Every day, I walk the same route to school, past the well-kept houses where everyone knows everyone. But there's one house that never fails to unsettle me. Its shutters are always drawn, and its garden is overgrown. Even in the daylight, it seems to cast a shadow over the street, a dark spot in an otherwise bright neighborhood.

Today, as I approach, expecting the usual emptiness, I spot a moving van parked in the driveway. A family is busy unloading boxes. Their laughter, unexpectedly bright and cheerful, echoes through the otherwise quiet street. The sounds feel out of place, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that doesn't quite fit.

I stop walking, unable to tear my eyes away from them. The mother's tall frame and almost translucent skin give her an ethereal quality, but it's the way she moves—smooth and silent—that sends an involuntary shiver up my spine.

I quickly tell myself it's just my imagination. The day feels ordinary enough, so why does this family seem so… strange? The father's broad shoulders and the intensity in his gaze catch my attention. The son, moving with quiet ease, never speaks, but his presence feels imposing, like he's surveying his surroundings, or maybe me.

My heart races for reasons I don't understand. Who are these people?

As I walk past, trying not to seem like I'm staring, I see a girl step out of the house. She's tall like her father and brother, with an athletic build and striking blonde hair. But unlike her family, her skin is sun-kissed, and she moves with more grace than anyone should in a house that feels so… unnatural.

I find myself frozen in place, my curiosity growing against my better judgment. What is it about them that feels so off?

I glance down at my phone and realize I'm going to be late. I snap myself out of my daze and turn to head to school, but the uneasy feeling lingers, trailing behind me like a shadow.

******

I make it just in time for class, rushing to my seat and hastily copying the notes on the board. My pen taps nervously against the desk, the rhythmic sound grounding me. The door creaks open, and Mr. Stetson introduces someone, but I don't look up until the chair beside me scrapes against the floor.

"Hi, can I sit here?" The voice is warm, but it carries an undertone of something that makes me feel uneasy.

My breath catches. I don't recognize him, but the look in his eyes, the way he holds himself, feels strangely familiar, like I've seen him before.

"Uh, sure," I stammer, suddenly feeling hot under his gaze. His presence is almost too much—comforting and unsettling at the same time. I can't shake the feeling that he's watching me more than I'm watching him.

His features are striking, too perfect, like someone who's been carefully crafted. His eyes, deep blue and nearly black, are unnervingly intense, and his smile—easy and confident—only heightens my discomfort.

Mr. Stetson's voice fades into the background as I try to focus, but every glance I steal toward the boy only intensifies the curiosity swirling in my stomach. Why does he feel like a constant presence even when I'm not looking directly at him?

After class, he chats casually with a girl at his locker, and then it hits me. It's him—the son from the house. The one I couldn't stop staring at earlier.

He catches me looking and gives me a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. I quickly look away, feeling my cheeks flush.

The girl from the house is standing with him, and she notices me staring. Her eyes narrow as she shoots me a glare, sending a chill down my spine.

Why are they acting so… strange?

I quickly grab my things and head to my next class, but even then, I can't shake the feeling of their eyes on me. It's like they're always watching, always waiting for something.

By lunchtime, I can barely focus. I sit in my usual spot at the back of the cafeteria, hoping to go unnoticed, but as if on cue, they approach.

"Hey," he says with an easy grin, as if we've been friends for ages. "Looks like we have a lot of classes together."

I smile back, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. "Yeah, we do."

His sister's sharp gaze locks onto mine, and she smirks—cold, calculating. It's as if she's sizing me up, trying to figure out what I'm about. I feel her gaze on me like a weight, and it only deepens my unease.

"I'm Justin and this is my sister Natalia," he says, extending a hand, but I hesitate, unsure of what to do. Eventually, I smile, giving a quick shake.

"Sarah," I reply, my voice suddenly small.

Natalia, standing just beside him, tilts her head and observes me, her smile almost too sharp. "You're not what I was expecting," she says, her voice dripping with something I can't place. Her words make my skin crawl.

Justin seems to notice the tension and attempts to steer the conversation away, but his efforts fall short as Natalia's cold stare lingers.

As lunch continues, I can't help but glance between Justin and Natalia. There's something about them—something that doesn't sit right. And yet, Justin seems harmless enough. But Natalia? Her eyes burn into me, like she's waiting for something I'm not giving her.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, I gather my things quickly, eager to escape. Justin and Natalia follow me out, and I can't shake the feeling that their eyes are still on me.

******

A storm of emotions churns inside me. Part of me is intrigued by Justin, wanting to unravel the mystery of his family. Yet another part warns me to be cautious. Why is he so intent on being near me? I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right.

In the next class, I take my usual seat in the back, next to the window. I start to get my notebook, pencil, and highlighter out when I hear Justin talking to the teacher. I expect him to find an empty seat, but instead, he sits beside me again. My nerves are on edge. Why is he always near me?

Before I can say anything, Mrs. Shanda starts her lecture. "Last week, we talked about equilateral lines…" Her voice fades as my thoughts take over.

I need to figure out why Justin's family feels so familiar and why he seems so interested in me.

Our last class together is Literature, one of my favorites. I'm determined not to let him ruin it for me. I slip into my usual seat at the front, near the window.

"Okay, class," Mr. Lawson begins, "from here on, you'll be in assigned groups of two or three. You'll write a story that leaves the reader wanting more at the end. This will be your semester project, and I'll be assigning the partners."

I sit up straighter. This is something I can do—unless I get paired with him.

Mr. Lawson calls out names, finally reaching mine. "Sarah, you're with…"

Please not Justin. Please don't let it be Justin.

"…Justin."

I stifle a groan. Of course.

Justin turns to me, grinning. "Looks like we'll be spending more time together. If you want, we can meet up and get started today. I have some ideas if you're interested."

I force a smile. "Sure. How about the library? Their computers are a lot better than mine." I suggest the library, hoping the public setting will make me feel less uneasy.

"Okay, that works for me." He smiles and continues jotting down notes for the assignment, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort.

Mr. Lawson outlines the project, but my mind is elsewhere. I have a bad feeling about this.

As class wraps up, Justin remains engrossed in his notes. His enthusiasm is almost infectious, and I find myself softening a bit. Maybe this won't be so bad after all.

Natalia saunters into the room, her gaze zeroing in on me. "Sarah," she says, her tone challenging.

"Natalia," I reply, nodding. Her smirk suggests she knows something I don't, sending shivers down my spine. How are she and Justin siblings when they're so different?

I walk out of class, looking for Justin to finalize our plans. After waiting at my locker for over ten minutes, I give up and head home. As I pass their house, I see Justin outside shooting hoops. Natalia and her mother are sitting at a table, reading. I lower my head and keep walking, the scene a stark contrast to my own solitude.

At home, I try to eat something before meeting Justin, but my nerves make it impossible to stomach anything more than a few bites. I decide to make some homemade mac and cheese, my go-to comfort food, hoping it will help calm me down. The familiar smell of cheese melting and noodles boiling does soothe me a little, and I manage to finish most of the bowl before checking the time. Realizing it's almost time to go, I quickly clean up, grab my bag, and head out the door.

*****

When I arrive at the library, Justin is already seated at a computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. How long has he been here?

"Hey, Sarah!" he greets me, barely looking up from the screen. "Sorry, I had some ideas I didn't want to forget."

I can't help but smile. "No worries. I do that too—once inspiration hits, you have to run with it."

He grins at me, and just like that, the tension from earlier melts away. We spend the next few hours brainstorming and outlining our story. Justin's energy is infectious, and soon we're throwing ideas back and forth, building on each other's thoughts.

"How about a town that traps its visitors?" Justin suggests. "Once you enter, you can't leave without something terrible happening."

A shiver of excitement runs through me. "I like it. Maybe it's a small, remote town, the kind people warn you about. Nearby towns tell tales of people disappearing when they enter."

Justin nods, typing quickly as we brainstorm. "Should we add some fantasy elements? Like vampires and witches?"

"Absolutely!" I say, a grin spreading across my face. "Those are some of my favorite topics."

He laughs softly, his voice dropping to a whisper when a librarian shoots us a disapproving glance. "You think like me, Sarah. I knew we'd make a great team."

For a while, we just focus on our outline, the library fading away around us. As the time passes, I find myself relaxing more around Justin. He's funny, easy to talk to, and he has a way of making everything feel lighter. But just as I'm getting comfortable, Justin's voice turns serious.

"Can I ask you something?"

The change in his tone catches me off guard. "Sure," I say cautiously.

"Why do you seem… scared of me?" he asks, still looking at the screen instead of at me.

The question sends a jolt through me. My pulse quickens, and I fumble for a response. "I'm not scared," I lie, my voice betraying a slight tremor. "I just… I guess I don't understand why you're interested in being friends."

He finally looks at me, his blue eyes sincere. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." A faint blush colors his cheeks.

"It's okay," I say, my own face warming.

"It's just… hard being the new person, you know?" His smile brightens, and for a moment, my unease fades.

I'm in big trouble. I can already feel it.

"Can I ask you something now?" I venture.

He nods, looking suddenly tense. "Sure."

"Your sister… Natalia doesn't seem to like me. Did I do something to upset her?" I watch his expression shift, his eyes widening slightly as if I've touched on a sensitive topic.

"When it comes to Natalia… well, she has her own way of seeing things. It's not you," he says, his voice careful. "Getting her to explain herself is like pulling teeth."

I nod, sensing that pushing further won't get me anywhere. Sometimes silence is the best option.

As we're wrapping up our session, Justin's phone rings. He glances at the screen, and all the color drains from his face. "I have to go," he says abruptly, shoving his things into his bag.

"Is everything okay?" I ask, alarmed by his sudden urgency.

He hesitates, as if weighing whether to confide in me. "Just be careful, Sarah," he says finally, his voice low. His eyes flicker towards the library door, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment. "There are things… you should be aware of." Before I can ask him to elaborate, his phone buzzes again, and he grimaces. "I really have to go," he mutters, hurrying out.

I watch him leave, a knot of worry tightening in my chest. I gather my things, the library's usual comfort replaced by a sense of unease. As I step outside, the cool evening air wraps around me like a cold embrace. The sky is darkening, casting long shadows that make the street feel unfamiliar.

I decide to take the long way home, hoping the walk will help clear my head. As I approach Justin's house on the corner, my steps slow. The lights are on inside, spilling out through the stained-glass windows. Shadows flit across the glass, too vague to make out, but unsettling nonetheless.

I pause across the street, drawn to the house for reasons I can't explain. Just as I'm about to turn away, the front door swings open, and a figure steps out.

It's Natalia.

She stands framed in the doorway, bathed in the golden light from inside. At first, she doesn't seem to notice me, but then her head slowly turns, and our eyes meet. We stare at each other for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she raises her hand and points to the third-floor window.

I follow the line of her finger, squinting to see. There, behind the stained-glass, a shadow moves. It's gone in an instant, but I could swear I saw the outline of a face. A chill runs down my spine, and I take a step back.

When I look back at Natalia, she's gone. The house stands quiet and still, as if nothing had happened. I'm left alone on the sidewalk, my heart pounding and my mind racing with questions.

What did I just see? And why do I feel like Natalia was trying to tell me something—something important?

As I hurry home, the image of the shadow behind the stained-glass burns in my mind. For the first time, I consider talking to someone about this. But who would believe me? As I pass their house again, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A figure in the window, watching.

By the time I reach home, the sky has darkened completely, and the wind picks up, rustling the trees in a way that makes me shiver. I'm relieved to be home, but the unease hasn't left me. It follows me like a shadow, creeping just behind me.

I quickly head inside, locking the door behind me. The house feels too quiet, too still. I throw my bag on the couch and sink into the armchair, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But the more I try to dismiss what happened, the more vivid the images become.

With a sigh, I rise from the chair and head upstairs to my room. I pull the blinds open, glancing out the window toward Justin's house, but I see nothing—just the street bathed in the cold glow of street lamps. For a moment, I think maybe I was just imagining things, letting my mind run wild. But then my phone buzzes, pulling me back to reality.

I pick it up, and my heart skips when I see a message from Justin:

"Hope you made it home okay. Let me know when you want to work on the project again. And… be careful. Things are not as they seem. Trust me."

A cold shiver runs down my spine as I read his words. "Things are not as they seem."

I stare at the message for a long moment, the weight of it sinking in. I don't know what he's trying to say, but something tells me I'm about to find out, whether I'm ready or not.

And with that thought, the feeling of being watched returns, stronger than before. The room around me feels colder, the shadows darker.

I pull the blinds closed, trying to shake off the unease, but I know—whatever's coming, I won't be able to ignore it much longer.