"I should have gone with her, I should have gone with her," Ulric Adams repeated these words to himself ever since that dreadful night—the night of her disappearance.
Priscilla was no better. She'd told Ulric to let her go alone that night, and the guilt gnawed at her relentlessly.
Once full of life and energy, Priscilla had become a shadow of herself, drifting quietly through school, eager only to return home and retreat to sleep.
Ulric, however, wasn't one to wallow endlessly. While the haunting memories kept him awake and the "what ifs" played on repeat in his mind, he decided that life had to move forward—and so did he. When the guilt rose, he'd push it away, muttering, "It wasn't my fault."
After his last class, Ulric left the school building and saw Priscilla sitting on a bench, her face buried in her hands. He walked over and sat beside her in silence, listening carefully. She wasn't crying—just sitting, withdrawn.
"Leave me alone, Ulric," she finally said.
Every day after school, she sat here, and Ulric joined her without a word. But today, he felt the need to break the silence.
"You don't have to blame yourself, Priscilla. Neither you nor I could have known."
She didn't respond right away, but then, in a voice barely audible, she said, "But if one of us had gone with her—"
"That won't get us anywhere," Ulric replied firmly. "What's done is done, and there's no going back. We can't let this hold us captive."
She raised her head, her eyes searching his. "Why are you so calm about this?"
"I feel the guilt too," he admitted, "but I'm trying to move on."
A cold gust of winter wind howled past them, sharp and eerie, cutting through the stillness. When it faded, silence hung between them again, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, Ulric rose, shivering slightly. "I'm heading home."
Priscilla said nothing as he left.
---
Later that night, while his parents slept, Ulric bundled up in a heavy coat, slipped out of the house, and made his way toward the woods—the woods where they'd found his girlfriend, Paisley Jensen.
He reached a tree stump, sat down, and closed his eyes, hands clasped as he sought solace in prayer. He hadn't thought much about God before Paisley's death; he'd been more interested in good times with her than anything to do with the divine. But now, death seemed closer, inescapable. The idea that it could come for anyone, young or old, had changed him.
He'd started reading the Bible, immersing himself in books on faith and purpose, although he kept telling himself he'd read them all after finishing the Bible.
As he prayed, a sharp crunch of leaves and the snap of a twig broke the silence. He froze, his eyes wide open, his heart racing.
Then, faintly, a girl's giggle echoed through the trees. But it wasn't just any girl—it was Paisley's giggle, unmistakable. And then he heard it: his name. "Ulric."
Terror surged through him, and he bolted, crashing through the forest, tripping over branches, falling, scrambling up again—anything to escape.
Just as he neared the forest's edge, he caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair slipping behind a tree. Paisley? he wondered, panicked. But no, she was dead.
Or was she? She disappeared, so could she still be alive?
Stumbling into his house, Ulric shut the door softly, panting as he fought to catch his breath. Then he heard it: knock, knock, knock.
Gripping a butcher's knife from the kitchen, he approached the door, heart pounding.
He opened it slowly.
No one was there.
---
Tuesday, January 21st.
Michael Ashford Sr. sat at his desk in the early morning quiet, a cup of coffee beside him, eyes fixed on his laptop screen. Mornings like these were his favorite time to write, yet for the past two years, inspiration had eluded him. He'd start ideas but never finish them, feeling they fell short of the mark.
His first novel, *The Wooden Children*, a gothic horror about flesh-eating children from the woods, had been a New York Times bestseller. His second, *The Lies We Tell*, told the story of a man unknowingly in love with a zombie, and it too achieved bestseller status. Despite his success, impostor syndrome gnawed at him. He'd turned down interviews, preferring to keep his face and personal life private.
---
In the kitchen, his wife Susan prepared breakfast for their family—herself, Michael, and their eleven-year-old daughter, Amy. Susan was beautiful, with long blonde hair, a graceful figure, and striking presence, with huge breast and a plump rear too, she was known as one of the most attractive women in town.
As she checked the clock approaching 8 a.m., she went to wake Amy.
---
Once breakfast was finished, Amy left for school, and Susan, feeling the pang of loneliness, decided to check on Michael in his office. She found him tapping away at his keyboard.
"Any ideas?" she asked softly.
Without looking up, he replied, "Just writing down whatever comes to mind."
She sat on the sofa nearby, closing her eyes as she listened to the rhythmic tapping of keys, feeling isolated. "We should spend more time together."
Michael stopped typing, "Oh, yeah?"
His nonchalant tone irked her. "Yes, I don't think we spend enough time together. It's like you've vanished into yourself. And... it's been so long since we've had any intimacy."
Michael bowed his head. "I'm sorry… Just let me find an idea. I don't even have to finish it—I just need a spark."
Susan sighed, then stood and quietly left the room.
---
At Deerwood Middle School, in classroom 204, Lucas Moody sat at the back with his friend Marcus Gray.
"I've been thinking about Paisley," Lucas said.
"Not this again," Marcus groaned. "It's old news."
"But it's interesting. This is the first disappearance in our town in over a hundred years."
"Yeah, so?"
Lucas leaned in, lowering his voice. "A hundred years ago, people in town started disappearing one by one. No one knew why. And then there were all these legends—vampires, werewolves. Some people claimed to have seen them."
Marcus rolled his eyes. "So, what, you think Paisley was killed by a werewolf or a vampire?"
Lucas shrugged. "Maybe."
Marcus snorted. "Come on, we're thirteen. Cut the nonsense. Vampires aren't real."
"Maybe," Lucas admitted.
"Maybe a vampire took her." Lucas whispered,
Needing a distraction, Marcus glanced to the front of the room where his crush, Anna, sat near the door. Her caramel skin, braided hair, and pink jacket made him feel a sense of peace.
Lucas nudged him, "Are you even listening?"
"Huh? Oh... yeah. Vampires, right?"
Their conversation was interrupted by a sharp tap of heels as their substitute teacher, Ms. Baldwin, entered the room. Tall and curvaceous with red hair in a ponytail, she introduced herself with a warm smile.
"I'd rather her as homeroom teacher," Lucas whispered, grinning. "She's hot."
Marcus couldn't deny it, but something about her presence made him feel a chill, a sense of impending doom he couldn't shake.