People say news spreads fast in small towns. That rumor is a lie. At least, that morning it was.
By the afternoon after the body was found, Blue Ridge looked the same as always. The grocery store doors kept squealing open and shut. Kids dragged their backpacks home from school, complaining loudly like murder didn't exist. A few people pulled weeds in their gardens. If you looked from a distance, it seemed like the town had already erased the body from history.
But the silence felt fake. Too calm. Like everyone was afraid talking about it would make a second body appear.
The police called it "an isolated incident" on the radio. They said the public should stay calm, and that everything was under control. That sounded comforting, right?
Except I didn't believe a word of it.
I kept checking my phone every ten minutes for updates. Refresh. Refresh. Nothing. It was like the town was trying to bury the story before it even stepped into daylight.
But you can't hide a thing like that forever.
Everyone I passed on the street whispered with wide eyes and tight voices:
"Do you think it was someone from out of town?"
"Probably an outsider. Nobody here would do such a thing."
"It must've been a robbery gone wrong."
I wanted to tell them what I saw — or thought I saw — but every time the words reached my throat, they stuck there. Something strange had caught my eye earlier that morning, but now I wasn't sure if I imagined it.
When I first walked past that alley… before the police came…
I swear someone else was there. A shadow. A figure. Too still to be just a person passing by.
I tried to convince myself it wasn't important, but the thought kept slithering back into my mind no matter how hard I pushed it away.
I wasn't going to mention that detail to anyone though. Not yet. I didn't want to become a "witness" or, worse, a suspect. Attention makes me uncomfortable. I prefer to blend into the background. The guy no one remembers.
So I went to work. Or tried to, anyway.
I'm a cashier at Ridgeway Supermarket — the smaller grocery store in town, not the fancy one with air-conditioning that doesn't sound like a dying cow. My shift started at noon. Usually it's boring and peaceful. I scan items, smile politely, and avoid awkward conversations about hobbies I definitely don't have.
But today, every beep of the scanner made me jump a little. Every customer looked like they were hiding something — or searching for someone to blame.
When Mrs. Carter placed canned soup on the belt, she leaned in and whispered, "Matthew, honey… did you hear about the poor woman?"
I nodded, trying to look surprised instead of terrified.
She shook her head, lips tight. "Terrible thing. But it happens, you know? There's always a first time."
That sentence felt wrong. Murder shouldn't feel normal — not here.
A pair of teenagers giggled as they passed through self-checkout, talking too loudly about "the dead lady" like it was gossip, not tragedy. One kid said he wanted to go look at the alley to see if there was "any blood left."
I closed my eyes for a second. People are strange. Death turns into entertainment way too fast.
Around three o'clock, Detective Rowan walked in. The whole store changed its behavior. Conversations died. People stood straighter. Even the cashier scanner beeped quieter, as if timid.
Rowan grabbed a black coffee and some breath mints. I scanned them with shaky hands.
"Anything new?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He studied me like he was checking my pupils for guilt. My skin buzzed with nerves.
"It's an active investigation," he said. "No details can be shared."
I nodded too fast. "Right, of course."
He took his items and headed toward the door but paused.
"If you remember seeing anything unusual… no matter how small… my office is always open."
His eyes held mine just a little longer than they should have. My stomach twisted. Did he somehow know I was hiding something? That I might've seen a figure lurking?
Or was he just looking like that at everyone?
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, my voice squeaky. He nodded once and left.
As soon as he walked out, I realized I had been holding my breath. I let it out slowly and wiped my hands on my pants — they were sweating.
A few hours later, the shift ended. I hurried home, avoiding the route that passed the alley. My brain replayed the morning again and again. What did I actually see? A dark shape? A person? Or just shadows making shapes they weren't supposed to?
When I got home, I locked the door behind me. Habit now, I guess.
I kicked my shoes off and turned on the TV, flipping through channels, hoping to see something. Anything. A news anchor talking about a suspect. A police warning. A breakthrough.
But there was nothing. Just cooking shows and reruns of sitcoms pretending life was full of laughter.
The silence wrapped around me too tightly.
I opened my phone again — same headlines, same lack of answers. People had started posting theories online though:
Maybe it was a jealous partner.
Could be a drifter living under the bridge.
I bet it's drugs. It's always drugs.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Nobody knew a thing.
Later that evening, I decided to walk to the window and peek out at the street below my apartment. Everything looked normal. Porch lights flickering on. The world too calm for what we found today.
My thoughts refused to quit. The scene in the alley. The woman's pale hand slipping from the sheet. The detective's strained expression. The figure I noticed — motionless, watching.
What if the killer wasn't a stranger?
What if they lived here?
What if they stood in that crowd, pretending to be shocked?
The idea made my heart beat harder.
I made dinner — pasta I overcooked again — and pushed most of it around the plate before giving up. My appetite was gone. My brain felt full enough.
I sat back on the couch and stared at the ceiling fan spinning overhead. I tried to distract myself by scrolling through messages from friends, but nobody texted me first. I guess I'm that friend people remember only when they need help moving furniture.
Part of me wanted to message someone about what I saw — the shadow in the alley. But how do you even bring that up?
"Hey, I might've seen a murderer casually standing around! Anyway, how's your day?"
Yeah, no.
Besides, I wasn't even certain anymore. Sometimes fear fills in the blanks your eyes missed. Maybe it was nothing. A trash can lid. A weirdly shaped reflection. A trick of the morning light.
That's what I told myself, anyway.
Hours passed. Still no big news update. No alarm bells. No city-wide panic. The police were doing a great job convincing everyone nothing dangerous lurked nearby.
Except the dark corners of my apartment felt a little darker.
The silence felt heavier.
Every sound made me jump.
Around eleven, I turned off all the lights and crawled into bed. The room was cold. I tugged the blanket up to my chin and stared at the hallway shadows.
What if the killer was out there right now?
Walking. Watching.
Picking someone new.
I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut.
Sleep didn't come easily. When it finally did, it wasn't kind.
I dreamt about the alley. The woman's hand. The police tape.
And a dark figure behind me, breathing too close.
I woke up gasping, heart racing like I'd just sprinted miles. I sat up fast, trying to remember where I was. Safe. In my bed. Alone.
But that feeling from the dream lingered — the sensation that eyes had been inches from the back of my neck.
I shivered and checked the time. 2:44 AM.
I turned on my bedside lamp, needing the light to chase away the shadows. I took deep breaths. Calmed my thoughts one by one.
"It was just a dream," I whispered aloud, though my voice didn't sound convinced.
I stood up and looked out the window again.
Nothing strange. Just empty streets. A flickering streetlight. A stray cat sniffing something near the curb.
Normal.
Or pretending to be.
The town wanted to stay quiet. The police wanted to keep us calm. But silence only made my imagination louder.
The truth was simple:
Somebody killed that woman.
Somebody is out there.
And I saw something I can't explain.
Maybe tomorrow the news will reveal more.
Maybe tomorrow the silence will break.