoulder into mine.

It had been months and Ava and Isabella were still missing. So young, so popular, such a shame. At least thats what his mom thought. Droning on and on with her church friends.

Across the small field surrounded with candles and other students, a giant memorial set in the middle, i thought i saw Emily. Just a glimpse... just for a moment, but long enough to send a flutter through my heart.

I shook my head and turned to Cam "sorry buddy, i gotta go. Practice comes early".

I wasn’t even supposed to be on that road.

The highway had been closed miles back, but i ignored the barricade, choosing the narrow dirt detour that cut through the woods.

It was late and the silence pressed against my ears like something alive. My headlights carved a tunnel through the darkness, illuminating nothing but skeletal trees and drifting fog.

Then the engine died.

No sputter, no warning. Just silence.

"Shit" i swore under my breath and twisted the key. Nothing.

Checking my phone i found that i had no signal. Of course it didn’t. I stepped out, the cold biting instantly through my thin wind breaker. The air smelled… wrong. Like damp soil and something faintly metallic.

That’s when i noticed a crossroads.

"Uhm... whats happening?" i whispered into the air.

Four paths met in a perfect X just ahead, though i could’ve sworn the road had been straight seconds ago. A lone figure stood in the center, silhouetted against the fog.

I hesitated. “Hello?”

The figure didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, it turned.

“Evenin’, Charlie.”

My stomach dropped “How do you know my name?” i called.

The man smiled, stepping closer into the headlights. He looked ordinary enough... dark suit, polished shoes... but something about his face refused to settle in my vision, like it kept shifting when i wasn’t looking directly at it.

“Everyone who ends up here is expected,” the man said calmly. “Crossroads are… important places.”

I forced a laugh. “Look, man, my car broke down. If you’ve got a phone...”

“I have something better,” the man interrupted. “A solution.”

That when i felt it, a tug in my chest. Not fear exactly. Temptation.

“What do you want?” i asked, pulling my jacket tighter around my arms.

The man’s smile widened. “Not want. Offer. You get your heart’s deepest desire. I get… something of equal value.”

My mind raced, but one thought pushed everything else aside.

Her.

Emily Carter. Head cheerleader. Untouchable. She didn’t even know i existed.

“What if…” i swallowed, hard “What if I wanted someone to love me?”

“Not just someone,” the man said softly. “Her.”

My blood ran cold. “You can do that?”

“I can do anything,” the man replied. “But it comes at a price. Your soul. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Just… eventually.”

I sucked in a deep breath. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve laughed. Should’ve run.

Instead, i said, “And she’ll really love me?”

“Completely,” the man said. “Mind. Body. Soul.”

Something sharp pricked my palm. I hadn’t seen the blade, but suddenly the man was holding my hand, pressing it against a small, blackened coin.

“Deal,” the man whispered.

The next day, Emily Carter smiled at me.

By lunch, she was sitting beside me.

By the end of the week, she was mine.

Cam must have noticed too, across the lunch room he gave me a confused look. I just shrugged and wrapped my arms around her.

It felt like a dream. Her laughter, her touch, the way she looked at me like i was the only person in the world. I forgot about the crossroads. Forgot about the deal.

Until the whispers started.

At first, it was faint. A voice just behind me, too quiet to understand. I would turn, there would be no one there.

Then reflections began to move wrong. In mirrors, in windows, i would see myself standing still while my reflection leaned closer, grinning.

“Charlie…” it would mouth.

Sleep became impossible. Every time i closed my eyes, i saw that man at the crossroads, smiling wider and wider, teeth stretching too far.

Emily noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said one night, sitting on my bed. “You barely look at me anymore.”

“I’m just tired,” I muttered.

The whisper came again, louder this time.

She’s not real.

I flinched.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.”

But it didn’t stop. The voice grew clearer, more insistent.

She doesn’t love you. She can’t.

I stared at her. She smiled—perfect, rehearsed, almost mechanical.

Look closer.

I did.

For just a second, her face… slipped. Like a mask poorly fitted. Her smile stretched too wide. Her eyes didn’t blink.

I jerked back. “What the hell!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice suddenly flat.

“You...your face?”

“My face?” she tilted her head, unnatural, too slow.

The whisper roared now.

She’s wrong. Fix it.

I clutched my head. “Stop! stop!”

“Charlie,” Emily said, reaching for me.

Her hand felt cold. Dead.

Something snapped.

I shoved her away. “Don’t touch me!”

She hit the wall hard, confusion flashing across her face... real confusion, or something pretending to be it.

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

She’s lying.

“I’m not lying!” she cried, as if she heard it too.

My breathing grew ragged. The room seemed to pulse. Her face kept shifting—normal, wrong, normal, wrong.

“Make it stop,” I whispered.

The whisper answered.

You know how.

They had found me a few hours later.

I was sitting on the floor, covered in blood, rocking back and forth.

Emily lay across the room, unmoving.

“They told me she wasn’t real,” I kept muttering. “They told me she wasn’t real…”

The police thought it was a breakdown. Stress. Delusion.

They never noticed the small, blackened coin clutched in my hand.

Or the faint voice echoing in the room, just before the lights flickered out.

“Pleasure doing business, Charlie.”

Its weird to have a wake without any body's. I thought, leaning against the red brick of the school.

"Charlie... do you think they will ever find them" Cam asked, leaning his shoulder into mine.

It had been months and Ava and Isabella were still missing. So young, so popular, such a shame. At least thats what his mom thought. Droning on and on with her church friends.

Across the small field surrounded with candles and other students, a giant memorial set in the middle, i thought i saw Emily. Just a glimpse... just for a moment, but long enough to send a flutter through my heart.

I shook my head and turned to Cam "sorry buddy, i gotta go. Practice comes early".

I wasn’t even supposed to be on that road.

The highway had been closed miles back, but i ignored the barricade, choosing the narrow dirt detour that cut through the woods.

It was late and the silence pressed against my ears like something alive. My headlights carved a tunnel through the darkness, illuminating nothing but skeletal trees and drifting fog.

Then the engine died.

No sputter, no warning. Just silence.

"Shit" i swore under my breath and twisted the key. Nothing.

Checking my phone i found that i had no signal. Of course it didn’t. I stepped out, the cold biting instantly through my thin wind breaker. The air smelled… wrong. Like damp soil and something faintly metallic.

That’s when i noticed a crossroads.

"Uhm... whats happening?" i whispered into the air.

Four paths met in a perfect X just ahead, though i could’ve sworn the road had been straight seconds ago. A lone figure stood in the center, silhouetted against the fog.

I hesitated. “Hello?”

The figure didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, it turned.

“Evenin’, Charlie.”

My stomach dropped “How do you know my name?” i called.

The man smiled, stepping closer into the headlights. He looked ordinary enough... dark suit, polished shoes... but something about his face refused to settle in my vision, like it kept shifting when i wasn’t looking directly at it.

“Everyone who ends up here is expected,” the man said calmly. “Crossroads are… important places.”

I forced a laugh. “Look, man, my car broke down. If you’ve got a phone...”

“I have something better,” the man interrupted. “A solution.”

That when i felt it, a tug in my chest. Not fear exactly. Temptation.

“What do you want?” i asked, pulling my jacket tighter around my arms.

The man’s smile widened. “Not want. Offer. You get your heart’s deepest desire. I get… something of equal value.”

My mind raced, but one thought pushed everything else aside.

Her.

Emily Carter. Head cheerleader. Untouchable. She didn’t even know i existed.

“What if…” i swallowed, hard “What if I wanted someone to love me?”

“Not just someone,” the man said softly. “Her.”

My blood ran cold. “You can do that?”

“I can do anything,” the man replied. “But it comes at a price. Your soul. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Just… eventually.”

I sucked in a deep breath. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve laughed. Should’ve run.

Instead, i said, “And she’ll really love me?”

“Completely,” the man said. “Mind. Body. Soul.”

Something sharp pricked my palm. I hadn’t seen the blade, but suddenly the man was holding my hand, pressing it against a small, blackened coin.

“Deal,” the man whispered.

The next day, Emily Carter smiled at me.

By lunch, she was sitting beside me.

By the end of the week, she was mine.

Cam must have noticed too, across the lunch room he gave me a confused look. I just shrugged and wrapped my arms around her.

It felt like a dream. Her laughter, her touch, the way she looked at me like i was the only person in the world. I forgot about the crossroads. Forgot about the deal.

Until the whispers started.

At first, it was faint. A voice just behind me, too quiet to understand. I would turn, there would be no one there.

Then reflections began to move wrong. In mirrors, in windows, i would see myself standing still while my reflection leaned closer, grinning.

“Charlie…” it would mouth.

Sleep became impossible. Every time i closed my eyes, i saw that man at the crossroads, smiling wider and wider, teeth stretching too far.

Emily noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said one night, sitting on my bed. “You barely look at me anymore.”

“I’m just tired,” I muttered.

The whisper came again, louder this time.

She’s not real.

I flinched.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.”

But it didn’t stop. The voice grew clearer, more insistent.

She doesn’t love you. She can’t.

I stared at her. She smiled—perfect, rehearsed, almost mechanical.

Look closer.

I did.

For just a second, her face… slipped. Like a mask poorly fitted. Her smile stretched too wide. Her eyes didn’t blink.

I jerked back. “What the hell!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice suddenly flat.

“You...your face?”

“My face?” she tilted her head, unnatural, too slow.

The whisper roared now.

She’s wrong. Fix it.

I clutched my head. “Stop! stop!”

“Charlie,” Emily said, reaching for me.

Her hand felt cold. Dead.

Something snapped.

I shoved her away. “Don’t touch me!”

She hit the wall hard, confusion flashing across her face... real confusion, or something pretending to be it.

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

She’s lying.

“I’m not lying!” she cried, as if she heard it too.

My breathing grew ragged. The room seemed to pulse. Her face kept shifting—normal, wrong, normal, wrong.

“Make it stop,” I whispered.

The whisper answered.

You know how.

They had found me a few hours later.

I was sitting on the floor, covered in blood, rocking back and forth.

Emily lay across the room, unmoving.

“They told me she wasn’t real,” I kept muttering. “They told me she wasn’t real…”

The police thought it was a breakdown. Stress. Delusion.

They never noticed the small, blackened coin clutched in my hand.

Or the faint voice echoing in the room, just before the lights flickered out.

“Pleasure doing business, Charlie.”

Its weird to have a wake without any body's. I thought, leaning against the red brick of the school.

"Charlie... do you think they will ever find them" Cam asked, leaning his shoulder into mine.

It had been months and Ava and Isabella were still missing. So young, so popular, such a shame. At least thats what his mom thought. Droning on and on with her church friends.

Across the small field surrounded with candles and other students, a giant memorial set in the middle, i thought i saw Emily. Just a glimpse... just for a moment, but long enough to send a flutter through my heart.

I shook my head and turned to Cam "sorry buddy, i gotta go. Practice comes early".

I wasn’t even supposed to be on that road.

The highway had been closed miles back, but i ignored the barricade, choosing the narrow dirt detour that cut through the woods.

It was late and the silence pressed against my ears like something alive. My headlights carved a tunnel through the darkness, illuminating nothing but skeletal trees and drifting fog.

Then the engine died.

No sputter, no warning. Just silence.

"Shit" i swore under my breath and twisted the key. Nothing.

Checking my phone i found that i had no signal. Of course it didn’t. I stepped out, the cold biting instantly through my thin wind breaker. The air smelled… wrong. Like damp soil and something faintly metallic.

That’s when i noticed a crossroads.

"Uhm... whats happening?" i whispered into the air.

Four paths met in a perfect X just ahead, though i could’ve sworn the road had been straight seconds ago. A lone figure stood in the center, silhouetted against the fog.

I hesitated. “Hello?”

The figure didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, it turned.

“Evenin’, Charlie.”

My stomach dropped “How do you know my name?” i called.

The man smiled, stepping closer into the headlights. He looked ordinary enough... dark suit, polished shoes... but something about his face refused to settle in my vision, like it kept shifting when i wasn’t looking directly at it.

“Everyone who ends up here is expected,” the man said calmly. “Crossroads are… important places.”

I forced a laugh. “Look, man, my car broke down. If you’ve got a phone...”

“I have something better,” the man interrupted. “A solution.”

That when i felt it, a tug in my chest. Not fear exactly. Temptation.

“What do you want?” i asked, pulling my jacket tighter around my arms.

The man’s smile widened. “Not want. Offer. You get your heart’s deepest desire. I get… something of equal value.”

My mind raced, but one thought pushed everything else aside.

Her.

Emily Carter. Head cheerleader. Untouchable. She didn’t even know i existed.

“What if…” i swallowed, hard “What if I wanted someone to love me?”

“Not just someone,” the man said softly. “Her.”

My blood ran cold. “You can do that?”

“I can do anything,” the man replied. “But it comes at a price. Your soul. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Just… eventually.”

I sucked in a deep breath. I should’ve walked away. Should’ve laughed. Should’ve run.

Instead, i said, “And she’ll really love me?”

“Completely,” the man said. “Mind. Body. Soul.”

Something sharp pricked my palm. I hadn’t seen the blade, but suddenly the man was holding my hand, pressing it against a small, blackened coin.

“Deal,” the man whispered.

The next day, Emily Carter smiled at me.

By lunch, she was sitting beside me.

By the end of the week, she was mine.

Cam must have noticed too, across the lunch room he gave me a confused look. I just shrugged and wrapped my arms around her.

It felt like a dream. Her laughter, her touch, the way she looked at me like i was the only person in the world. I forgot about the crossroads. Forgot about the deal.

Until the whispers started.

At first, it was faint. A voice just behind me, too quiet to understand. I would turn, there would be no one there.

Then reflections began to move wrong. In mirrors, in windows, i would see myself standing still while my reflection leaned closer, grinning.

“Charlie…” it would mouth.

Sleep became impossible. Every time i closed my eyes, i saw that man at the crossroads, smiling wider and wider, teeth stretching too far.

Emily noticed.

“You’re acting weird,” she said one night, sitting on my bed. “You barely look at me anymore.”

“I’m just tired,” I muttered.

The whisper came again, louder this time.

She’s not real.

I flinched.

“What?” Emily asked.

“Nothing.”

But it didn’t stop. The voice grew clearer, more insistent.

She doesn’t love you. She can’t.

I stared at her. She smiled—perfect, rehearsed, almost mechanical.

Look closer.

I did.

For just a second, her face… slipped. Like a mask poorly fitted. Her smile stretched too wide. Her eyes didn’t blink.

I jerked back. “What the hell!”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, voice suddenly flat.

“You...your face?”

“My face?” she tilted her head, unnatural, too slow.

The whisper roared now.

She’s wrong. Fix it.

I clutched my head. “Stop! stop!”

“Charlie,” Emily said, reaching for me.

Her hand felt cold. Dead.

Something snapped.

I shoved her away. “Don’t touch me!”

She hit the wall hard, confusion flashing across her face... real confusion, or something pretending to be it.

“You’re scaring me,” she said.

She’s lying.

“I’m not lying!” she cried, as if she heard it too.

My breathing grew ragged. The room seemed to pulse. Her face kept shifting—normal, wrong, normal, wrong.

“Make it stop,” I whispered.

The whisper answered.

You know how.

They had found me a few hours later.

I was sitting on the floor, covered in blood, rocking back and forth.

Emily lay across the room, unmoving.

“They told me she wasn’t real,” I kept muttering. “They told me she wasn’t real…”

The police thought it was a breakdown. Stress. Delusion.

They never noticed the small, blackened coin clutched in my hand.

Or the faint voice echoing in the room, just before the lights flickered out.

“Pleasure doing business, Charlie.”

"Charlotte!" i cried, trying to dodge the other teenagers in the hallway.

Charlotte looked up from pulling something out of her locker, her short black bob bouncing off her cheeks.

"Mia!" she waved a hand excitedly at me and opened her arms for a hug.

"What adventure do you have for us tonight?" i asked embracing her, getting a nose full of her sweet perfume.

She smiled and put a finger up to her lips, shutting her locker and ushering me towards are next class.

Giggling along side her i didn't even realize my shoulder had connected with a tall brown hair boy, till the book in his hand went flying onto the ground in front of me.

"Oh, i'm so sorry!" i said reaching for it, just to have him growl and snatch it out from under my fingers.

I turned to watch him brood away, never making eye contact.

"Who was that?" i said straightening and turning to Charlotte.

"Mhh" she thought "I think his name is Noah, i have english lit with him. I overheard my dad talking last year on the phone a few times about it. I guess something horrible happened when he first moved here but i have no idea". She tossed her hair and smiled broadly.

"Oh weird" i said turning back to him one more time.

Charlottes dad was the Sheriff in town. Sheriff Doherty, and a weird guy in my opinion, but his daughter was my best friend so... who cares. He disappeared behind two guys laughing and pushing each other.

We pushed through the door to our classroom and found 2 seats at the back.

The afternoon sun had gone behind the clouds, not that the sun lasted for more than an hour at a time here at Cave Creek High, and it started to look like night would come earlier than expected tonight.

"Okay" Charlotte said, when Ms. Springer had turned her back to face the white board "So the book i was telling you about".

I pushed a bundle of orange hair out of my eyes and looked up at her.

"I found it in my dads study. It has all these creepy pictures he drew and stuff that has happened at Ghost rock" she said.

"We know what happened at Ghost rock, Char" i shrugged my shoulders.

"I know" she said "the kids that went missing in the 90s, thats not what i'm talking about".

I pushed my eyebrows together and motioned for her to continue.

"The have been more apparently, like since then over the years" she whispered.

I sighed "Well that why no one goes there at night... hang on is this what were so excited about? The run aways?".

"No, Mia, listen. apparently its some kind of creature!"

I rolled my eyes.

"My dad thinks its something called a Black Annis and it kidnaps children, its freaky looking too. Long black hair, blue face... impossibly long claws".

"Charlotte..." i started "Did you say anus?".

Tilting her head to the side, she hissed "We both know i didn't".

Ms. Springer cleared her throat and we both turned to meet her eyes.

"Really?!" She cried "Do i have to separate you two?".

I shuffled through the impossibly loud buss, pushing past kids hanging out into the isle and dodging the balled up paper flying through the air.

"Theres two at the back" Charlotte said grabbing into the loop on my back pack and pulling my further down the isle.

When we were settled she turned to me "Okay so can you steal your moms car to go to Ghost rock?".

"I can but... Listen Charlotte i don't want to be mean... i know you believe your dad but he's kind of a... quack?" i said putting my knees up onto the slick grey leather back seat in front of me.

Charlottes mouth opened to say something but was quickly cut off.

"Well who could have guessed the two of you would tune out to be criminals" a sickly sweet voice came spilling over us.

Isabella Fox and Ava Waverly were staring down at us when we turned up to look.

I sunk down into the seat "Shit".

"A car jacking too" Ava giggled.

"And the sheriffs daughter. Maybe we will join you tonight and see if we can catch you in the act. Ghost rock did you say?" Isabella said poking a finger at the front of Charlottes shirt "Im sure your loony father would have an stroke if he found out.

She swatted it away and spat "Fuck off, Bella".

They used to be best friends before i moved to Cave Creek in grade 6. I always thought Isabella was a little hurt when Charlotte dropped her. She clung onto Ava immediately and made her a mean little clone.

I blocked out most of the ride home, watching Isabella and Ava take turns poking fun at us. More watching her than actually listening. Her long long hair spilled over the seat back, a stark contrast to my stringy shoulder blade length orange waves. How can someone so perfect on the outside be so ugly on the inside.

It had been dark for only about and hour as i listened at the inside of my bedroom door. My parents had long gone to bed and i had no siblings to worry about. My phone lit up in my pocket.

Char: 'ETA?'.

Mia: 'I think their ZZzzzZZZzzz".

Char: 'LETS DO THIS!".

I tiptoed down the stairs grabbing my jacket off the bottom of the railing and headed for the door. My parents hadn't set the alarm in years so that concern could be put to bed.
Snagging the keys from the front hooks and pulling the door open i took off into the cold night.

"Oh gosh its so creepy hear at night" i whispered putting the car into park and turning to my friend.

"Don't be a baby, this will he fun!" she cooed and exited the small sedan.

We walked through the trees for about minutes till we reached the the cave. A quick climb of Ghost Rock took us right to the entrance. Charlotte was giddy like a child, the flashlight in her hand vibrating with excitement.

A crack somewhere behind us sent us flying into each others arms.

"What was that?!" i moaned staring into the dark woods behind us.

"The Black Annis probably" she said turning slowly to look into my eyes "she probably came for this..." she reached her hands slowing into her bag and pulled out a dusty bottle. Holding it up to the side of her face her eyes were watery and big. "Its....." she said slowly "Vodka".

I pushed her off my violently "Stop it" i said turning back towards the pitch blackness.

When my eyes refocused i swear i saw something run from one side to the other. I grabbed Charlottes wrist and knocked the bottle out of her hand.

"Hey!" she cried and bent down to pick it up.

"Shut up, theres something in here" i took a step back. All at once a shriek pierced then echoed through the cave sending me on my heels and Charlotte into her ass. A figured rushed me and wrapped its arms around me pulling me back into the cave.

'What is happening?!" Charlotte screamed getting onto her feet and focusing her flashlight on me.

I scrambled to get out of its grip and far enough away that i could see what had me caught. Avas bright green eyes shone in the light just as a voice came from further inside the cave.

"Gotcha!" she said satisfied as ever.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and turned on the flash to see a fully illuminated Isabella standing with her arms crossed.

"Are you insane?" i said standing and brushing the dirt of my knees.

Still holding the flash on her she began to giggle and doubled over, but when she did a large black shadow was standing directly behind her.

I reached forward and grabbed charlottes hand pulling her in closer to me.

"Isabella?" i said slowly, watching her straighten happily.

"What?" she said wiping a tear from her eye and smiling broadly.

I backed up slowly pulling Charlotte with me, who had undoubtedly saw the same thing as her breath had deepened and quieted beside me.

"Run...".

All at once 10 long black shiny claws reached around Isabellas head and dug into her beautiful face. She didn't even have time to scream, it had pulled her back into the darkness at an impossible and she was gone.

Ava began screaming and Charlotte and i took off. We threw ourselves out of the cave and went tumbling down the rock. Ava was still screaming when we manged to scramble to our feet and sprint to the car.

"We cant leave Ava in there!" she cried breathlessly suddenly stopping and pulling her hand out of my grasp.

"No No Charlotte, now is not the time to be a hero. We go home and call your father. We get help. Thats the smart thing to do".

I went to grab her arm and she again yanked it away from me.

"Do you hear that?" she said putting a finger up to her lips.

I looked at her, then past her.

"I don't hear anything" i said throwing my hands up then motioning back towards the parking lot.

"Exactly" she said.

I furrowed my brows and looked at the ground trying to focus on just my sense of hearing. The forrest had gone silent... dead silent. You could no longer hear Avas screams, the wind through the trees not even a leaf rustle beneath our feet.

How would some thing like that even be possible. We both began running again at the same time.

The back of the car came into view and i clicked the auto start and unlocked buttons at the same time. When the headlights blinked on they illuminated the rest of the lot and standing only 3 feet in front of the sedan was a tall black figure. Its skin was so pale it looked blue. Small circular eyes with tiny black pupils sat at the top its long face. It was so tall it crouched over and looked like the grim reaper holding something in its shiny black claws.

Charlotte and i were frozen in place as it raised the object in its grasp higher. My heart was beating so fast but i couldn't move i was paralyzed with fear. In its hand was Avas small body... or half of it. Cut clean at the waist, just her upper half. He mouth hung open in agony, the things hand wrapped around her neck.

"No fuck this" i cried pushing Charlotte towards the road.

We didn't look back. The sound of our feet pounding against the asphalt and her back pack bouncing violently off of her rang out into the night. We ran for what felt like an hour before we crashed through her front door.

"Dad!" she screamed running up the stairs .

The next morning was hard. We had told anyone who would listen what happened but no one believed us. When we went back there was no sign of Isabella or Ava anywhere. My parents car was untouched and alone in the middle of the empty parking lot. They sent officers down to Ghost Rock but nothing was recovered.

Charlotte shook beside me as our parents stood by the car in a heated argument, my fathers face an inch away from Sheriff Dohertys. Her poor dad was red faced but stoic. He knew we weren't lying... he knew everything. What was he going to do though? Risk the whole town thinking he was crazy too? No.

"Char" i said, still staring ahead "Im sorry i called your dad a quack".

"Charlotte!" i cried, trying to dodge the other teenagers in the hallway.

Charlotte looked up from pulling something out of her locker, her short black bob bouncing off her cheeks.

"Mia!" she waved a hand excitedly at me and opened her arms for a hug.

"What adventure do you have for us tonight?" i asked embracing her, getting a nose full of her sweet perfume.

She smiled and put a finger up to her lips, shutting her locker and ushering me towards our next class.

Giggling along side her i didn't even realize my shoulder had connected with a tall brown hair boy, till the book in his hand went flying onto the ground in front of me.

"Oh, i'm so sorry!" i said reaching for it, just to have him growl and snatch it out from under my fingers.

I turned to watch him brood away, never making eye contact.

"Who was that?" i said straightening and turning to Charlotte.

"Mhh" she thought "I think his name is Noah, i have english lit with him. I overheard my dad talking last year on the phone a few times about it. I guess something horrible happened when he first moved here but i have no idea". She tossed her hair and smiled broadly.

"Oh weird" i said turning back to him one more time.

Charlottes dad was the Sheriff in town. Sheriff Doherty, and a weird guy in my opinion, but his daughter was my best friend so... who cares. He disappeared behind two guys laughing and pushing each other.

We pushed through the door to our classroom and found 2 seats at the back.

The afternoon sun had gone behind the clouds, not that the sun lasted for more than an hour at a time here at Cave Creek High, and it started to look like night would come earlier than expected tonight.

"Okay" Charlotte said, when Ms. Springer had turned her back to face the white board "So the book i was telling you about".

I pushed a bundle of orange hair out of my eyes and looked up at her.

"I found it in my dads study. It has all these creepy pictures he drew and stuff that has happened at Ghost rock" she said.

"We know what happened at Ghost rock, Char" i shrugged my shoulders.

"I know" she said "the kids that went missing in the 90s, thats not what i'm talking about".

I pushed my eyebrows together and motioned for her to continue.

"The have been more apparently, like since then over the years" she whispered.

I sighed "Well that why no one goes there at night... hang on is this what were so excited about? The run aways?".

"No, Mia, listen. apparently its some kind of creature!"

I rolled my eyes.

"My dad thinks its something called a Black Annis and it kidnaps children, its freaky looking too. Long black hair, blue face... impossibly long claws".

"Charlotte..." i started "Did you say anus?".

Tilting her head to the side, she hissed "We both know i didn't".

Ms. Springer cleared her throat and we both turned to meet her eyes.

"Really?!" She cried "Do i have to separate you two?".

I shuffled through the impossibly loud buss, pushing past kids hanging out into the isle and dodging the balled up paper flying through the air.

"Theres two at the back" Charlotte said grabbing into the loop on my back pack and pulling my further down the isle.

When we were settled she turned to me "Okay so can you steal your moms car to go to Ghost rock?".

"I can but... Listen Charlotte i don't want to be mean... i know you believe your dad but he's kind of a... quack?" i said putting my knees up onto the slick grey leather back seat in front of me.

Charlottes mouth opened to say something but was quickly cut off.

"Well who could have guessed the two of you would tune out to be criminals" a sickly sweet voice came spilling over us.

Isabella Fox and Ava Waverly were staring down at us when we turned up to look.

I sunk down into the seat "Shit".

"A car jacking too" Ava giggled.

"And the sheriffs daughter. Maybe we will join you tonight and see if we can catch you in the act. Ghost rock did you say?" Isabella said poking a finger at the front of Charlottes shirt "Im sure your loony father would have an stroke if he found out.

She swatted it away and spat "Fuck off, Bella".

They used to be best friends before i moved to Cave Creek in grade 6. I always thought Isabella was a little hurt when Charlotte dropped her. She clung onto Ava immediately and made her a mean little clone.

I blocked out most of the ride home, watching Isabella and Ava take turns poking fun at us. More watching her than actually listening. Her long long hair spilled over the seat back, a stark contrast to my stringy shoulder blade length orange waves. How can someone so perfect on the outside be so ugly on the inside.

It had been dark for only about and hour as i listened at the inside of my bedroom door. My parents had long gone to bed and i had no siblings to worry about. My phone lit up in my pocket.

Char: 'ETA?'.

Mia: 'I think their ZZzzzZZZzzz".

Char: 'LETS DO THIS!".

I tiptoed down the stairs grabbing my jacket off the bottom of the railing and headed for the door. My parents hadn't set the alarm in years so that concern could be put to bed.
Snagging the keys from the front hooks and pulling the door open i took off into the cold night.

"Oh gosh its so creepy hear at night" i whispered putting the car into park and turning to my friend.

"Don't be a baby, this will he fun!" she cooed and exited the small sedan.

We walked through the trees for about minutes till we reached the the cave. A quick climb of Ghost Rock took us right to the entrance. Charlotte was giddy like a child, the flashlight in her hand vibrating with excitement.

A crack somewhere behind us sent us flying into each others arms.

"What was that?!" i moaned staring into the dark woods behind us.

"The Black Annis probably" she said turning slowly to look into my eyes "she probably came for this..." she reached her hands slowing into her bag and pulled out a dusty bottle. Holding it up to the side of her face her eyes were watery and big. "Its....." she said slowly "Vodka".

I pushed her off my violently "Stop it" i said turning back towards the pitch blackness.

When my eyes refocused i swear i saw something run from one side to the other. I grabbed Charlottes wrist and knocked the bottle out of her hand.

"Hey!" she cried and bent down to pick it up.

"Shut up, theres something in here" i took a step back. All at once a shriek pierced then echoed through the cave sending me on my heels and Charlotte into her ass. A figured rushed me and wrapped its arms around me pulling me back into the cave.

'What is happening?!" Charlotte screamed getting onto her feet and focusing her flashlight on me.

I scrambled to get out of its grip and far enough away that i could see what had me caught. Avas bright green eyes shone in the light just as a voice came from further inside the cave.

"Gotcha!" she said satisfied as ever.

I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and turned on the flash to see a fully illuminated Isabella standing with her arms crossed.

"Are you insane?" i said standing and brushing the dirt of my knees.

Still holding the flash on her she began to giggle and doubled over, but when she did a large black shadow was standing directly behind her.

I reached forward and grabbed charlottes hand pulling her in closer to me.

"Isabella?" i said slowly, watching her straighten happily.

"What?" she said wiping a tear from her eye and smiling broadly.

I backed up slowly pulling Charlotte with me, who had undoubtedly saw the same thing as her breath had deepened and quieted beside me.

"Run...".

All at once 10 long black shiny claws reached around Isabellas head and dug into her beautiful face. She didn't even have time to scream, it had pulled her back into the darkness at an impossible and she was gone.

Ava began screaming and Charlotte and i took off. We threw ourselves out of the cave and went tumbling down the rock. Ava was still screaming when we manged to scramble to our feet and sprint to the car.

"We cant leave Ava in there!" she cried breathlessly suddenly stopping and pulling her hand out of my grasp.

"No No Charlotte, now is not the time to be a hero. We go home and call your father. We get help. Thats the smart thing to do".

I went to grab her arm and she again yanked it away from me.

"Do you hear that?" she said putting a finger up to her lips.

I looked at her, then past her.

"I don't hear anything" i said throwing my hands up then motioning back towards the parking lot.

"Exactly" she said.

I furrowed my brows and looked at the ground trying to focus on just my sense of hearing. The forrest had gone silent... dead silent. You could no longer hear Avas screams, the wind through the trees not even a leaf rustle beneath our feet.

How would some thing like that even be possible. We both began running again at the same time.

The back of the car came into view and i clicked the auto start and unlocked buttons at the same time. When the headlights blinked on they illuminated the rest of the lot and standing only 3 feet in front of the sedan was a tall black figure. Its skin was so pale it looked blue. Small circular eyes with tiny black pupils sat at the top its long face. It was so tall it crouched over and looked like the grim reaper holding something in its shiny black claws.

Charlotte and i were frozen in place as it raised the object in its grasp higher. My heart was beating so fast but i couldn't move i was paralyzed with fear. In its hand was Avas small body... or half of it. Cut clean at the waist, just her upper half. He mouth hung open in agony, the things hand wrapped around her neck.

"No fuck this" i cried pushing Charlotte towards the road.

We didn't look back. The sound of our feet pounding against the asphalt and her back pack bouncing violently off of her rang out into the night. We ran for what felt like an hour before we crashed through her front door.

"Dad!" she screamed running up the stairs .

The next morning was hard. We had told anyone who would listen what happened but no one believed us. When we went back there was no sign of Isabella or Ava anywhere. My parents car was untouched and alone in the middle of the empty parking lot. They sent officers down to Ghost Rock but nothing was recovered.

Charlotte shook beside me as our parents stood by the car in a heated argument, my fathers face an inch away from Sheriff Dohertys. Her poor dad was red faced but stoic. He knew we weren't lying... he knew everything. What was he going to do though? Risk the whole town thinking he was crazy too? No.

"Char" i said, still staring ahead "Im sorry i called your dad a quack".