(A/N):
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Justine waited until Alex was a full block ahead before easing her car forward again.
She didn't tail him closely.
She kept her distance, letting other cars pass between them, stopping when he stopped, moving only when he did.
Every instinct she had told her this was dangerous—but turning back felt worse.
Alex never looked behind him.
He walked straight home.
The house sat at the end of a quiet street, older than the others around it.
The paint had peeled near the windows, and the front yard looked untouched, as if no one had stepped on it in weeks.
Justine parked two houses away.
"...."
She stayed in the car for a moment, heart pounding, watching as Alex unlocked the door and slipped inside.
-Click
The door closed. No lights came on.
That was when she got out.
She moved slowly, keeping to the side of the street, shoes barely making a sound on the pavement.
A short iron gate guarded the front yard.
It was old, rust creeping along the hinges.
She opened it carefully. It gave a soft creak.
-Creak
Justine froze. Nothing happened. She stepped inside.
"...."
As she approached the house, something made her stop cold.
Every window was covered—layered with newspaper from the inside.
Not curtains. Not blinds. Newspaper, taped haphazardly, yellowed and brittle.
'Why would anyone do that?'
Her breath came shallow as she moved along the side of the house for some reason she felt like something really wrong with this house.
Near the living room window, she noticed a small gap where the paper hadn't been sealed properly.
Light leaked through—not bright, just enough.
She leaned closer to take a look. And nearly screamed.
"...."
Inside, sitting perfectly still on the couch, were Alex's parents.
His father. His mother. They sat side by side, backs straight, hands resting on their knees.
No television. No conversation. No movement.
The room behind them was pitch black.
Justine clamped a hand over her mouth, stumbling back a step before she forced herself to breathe.
'No. No. That's creepy. It must be my imagination.'
Her heart hammered as she leaned in again, slower this time, desperate to convince herself she'd imagined it.
She looked through the gap once more.
It was them. Unmistakably. But something was wrong.
Their eyes were open—but unfocused.
Too still. Too empty. They didn't blink. They didn't shift.
They didn't even seem to be breathing.
They looked less like people… and more like mannequins arranged to resemble a family.
A cold wave washed over her.
Justine backed away from the window, every nerve screaming at her to leave.
She retraced her steps, closed the iron gate as quietly as she could, and hurried back to her car.
Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone.
She didn't call the police.
She called the principal.
-Ring -Ring
-Rin-
Marcus Miller answered on the third ring.
"Marcus, I just left Alex Lilly's house. Something is wrong. His parents—"
She said, voice tight,
"Justine,"
He cut in sharply after hearing she has went to Alex house after all his warning to stay out of trouble from cops putting the blame on her head.
"They were sitting in the dark,"
She pressed on, words tumbling out.
"All the windows are covered. They weren't moving. I think—"
"That's enough,"
Marcus snapped seeing she was still continuing her explanation.
"I warned you to stay away from that family."
"This isn't imagination, I saw them. I know something is—"
She said clearly knew he was not believing her.
"You followed a student to his home after I explicitly told you to take time off,"
Marcus said coldly reminding her of her situation she was currently in.
"Do you have any idea how this looks?"
Silence stretched between them.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then he added, quieter but far more dangerous,
"If the police hear about this, they won't ask questions. They'll arrest you."
Justine's throat tightened as she spoke.
"You're telling me to ignore this?"
"I'm telling you to leave,"
Marcus said messaging his temples.
"Now. Get away from that house. Forget what ever plan which had brewed in your mind."
The call ended.
Justine sat in her car, staring at Alex's house through the windshield.
"...."
No lights. No movement.
Just newspaper-covered windows staring back at her like sealed eyes.
Letting out a long, defeated sigh, Justine turned the car toward the supermarket.
-Sigh
"...."
Her fridge at home was almost empty. Whatever was happening in Maybrook—whatever nightmare was unfolding around her—life, cruelly, still demanded groceries.
Inside the store, the fluorescent lights felt too bright, too harsh against her already frayed nerves.
She moved down the aisles mechanically, tossing vegetables, bread, and canned food into her basket.
Her mind replayed the image of Alex's parents sitting in the dark, unmoving, over and over again.
"...."
She didn't hear the footsteps behind her.
The first blow came out of nowhere.
-BAM!!!
Something slammed into the side of her head, sending her stumbling into a shelf.
Pain exploded behind her eye as a hand grabbed her hair and yanked her back.
"YOU THINK YOU'RE SMART?"
A woman screamed. Before Justine could react, another punch landed—hard—across her cheek.
"You think you can SLEEP with my husband and walk around like nothing happened?"
Justine cried out, trying to shield her face as fists rained down on her shoulders and ribs.
-Ahhh!!!
"STAY AWAY FROM PAUL,"
The woman shrieked, shaking her violently.
"STAY OUT OF MY MARRIAGE!"
Customers screamed. A basket clattered to the floor.
"HEY! STOP!"
The shopkeeper shouted as he rushed forward, grabbing the woman and pulling her back.
"Both of you—OUT! NOW!"
The woman tore free, glaring at Justine with pure venom.
As they were pushed toward the exit, she turned once more, raising her middle finger. Then she spat.
"Touch my husband again, and I'll ruin your life. You hear me? STEAL HIM FROM ME AND YOU'RE DEAD."
The doors slammed shut behind them.
-Thud.
Justine stood on the sidewalk, shaking, her vision blurred.
"...."
Her left eye throbbed violently, swelling already setting in. Blood trickled from the corner of her lip.
She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She just went home.
The moment she closed her front door, her legs gave out.
She dropped her keys, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the bed without even changing her clothes.
Exhaustion swallowed her whole.
Sleep came instantly.
In her Dream...
Everything was normal. Too normal.
She walked down the familiar hallway of Maybrook Elementary, the sound of her heels echoing softly. The bell rang.
Children laughed somewhere in the distance.
She reached her classroom.
Smiling, she pushed the door open.
All seventeen missing students were there.
They sat at their desks, heads down, pencils still in their hands—as if they'd never left.
Relief flooded her chest.
"You're back,"
She whispered. One by one, they lifted their heads.
Their skin was pale—unnaturally pale. Their eyes were wrong. Too wide. Too empty.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then Alex raised his head last.
His eyes were completely white. No pupils. No warmth.
A dark, viscous smile stretched across his lips as black smoke seeped from the corners of his mouth, curling into the air like something alive.
"You shouldn't have looked,"
He whispered, his voice layered with something else—something older.
The children's mouths opened in unison.
And screamed.
-AHHHH!!!
-AHHHH!!! -AHHHH!!!...
Justine jolted awake, gasping for air.
-Huff -Huff
"...."
Her heart hammered against her ribs as sweat soaked through her clothes.
She sucked in breath after breath, clutching her chest, eyes darting around her dark bedroom.
The clock read 3:17 A.M.
Her injured eye throbbed painfully.
Slowly, shakily, she sat up.
The dream still clung to her like a stain.
Meanwhile, after landing at the airport, Jojo—along with Inadu, Gayathri, Caroline, Debbie, and Cecellia—rented a car and began the drive toward Maybrook.
Rain tapped softly against the windshield as the car rolled down the highway.
The FM radio crackled to life, and Caroline absentmindedly left it on for background noise—until a familiar headline cut through the static.
"—breaking news from Maybrook, Pennsylvania. Seventeen elementary school students have gone missing under mysterious circumstances. All the children belong to the same class at Maybrook Elementary School, with the exception of one student who remains unharmed—"
Jojo reached out and turned the volume up.
The radio host continued, voice tense.
"Authorities confirm that CCTV footage shows the children leaving their homes simultaneously at midnight, arms raised in an unnatural posture. Police investigations are ongoing. Public attention has now shifted toward the children's homeroom teacher, though officials insist there is currently no concrete evidence linking her to the disappearances."
Another voice joined in—this time from a live debate panel.
"Seventeen children don't just vanish overnight. Someone had to orchestrate this."
"Or something,"
Another speaker countered nervously.
"This doesn't follow any known criminal pattern."
Inside the car, silence settled like a heavy fog.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Debbie folded her arms, unease clear on her face.
"They're blaming the teacher already… Does she have any criminal records on her."
Gayathri's jaw tightened.
"That's how it always starts. Fear needs a face. They might be targeting her."
Cecellia looked out the window, clutching her coat, whispering almost to herself,
"Those poor children…"
Jojo, however, was no longer listening to the debate. His eyes had narrowed, mind racing.
-Frown
'This isn't random.'
Every detail aligned too perfectly—the synchronized movement, the raised arms, the missing children from a single class, one child left behind.
'Weapon.'
The word echoed in his thoughts.
'The plot… the town… the witch.'
His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.
'Gladys.'
The image of the old woman surfaced in his mind—smiling, patient, hidden behind a harmless façade.
He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the darkening road ahead.
Inadu said quietly, glancing at him.
"Do you recognize this."
Jojo nodded once. as he replied, voice calm but edged with certainty.
-Nod
"Yeah,"
They entered Maybrook proper, the road narrowing as streetlights grew farther apart.
The town felt… muted. Too quiet for early evening. Houses sat with porches dark, curtains drawn, as if the town itself was holding its breath.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Jojo slowed the car, eyes scanning the streets.
Few people. No children. No laughter.
Only the low hum of tires against asphalt.
Suddenly—
WEE–OOO. WEE–OOO.
Red and blue lights flared behind them.
Caroline sighed softly.
-Sigh
"Here we go."
Jojo eased the car to the side as a police cruiser swung in front of them, blocking the road.
A uniformed officer stepped out, hand resting casually—but deliberately—near his holster.
Jojo rolled down the window.
The officer leaned in, his gaze sweeping the car—Inadu in the passenger seat, Caroline, Gayathri and Debbie in the back, Cecellia sitting quietly, hands folded over her coat.
His eyes lingered a second too long.
"You folks aren't local,"
The officer said flatly, turning his attention back to Jojo.
"Am I right?"
Jojo nodded once, calm.
-Nod
"Yes, sir. We're tourists. Just passing through. Sightseeing."
The officer's jaw tightened slightly at the word sightseeing.
"In Maybrook?"
He asked, skepticism heavy in his tone.
Jojo simply shrugged while he replied with a smile.
"Quiet towns have their charm."
The cop studied him for another moment, then extended his hand.
"Passport."
Jojo handed it over without hesitation.
The officer stepped back, flipping through the pages under the cruiser's lights.
The silence stretched—thick, uncomfortable.
"...."
Inadu could feel the man's suspicion brushing against her senses like a dull blade.
Finally, the officer returned the passport and handed it back. He said, voice frim.
"You can stay, But don't cause any trouble. This town's already dealing with enough."
Jojo met his eyes.
"Understood."
The officer hesitated, as if he wanted to say more—then thought better of it.
He returned to his cruiser, lights shutting off as the car pulled away.
Jojo waited until the road was clear before driving again.
Cecellia exhaled quietly.
"He looked… agitated."
"Not scared,"
Gayathri corrected softly.
"In pressure..."
Jojo nodded correcting them.
-Nod
"This town's under pressure. And when pressure builds, authority tightens its grip."
They drove on, eventually pulling up in front of a modest roadside lodge—the kind with flickering neon signage and a parking lot half-filled with dust-coated cars.
No big restaurants. No crowds. Just silence and stale air.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Jojo cut the engine and looked around once more.
"Alright, We lay low now. Observe. Evening, we start digging."
By evening...
The school grounds were nearly empty.
Justine sat in her car across the street, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, watching the front gate.
Her stomach twisted with the same unease that had followed her for days.
She told herself she was being paranoid—but the image of Alex's parents sitting motionless in that dark house refused to leave her mind.
The bell rang.
Students poured out in small groups, laughing, shoving, complaining about homework.
Then she saw him. Alex. Backpack slung over one shoulder, head down, walking alone.
Justine straightened. This time, she didn't wait.
She started the car, rolled forward, and gently—but deliberately—pulled across the narrow road, blocking his path. The tires crunched softly as she stopped.
Alex froze by the sudden appearance of the car.
"...."
Justine stepped out quickly, forcing her face into something calm, familiar—teacher-normal.
"Alex, Hey. I just wanted to talk for a minute."
She said, keeping her voice light.
He didn't answer. His fingers tightened around his backpack strap.
"...."
She took a step closer, careful not to crowd him.
"I won't keep you long. I just—"
She hesitated, choosing her words,
"—wanted to ask if everything's okay at home."
Alex's jaw clenched hearing her mention his house.
"...."
Justine pressed on, gently try to get some information.
"I noticed your parents haven't been picking you up lately. Most kids get rides, or at least—someone checks in. I was just worried."
That did it. Alex's head snapped up, eyes flashing with agitation—too sharp for a boy his age.
"...."
"Stop,"
He said suddenly interrupting her.
Justine blinked caught off gaurd by the sudden burst of Alex.
"Alex—"
"I said stop,"
He snapped, voice rising. His hands trembled, not with fear, but anger.
"Don't ask about my house. Don't come near it. Don't follow me."
Her breath caught.
"...."
"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm just—"
"You don't understand,"
He cut in, backing away. His voice dropped, tight and urgent.
"You shouldn't be involved. If you keep doing this, bad things will happen."
The words sent a chill straight down her spine.
"Alex, listen to me—"
But he was already running.
He turned and sprinted down the sidewalk, cutting through a narrow gap between houses, disappearing toward his street. Justine stood there helplessly, watching his small figure vanish.
For a long moment, she didn't move.
"...."
Her heart was pounding.
That wasn't a scared child. That was a warning.
Slowly, she got back into her car, hands shaking as she started the engine.
As she drove away, her eyes flicked toward the direction Alex had run—toward that house with the papered windows and the silent parents.
Something was very wrong.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N):
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