The city had always been her home. The endless hum of traffic, the flashing lights of skyscrapers, and the rush of people who never stopped moving—it was all Annabelle had known. But today, as she stood in her now-empty apartment, she realized just how small her world had become.
Her parents' old furniture was gone, sold off to strangers who had no idea how much laughter and warmth had once filled these walls. The shelves that once held her favorite books and photo frames now sat bare, stripped of the life they once held.
Annabelle let out a sigh, her fingers brushing the small locket around her neck. It was the only thing she hadn't packed away—the only piece of her past she couldn't bear to part with. Inside the locket was a photo of her parents, smiling on a sunny day, frozen in time before everything changed.
"Goodbye," she whispered, her voice breaking as she turned away from the apartment door for the last time.
The train ride out of the city felt like a journey into another world. Skyscrapers gave way to rolling hills, and the deafening noise of the city was replaced by the quiet hum of the countryside. Annabelle stared out the window, her reflection merging with the landscape outside. She wasn't sure what she'd find in Willow Creek, but she knew she had to try.
The train screeched to a halt at a tiny station. Stepping onto the platform, Annabelle was greeted by the crisp scent of pine and the chatter of birds in the distance. Willow Creek was nothing like the city—quaint cottages lined the streets, and flower boxes overflowed with blooms in every color.
Her chest tightened as she clutched her suitcase. "Fresh start," she murmured to herself. "You can do this."
The cab ride to her new home was short. Her landlord, a cheerful woman named Mrs. Palmer, had assured her that the cottage on Sycamore Lane would be perfect for her. When Annabelle stepped out of the cab and saw it for the first time, she couldn't help but agree.
The little house stood beneath a canopy of trees, its white picket fence slightly crooked but charming. The front yard was overgrown with wildflowers, giving it a whimsical look.
Annabelle paid the driver and walked up to the front door, key in hand. She hesitated for a moment before unlocking it, stepping inside to a small but cozy living room. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the worn wooden floors.
It wasn't much, but it was hers.
As she began unpacking, a knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find a woman in her fifties with graying hair and a kind smile.
"You must be Annabelle!" the woman said. "I'm Maggie, your neighbor from across the street. Welcome to Willow Creek!"
Annabelle smiled nervously. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you."
"If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," Maggie said warmly. "We're a friendly town—most of us, anyway." Her expression shifted slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Well, I'll let you settle in. Just wanted to say hello."
As Maggie walked away, Annabelle couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more behind her words. She looked out at the quiet street and wondered what she'd gotten herself into.
Annabelle spent the rest of the afternoon settling into the cottage. She unpacked her books first, carefully arranging them on the small shelf near the window. As the sun began to set, the golden light bathed the room in a warmth that made her feel, for the first time in weeks, like maybe she'd made the right decision.
By the time the clock struck seven, her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the train ride. She debated ordering takeout but realized quickly that small towns didn't offer the same conveniences as the city. With a sigh, she grabbed her jacket and headed out to find something to eat.
The streets of Willow Creek were quiet, the kind of quiet that felt both comforting and unnerving. The only sounds were the crunch of gravel beneath her shoes and the occasional bark of a dog in the distance. The town square wasn't far, and Annabelle soon found herself standing in front of a diner with a glowing neon sign that read "Rosie's."
The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, and the scent of fresh coffee and sizzling bacon greeted her. The diner was cozy, with checkered floors and red vinyl booths. A handful of people sat scattered around, chatting over plates of comfort food.
"Evening, sweetheart," a woman behind the counter called out. She had curly red hair and an apron that read Rosie. "Take a seat wherever you'd like."
Annabelle chose a booth near the window, the view outside offering a glimpse of the town square's gazebo, wrapped in twinkling fairy lights.
"What can I get ya?" Rosie asked, walking over with a notepad.
"Just a cheeseburger and fries, please," Annabelle replied with a polite smile.
"Coming right up." Rosie winked and disappeared into the kitchen.
As Annabelle waited, she pulled out her journal and began jotting down her thoughts. Writing had always been her escape, a way to make sense of the chaos in her mind. She scribbled about her new home, Maggie's peculiar comment, and the strange mix of hope and unease that had settled in her chest.
"Here you go," Rosie said, placing a steaming plate of food in front of her. "And if you're new in town, you'll want to stick around for dessert. My apple pie's famous around these parts."
Annabelle laughed softly. "I'll keep that in mind."
As she took her first bite, the diner's door swung open, the bell ringing sharply. Annabelle glanced up and froze.
A man walked in, his presence commanding the small space. He wore a worn leather jacket and jeans, his boots heavy against the tiled floor. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his sharp jawline gave him a rugged edge. But it was his eyes—piercing and unreadable—that held her attention.
Rosie greeted him with a warm smile. "Evening, John."
He nodded in response, his gaze briefly scanning the diner before landing on Annabelle. For a moment, neither of them moved. Annabelle's pulse quickened as something in his expression shifted—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition.
"Who's the new face?" he asked Rosie, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the room.
Annabelle felt her cheeks flush as Rosie replied, "That's Annabelle. Just moved into the old cottage on Sycamore Lane.
John's eyes lingered on her for another moment before he turned and took a seat at the counter.
Annabelle exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. She glanced back at her journal, but the words blurred on the page. Something about John unsettled her, and she couldn't quite figure out why.
Annabelle tried to focus on her meal, but her appetite had vanished the moment John walked in. Something about him felt…off. She wasn't sure if it was the intensity in his gaze or the way the room seemed to grow quieter when he was around.
She glanced at him again, this time more discreetly. He was speaking to Rosie, his voice low and steady. The way Rosie leaned in, her cheerful demeanor giving way to something more serious, made Annabelle's curiosity deepen.
"Don't stare too long," a voice said behind her, startling her. She turned to see an older man in a plaid shirt sitting in the booth behind hers. His weathered face was set in a knowing smirk.
"I'm sorry?" Annabelle asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"John Matthews," the man said, nodding toward the counter. "Not exactly the friendliest guy in town. Folks around here give him his space, if you catch my drift."
Annabelle frowned. "Why's that?"
The man shrugged, but his smile faded. "Let's just say he's got a past. Moved back here a few years ago after being away for a long time. Keeps to himself mostly, except when trouble finds him—and it usually does."
Before Annabelle could ask more, Rosie appeared with the man's bill, cutting off the conversation.
When Annabelle turned back to her own meal, she was startled to find John looking at her again, his expression unreadable. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. Something about him was magnetic, even as her instincts warned her to keep her distance.
Finishing her meal quickly, she paid and left the diner, the cool night air a welcome relief. The town square was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.
As she walked back to her cottage, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She glanced over her shoulder but saw nothing unusual. Still, her pulse raced as she quickened her pace.
When she reached her front door, her hands trembled as she unlocked it. Once inside, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her heart pounding in her chest.
"Get a grip, Annabelle," she muttered to herself.
But as she turned to head upstairs, she froze. A shadow moved outside the window, just barely visible in the moonlight.
Annabelle's breath hitched. She stayed perfectly still, her mind racing. It could be a trick of the light, she told herself, but deep down, she knew better. Someone had been there, watching her.