**4:30 pm**
Deerwood High School dismissed its students, and Tasha Waters strode out with a confidence that she could tackle the woods alone. But as she walked toward them, a question nagged at her.
With everything happening lately, why aren't any adults keeping an eye on us?
The thought seemed strange. Everyone had been on edge since Paisley's disappearance, yet no one had thought to ensure the kids' safety.
She glanced up. It had been weeks since she'd seen the sun or even a hint of blue in the sky; thick clouds had blanketed the town ever since the incident.
Steeling herself, Tasha stepped into the wooded area. Almost immediately, her courage began to wane, replaced by an unsettling fear. *Maybe this was a bad idea,* she thought, heart pounding. The forest felt tainted, as if an ancient evil had claimed it.
"Yo."
A voice came from behind her, calm but with a trace of smugness. She spun around to see a young man with curly brown hair and a smirk.
"Who... who are you?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "I haven't seen you around."
He gave a slight bow. "Apologies for the surprise. Name's Clyde."
"Are you new here?"
He shrugged. "You could say that."
"Is it just you?"
He looked up into the trees. "Lucy!"
"Yeah?" called a voice from above.
"Come on down!"
In an instant, a girl dropped from a tree, landing gracefully on one foot before straightening up and brushing herself off. She appeared to be around thirteen, dressed in a gothic Lolita outfit and wearing a composed expression.
"This is my partner, Lucy," Clyde introduced.
Lucy curtsied. "Pleasure to meet you."
Tasha blinked. "Partner? Are you two... dating?"
"Why would we be?" Clyde scoffed. "She's a child."
Tasha sighed in relief. "Oh, okay then…"
Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Weird one."
"Oh, most definitely," Clyde agreed.
"I'm the weird one?" Tasha protested, pointing at Lucy. "She just fell from a tree. And you both appeared out of nowhere!"
"She kind of reminds me of Stanley," Lucy said.
"I can see that," Clyde replied.
"Who's—"
"Anyway," Clyde cut in, "we're here to help. Sent by Buddy."
"Buddy? Who's that?"
"You'll find out soon enough," Clyde said, reaching out his hand. Green particles swirled, materializing into a sleek, black katana. "Here." He held it out to her.
Tasha took it, looking at him with wide eyes. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"It's for protection. You'll need it," Clyde replied.
"Wait, this is all happening too fast…"
"Practice your swings," Lucy advised.
"We'll be back," Clyde added. With a clap of his hands, they both vanished, leaving Tasha alone in the woods, clutching the sword as the wind howled around her.
---
**5:00 pm**
At the Ashford family dinner, the only sound was the clinking of utensils against plates. They sat at their usual places, enveloped in an uncomfortable silence, each weighed down by their own thoughts. Amy and Susan were still shaken by Rosa Hudson's visit, while Michael was tormented by feelings of guilt over his lack of attraction to his wife and his inability to write. Susan, meanwhile, was left wondering what had happened to her once lively family.
---
Ulric Adams hung the portrait of a beautiful blonde woman in his room, gazing at it, captivated by both her beauty and the masterful brushwork. He tried to trace its origins online, but nothing came up, as though the painting didn't exist—or wasn't meant to.
Was it someone the shopkeeper knew?
It didn't matter. He owned it now, and that was enough. Yet the longer he looked, the more unsettling the painting seemed. Her smile felt mocking, her eyes piercing. He squinted at a name inscribed at the bottom: *Rosemary.*
The name felt both strange and lovely, a name he hadn't heard before, repeating it to himself. "Rosemary…"
He closed his eyes, whispered it again. "Rosemary…" But when he opened his eyes, he saw her mouth stretch into a wide, menacing grin. He blinked, and it was gone.
Oh… I must be seeing things. Shaking his head, he reached for his homework and began to study.
---
**5:30 pm**
Tony Andrews had already begun his transformation, his body growing stronger, hairier. Not fully wolf-like yet, he was a mix of human and beast. With his hood pulled low, he walked through town without a particular destination. Yet, before he knew it, he was headed toward the woods.
"These damn woods," he muttered.
But something beyond his control compelled him forward. After just a few minutes, he felt a tight grip on his arm.
"Hey, hey, it's me," came a low, almost growling voice. "It's Chloe."
He turned to see Chloe Baldwin, her appearance semi-wolfish like his, though her beauty still shone through.
"You again?" he said.
"Yes, me again."
"What do you want?"
She released his arm and began walking ahead. "I'm glad you came. I wanted you to meet a few people."
"Wait a minute!" he called after her. "Why should I trust you? You're weird, and after we… you left me scratched up. You turned me into a werewolf, didn't you?"
She smirked. "Yes, you're right. And since you're already a werewolf, I won't harm you anymore."
"What do you mean?"
"You're one of us now, Tony. Follow me, and you'll start a new life with new people."
Reluctantly, Tony followed, unable to ignore how her plump ass swayed as she led the way.
---
**5:40 pm**
They arrived at a massive Gothic mansion, looming ominously in the heart of the woods.
"What…?" Tony said, looking up at it in disbelief. "This place doesn't make any sense."
"Forget what you know about the world, Tony," Chloe replied. "From here on, keep an open mind."
She knocked rhythmically on the heavy door. After a pause, two maids opened it, both with petite frames, one with green-dyed pixie-cut hair and the other with pink pigtails. Tony couldn't help but notice their striking appearance.
"Welcome back, Chloe Baldwin," they said in unison, bowing.
Tony's eyes widened, feeling an odd attraction to them. What's happening to me? Normally, he wouldn't react like this.
"We see you have a guest," said the green-haired maid.
"This is the one Master asked Chloe to fetch," added the pink-haired one.
"Tony Andrews, please follow us," the maids said, leading him inside.
The interior was sleek, decked entirely in black. To the right was a kitchen, to the left a living room, and in the center, a grand staircase spiraling upward. The maids and Chloe ascended the stairs, leading Tony down a long hallway to a door at the end.
The pink-haired maid knocked. "Master, we've brought him."
"Send him in," a deep, brooding voice replied.
Tony's heart raced as Chloe opened the door and ushered him inside. Like the rest of the mansion, the room was black. It was a study, with shelves of books lining the walls and a desk near a window. A man sat in the desk chair, facing away.
"You may leave," he said to the maids and Chloe. The door closed behind Tony as the man turned, revealing pale skin, piercing blue eyes, and slick black hair with sideburns. A bat perched on his shoulder.
"Hello, Tony," he said, smiling to reveal sharp fangs. "I am Simon."
Tony's pulse quickened as Simon rose from his chair and approached.
"You're a werewolf now, Tony. Chloe was sent to make you one."
"Why me?"
Simon shrugged. "No reason, really. Chloe was told to bring back anyone she found interesting. She happened to pick you."
"Fine. But… what's the purpose of all this?"
"I was simply commanded to do so," Simon replied, his eyes glinting with a predatory calm.
"By who," Tony said, his voice shaking.
"That, my friend, is something I cannot tell you."
---
Simon took Tony downstairs and led him to the left, into the living room. As Tony scanned the room, he recognized some of the people who had been reported dead or went mysteriously missing.
Paisley Jensen.
Pamela Reed.
Two little girls, Rosa Hudson and Julia Binder, were there too, though he didn't know them.
Paisley and Pamela's complexions were pale, sickly, with sunken faces and eyes that resembled a dead fish's. Yet Tony couldn't tear his gaze from Paisley. Despite being only fifteen, she had a mature figure — an hourglass shape, wide hips, and a large bosom.
He couldn't help but notice Pamela too, with a similar allure. Chloe Baldwin and two other maids were also present.
"Let me go over the roles and what we'll be doing here," said Simon to Tony, his wicked smile revealing sharp fangs.
---
**8:00 p.m.**
Ulric Adams sat at his computer, watching YouTube videos. A framed portrait of "Rosemary" hung on the wall behind him. He had been on the computer for hours when he felt a prickling sensation, like someone was watching him.
He glanced around for a second before returning to his screen.
Moments later, the feeling returned, stronger this time. But he ignored it, telling himself, "There's no one here."
His hands began to shake, and his legs started tapping against the floor. His heartbeat grew louder. His breaths, short and strained, no longer satisfied his lungs.
Suddenly, he spun around — and there it was. The portrait stared back, dead eyes meeting his own.
Ulric screamed.
---
**Saturday, January 25th**
*8:00 a.m.*
Oswald Fisher slowly opened his eyes. Morning light seeped through the closed curtains, casting a warm glow in his room. He blinked, wiping away the crust from his eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented.
"What was that…" he mumbled, "a dream... or...?"
He looked around, taking in the familiar sight of his cluttered books, his dresser by the door, and the open closet piled with clothes. But the dream lingered in his mind, leaving a sense of unease.
Sliding out of bed, he rubbed his feet against the soft carpet near his bed, relishing its warmth. "Enough of that," he said, heading to the bathroom.
He picked up the toothpaste and squeezed some onto his brush in one swift motion. But when he looked in the mirror, he froze. Behind him stood a girl with short black hair, her smile twisted and sinister.
He whipped around. No one was there. When he looked back in the mirror, she was gone — but the room, once humid, was now cold as ice.
---
*9:30 a.m.*
Tasha Waters opened her eyes, watching the ceiling fan spin above her. Aside from the fan's whir, the room was silent. She closed her eyes and sighed.
"Are you familiar with Platonism?" a voice asked beside her.
She jerked upright, turning to find Lucy standing there.
"What the hell are you doing here!" Tasha yelled.
"We told you we'd be back, didn't we? We need to talk."
"About?"
Lucy sat on the bed, studying Tasha. "I asked if you knew about Platonism."
"Yeah, Plato's philosophy," Tasha replied. "His theory of abstract forms."
"And?"
Tasha shrugged. "It's interesting but unproven."
Lucy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "They do exist, you know. An abstract reality beyond this one."
Tasha raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Where's your evidence?"
Lucy smiled and stepped closer. "Consider what you see, hear, and touch. Who's to say any of it is real?"
Tasha fell silent, feeling an eerie tension in the air.
"That's right," Lucy said, as if reading her thoughts, and giggled.
"Who are—"
Before she could finish, the room blurred, and they found themselves in a white void. Shapes began to materialize, revealing a young girl of ten or eleven, sitting in a chair with her knee up, head resting on it. She had long white hair that glowed faintly, and wore a white sleeping gown and her golden eyes seemed to shine with wisdom.
"Hello, Tasha Waters," the girl said softly. "It's a pleasure to finally see you up close."
Her voice, warm and serene, filled Tasha with peace.
"I am Elpis," she continued.
"Elpis…" Tasha echoed, awestruck.
Elpis smiled and approached her, placing a gentle hand on her forehead. A flood of knowledge filled Tasha's mind — the mastery of her katana and a strange, fiery ability.
"Fire… What does this mean?" Tasha asked.
"It's an ability you'll need. Remember, I'm on your side… my Queen."
"Queen?"
The world around them twisted, and suddenly Tasha was back in her bedroom, staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if it had all been a dream.
---
**10:11 a.m.**
Ulric Adams was fed up with the portrait. He'd made up his mind to return it to the antique shop where he'd bought it.
"I knew there was something off about that woman," he muttered, pacing his room. "She had fangs, like… vampire fangs." Saying it aloud sent a shiver down his spine.
Before leaving, he decided to take one last look at "Rosemary." Her beauty still fascinated him, and he lifted the portrait from his bed. But when he looked, his blood ran cold.
The woman in the photo was gone.