The night draped Misty's neighborhood in a suffocating hush. The streets were empty—no children laughing, no headlights cutting through the dark. Even the stray dogs seemed to have vanished. Inside Misty's home, the silence felt heavier. It pressed into the corners of every room, as though the house itself was holding its breath.
Misty lay in bed, unable to sleep. The warmth of her blanket offered no comfort. Her heart was a mess of worry and sorrow, beating in awkward, panicked rhythms. She didn't know what scared her more: the strange stories circling town about children vanishing in flashes of light—or the unbearable idea of being separated from everything she had ever known.
She tossed onto her side and stared out the window. Nothing moved. Not a breeze, not a flicker of light. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the stars had disappeared days ago, like they too had fled from what was coming.
Unable to sit with her thoughts any longer, Misty crept toward her parents' room. She didn't want to disturb them - just needed to feel reassured that they were nearby, breathing, talking, real. But as she reached the door, she heard voices.
She hesitated, her hand hovering just above the knob.
Inside, her father sat hunched at the edge of the bed, elbows pressed into his knees, fingers tangled in his hair. "It's a hard time," he said quietly, "but we can't surrender. We have to keep our girls safe."
Her mother's voice was soft but trembled with anxiety. "But how? You saw it yourself—children swallowed by light. We don't even know what it is."
"I talked to Sanjay (Mr. Singhania's friend) this afternoon. He says there's still a region, south of the city, where no one's child disappeared. Families are staying together. No sightings of the light, no missing children.", Mr. Singhania said.
Mrs. Singhania leaned and fold her arms tightly. "And you believe him?"
"He wouldn't make this up. People are already moving. If we don't act fast…"
There was a pause. Misty's mother took a slow breath. "Then we'll go....?"
Mr. Singhania nodded. "I'll handle the arrangements. Just pack tomorrow. Essentials only."
Outside the door, Misty felt her knees weaken. Her father—her pillar—was planning their escape. That word struck her: escape. They weren't moving; they were fleeing.
And yet, all she felt was grief. This home, its peeling wallpaper and uneven floorboards, held years of memories. Late-night puzzles with May. Chai with her mother on rainy mornings. The rooftop where she and her father used to stargaze, back when stars still showed up.
She slipped back to her room without making a sound.
She lay face-first on her pillow, hoping the cotton would muffle the ache building in her chest. She didn't cry—not yet—but she knew she was close. If she saw her parents now, she'd lose it. And the house, already fragile with silence, didn't need the sound of her breaking.
Outside, the wind picked up.
Not violently—just enough to whistle through the cracks in the windowpane. Misty turned toward the sound, her eyes barely open. And that's when she saw it.
A figure. A shadow gliding across the glass. Slow. Deliberate.
Her body froze.
"Who… who's there?" she whispered.
No answer.
She pressed herself deeper into the mattress, praying it was just her imagination, a trick of exhaustion. But dread pooled in her stomach. The figure had vanished—but it left something behind in the air. A chill that wasn't from the wind. A heaviness that made it hard to breathe.
Suddenly, one thought burst into her mind like a scream: May.
She bolted upright and dashed to her sister's room.
And what she saw stopped her heart.
A beam of white light was pouring through May's window—soft at first, then sharp, electric, terrifying. It wrapped around May like a cocoon, lifting her slowly off the bed.
"No! May!"
Misty lunged toward the light, arms outstretched, trying to pull her sister down. But the moment her hand touched the glow, her skin ignited with cold fire. Her vision blurred, her ears rang, and her legs gave way.
"Mama! Mama! Come upstairs!" she screamed, voice cracking.
Footsteps thundered below. Her parents rushed out of their room. Her mother's cries echoed up the staircase—but Misty couldn't hear them clearly anymore.
Her body was weightless, floating. Her grip on May faded. The light consumed both of them, wrapping tighter around their forms.
And in that final second before vanishing, Misty looked down at her mother bursting through the door, face frozen in horror. Their eyes met.
A single tear slid down Misty's cheek.
She whispered, "Goodbye… Mother."
Then everything went white.