"You're telling me he just appeared? No smoke bomb, no wall turning into bats?"Dylan leaned against my locker, his smirk wide enough to hang a jacket on. His voice was laced with gossip-driven triumph.
I hauled my backpack full of textbooks and kicked at the glossy floor tiles under the lights, trying not to think about Lucien Volkov's eyes—or that too-cool-to-care European accent of his. Funny how the harder you try to not think about something, the louder it screams inside your head.
"If he were a magician, that would actually make sense." I muttered, eyes limping their way toward the corner of the stairwell. Lucien hadn't shown up again, which suited me fine. His presence always made the air feel like it was waiting for a haunting.
Dylan tilted his head and locked his phone with a snap."A new semester, and the only transfer student gets dropped into our town? At night, no less. First time in Chandler family history we've had an outsider move in? You don't find that a little too convenient?"
"You saying it's my cursed bloodline drawing him in?" I feigned annoyance, but that gnawing unease had been camping out in my chest since last night—ever since I tore the attic apart looking for one of Mom's old letters. Ever since she vanished, even the wind in this town felt like it was connected to our family.
Dylan hummed and pushed the stairwell door open, full of his usual swagger."Tonight's recording. Topic—'Midnight Visitors: Modern Vampires of Maple Street.' You have to be there."
"Vampires?" The word made my skin twitch. I countered with a joke, instinctively:"You planning to drag the old cat-lady into this again?"
"Actually, cats are a clue." Dylan stopped, holding the door open dramatically."Liv, haven't you noticed? Pets have been disappearing—cats, dogs, even that mini pig from the next town over."
"That's absurd."But I couldn't help playing along."So, what, Lucien sips tea while chewing on a Dalmatian?"
"Don't say his name like that—it's weird. But someone needs to figure out whether we're dealing with a rabid animal or... something worse."
We crossed the school courtyard, dodging stray popcorn bags and forgotten sports gear. Dylan spoke with the confidence of someone narrating a horror documentary, but something inside me twisted. Our dog at home had been acting strangely too—Dad said it was old age. I wasn't so sure, but I didn't dare ask.
The bell rang, sharp and final.I suddenly wanted to see if Lucien would show up in the lunchroom shadows again. Oddly enough, I hoped he wouldn't. His presence made the world feel like it was on pause, right before something unexplainable broke through.
"Eight sharp tonight. Don't bail on me." Dylan tapped my forehead with two fingers, the gesture a mix of old friendship and oddly serious conviction."If Maple Street's haunted, you're my first informant."
"Only if you let me laugh through the spooky parts." I said, which—between us—meant yes.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the trees near the school gates, and there he was—Lucien—leaning against the shadiest column like a shadow that decided to walk upright. His black hair caught the light with a faint blue sheen. His eyes, somehow darker than that morning's, lifted toward me.
He didn't say a word. Just looked—like he was waiting for a signal only I could give.
I pretended not to notice. Because if I spoke, I was scared I'd sound like a rookie ghost-hunter on national TV.
Dylan, unfazed, breezed past him."Don't get hypnotized, Liv. Rebel transfer students are bad news."
He said it with a laugh, but it planted something in my mind I couldn't quite shake.
Dylan's basement rarely knew silence. The lights were harsh white, walls cluttered with paranormal maps and scribbled annotations. A mic stood like a sentry on its tripod, and the soda on the desk had long gone flat. This was their zero-budget detective lair.
"Recording ready," Dylan announced with alien-hunter gravity."Special guest of the week—Liv Chandler, Maple Street's number one eyewitness."
I bowed, mock-gentlemanly."Do I get paid in pizza?"
"We're a nonprofit. Saving the town, one podcast at a time."He slid on his headphones. The red light blinked to life."Let's begin."
He launched into town lore: ghost carriages from the Depression era, vanished gold locked in the old bank, and four-legged creatures spotted in midnight parks. The stories were half absurd, half addictive—pickled in paranoia.
Then his tone shifted, just slightly."About the missing pets. Liv, what do you think?"
"I'm betting on a groundhog uprising." I teased, keeping it light."But seriously, have you looked at the missing areas?"
He waved his mouse, and a map popped up with red and green dots."All in one region—near the woods. Right next to Maple Street."
I frowned, remembering the faint rustling outside at night, and that strange smell that didn't quite belong. When I was younger, I wanted to believe in monsters. Now, I feared the truth might be worse.
Dylan looked at me sideways."Liv, be real. Haven't you felt it—Lucien? Doesn't something about him feel... off?"
His question hit like a held breath.
I thought of the way Lucien looked at me, like I held something valuable inside—something only he understood.
"You're overthinking it." I said, twisting open my soda."He's more broken human than monster."
Dylan half-smiled and hit pause on the recorder."Guess I can't convince myself either. In the end, we've all got mysteries, don't we?"
The tension lifted. Even the soda fizzed back to life for a second.
By the time I got home, it was fully dark. Dad's patrol car was gone. The dog lay curled at the far end of the hall, unmoving. I opened the door to silence—familiar, but a little more hollow each day.
I dropped my bag and flicked on the kitchen light. A cold plate of tomato pasta sat on the table, next to a note:"Called in for duty. Sleep early. —Dad."
I stared at the curled "D" in his signature and felt a sting behind my eyes. Since Mom disappeared, even love had shrunk into tiny sentences.
I poured myself a glass of water and stood by the window, watching the harsh streetlight flicker. The forest beyond looked darker than usual, like it was swallowing something. At night, the town always held its breath. Like every shadow was hiding something nobody else could see.
I touched the necklace around my neck—Mom's silver pendant."Come home when you're lost," she used to say.
I replayed last night's recording in my head. Dylan's suspicions about Lucien. The missing pets. The quiet pulse of something else beneath this town.
Then I heard a faint knock upstairs."Dog?" I called, uncertain.
No answer.
I crept up the stairs. Each step groaned. A pale light leaked under my bedroom door.
The door was ajar. I pushed it open slowly—and froze.
Muddy prints tracked across the floor. Paw-shaped, but not quite right. They led toward the closed window.
The window was locked, yet a single strand of coarse, golden hair lay across the sill. My thoughts scattered—because the night Mom disappeared, she had her long blonde hair down. She walked into the woods and never came back.
My fingers trembled as I picked up the hair.I thought of Dylan's podcast.Lucien's cold stare.The phrase: "Modern vampire."
No. It couldn't be.
I yanked the curtains shut and told my brain to stop.
Then came a sound outside—low, guttural, almost human but not quite. It wasn't the wind. Or a bird. It was a hunger, moaning through the dark.
My heart raced, but strangely, I stayed calm. I pocketed the hair and scanned the room like a soldier. Every crack in the walls felt like it could breathe secrets.
Are secrets buried under layers?Or is the dark under Maple Street finally clawing its way out?
The next day, all of Maple Street was buzzing about the forest screams and barking dogs. Dylan's "Podcast of Peril" was trending. Even the skeptic grocer put up a cardboard sign that read in red marker:"WATCH PETS. NIGHT THIEVES ABOUT."
At school, Lucien still sat like a mystery under the rubber tree. The world couldn't quite touch him.
As I passed, he looked up."Did you sleep well last night, Olivia?"
His smile was slight, like he was saying he knew everything.
My heart skipped in syncopation.This town wasn't a sleepy fairytale anymore.
"Fine, unless your legend kept me up." I replied.
"Legends exist to cover the truth," he said softly, voice laced with challenge—and something dangerously tender.
In sunlight, he looked more perilous than every tale combined.
"If you're a hunter too, you'd know."He didn't ask. He just stated.
I didn't answer. I walked into the crowd with the golden hair in my pocket and Dylan's transcript in my backpack.
At lunch, I snuck into the empty broadcast room. The podcast replayed in my headphones, our voices echoing with everything we were too scared to say outright.
Maple Street looked peaceful outside. But the wind smelled different—like it carried secrets with teeth.
Just then, the door creaked open.
A shadow stretched across the floor. Tall. Too silent to be real.
Lucien stepped in against the light. His black eyes dodged the sun. In his hand was a folded piece of paper.
He placed it between my fingers, voice low as a ripple:"Next week. The Maple Street Charity Fair. Everyone in town will be there. You and your friend—stay away from the woods. I mean it."
The air froze.
He turned to leave, his back firm, voice fading:"Protecting yourself isn't something fairytale girls do."
I looked down at the paper.A map—simple, sketched in pencil. Familiar names circled: Dylan's house, Maple Street's entrance, and the woods, outlined in red ink.
The sunlight flickered outside, and I had a sudden, sharp knowing.
The secrets hadn't surfaced yet.But the wind had already changed direction.
And this town?Under the moonlight, it never lacked red-colored danger.