The convenience store on Broadway was wedged between two skyscrapers, faded promotional posters adorning the glass door. Alex pushed it open. Behind the counter, a portly middle-aged man, presumably the owner, was hunched over, counting cigarettes. He glanced up at Alex with a dismissive air. "What do you want?"
"I'm looking for Lena," Alex lowered his voice. "Did she work here last night?"
The owner frowned, putting down the carton of cigarettes. "Lena? She didn't come in today. Said she was sick, took three days off. Who are you?"
"A friend," Alex improvised. "I need to reach her urgently." He asked tentatively, "Did she say anything else?"
"Nothing much to say," the owner shrugged. "She left early last night, said she felt dizzy. She did look awful." He waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "If you need her, call her. Don't loiter here."
Alex exited the store, a sense of unease settling upon him. Lena had been chased by the Sound Thief last night; her "dizziness" was likely something more. He pulled out his phone, recalling that she hadn't given him her number when she got into the taxi. He frowned, deciding to return to his dormitory first; perhaps he could find a lead online.
His dorm room was cramped. His laptop sat on the wooden desk, the sounds of bustling New York filling the air outside. Alex opened Google, searching for keywords like "New York missing persons sound monster," but the results were all irrelevant news articles and forum chitchat. He shifted his strategy, trying "silent hunter urban legend," but the results remained a jumble of inconsequential ghost stories.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his eyes, the Sound Thief's visage flashing through his mind. Just as he was about to give up, an obscure link caught his eye, the title reading, "The Cryptid Society: Truths Hidden Within the City."
The link had no preview text. Clicking it redirected him to a rudimentary, black-background website, the font crooked, as if handwritten. At the top of the page, a welcome message read: "Welcome, truth-seeker. This site documents unsolved mysteries. Tread cautiously."
Alex scanned the site, his eyes darting over the disjointed content. Most of it consisted of anonymous posts: someone claimed to hear footsteps in the sewer, someone else spoke of a man-eating shadow in the subway. He scrolled to the third page. A post's title quickened his pulse: "It Stole My Voice." He clicked the link, revealing the following message:
"Last month, I was walking home late at night when the fog suddenly thickened, and the sounds around me vanished. I found myself in a strange place, the ground slick, the air smelling like dead fish. There was something there, no eyes, looking like a flayed dog, capable of mimicking my friends' voices. I threw stones to escape, but my friend disappeared the next day. Does anyone know what this is?"
Alex held his breath. The post's description was strikingly similar to his own experience. He moved the mouse, noting that the post had been created three weeks ago, with the author listed as "SilencedOne." Below, there was a comments section. He quickly registered an account and left a message: "I've seen it. Can we chat privately?" He refreshed the page several times, but there was no response. He closed the page, left to wait for a reply.
As the night deepened, the sounds of traffic outside his dormitory gradually diminished. Alex sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen, the time reading 1:00 AM. He reopened his notebook, revisiting his records from the prior night, trying to discern any pattern in the Sound Thief's behavior: random entrances, unpredictable timing, the rule of silence. But this was far from sufficient; he needed more information.
Just as he prepared to shut down, a new email notification popped up in the bottom-right corner of the screen. He clicked it open, revealing an anonymous private message, titled "Beware Your Voice."
The message was brief:
"You want to know the truth about that thing? Four AM tonight, northern end of Central Park, beneath the Belvedere Castle. Come alone. Stay silent. - SilencedOne"
Alex stared at the email, his heart pounding. The time was 2:44 AM, leaving him just over an hour before the rendezvous. He adjusted his glasses, his mind racing. This could be a trap, or it could be a breakthrough. The northern end of Central Park was deserted, especially at night. If the sender was truly "SilencedOne," they might know something. But a late-night meeting carried significant risks.
He rose, took a folding knife from the drawer and slipped it into his pocket. He then grabbed a bag of pebbles - his experience from the previous night had taught him that sound was key to distracting the Sound Thief.
He donned a dark coat and whispered, "Whatever it is, I have to go." He shut down his computer, pushed open the door, and stepped into the night of New York City.