come early that morning. The timestamp made his skin crawl.
Message from Sam (sent 6:35 a.m.):"Ed. Lights. Not okay. Something feels wrong. Feeling like I'm losing my way. I was getting out on schedule but… my coat's still there? Don't know if I'm just exhausted or what."
Edward stared at the screen. Sam had written this half-asleep, during those still, haunted hours before dawn. The message was disjointed, but heavy with unease.
Her coat was still with her? But she'd said she'd left on time. If her car was gone, and her coat was still inside—then where the hell was she?
Text to Sam:"You okay? This isn't like you. Call me when you can. I'm home today."
He hit send. No reply.
He scrolled through the rest of the messages.
Message from Liz:"Yeah. Dad's been weird. Like, ill. But not ill in a sniffly sort of way. Just… weird."Same tone. Detached. Like no one could quite say what was happening.
Message from Jamie:"You okay, man? Something's not right here. Everybody's off. My roommate's acting strange. No idea what's going on."
Edward closed his eyes and exhaled.This wasn't a normal cold. It was something else. Something deeper. And people were going down fast.
Eventually, needing to hear a real voice, Edward called the supermarket.
It rang. Once. Twice. Then—Edward lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling as time crept by. He didn't sleep—not quite—but there was a strange stillness in the house, something that wouldn't let him rest. The weight of what had happened beyond his walls, the soft tap-tap of some distant sound, and the behavior of the odd strangers he'd met over the past two days—it gnawed at him.
Something wasn't right.
He finally pulled himself from bed at 9:00 a.m. Outside, the weather was foul. The sun lurked behind heavy clouds, casting a hazy pall over everything—though there was no haze. Edward felt more out of place than ever. The unfamiliarity of his own home, combined with a creeping sense of anticipation, kept him alert. Something was being set in motion.
He checked his phone.
A handful of messages. They could wait.
He exhaled deeply.
Work.
He'd gotten the same email as everyone else—the vague warning about a "seasonal illness." But those who worked in the supermarket had been sick for weeks. Everyone had brushed it off as just a cold.
But now? Now it was something else.
The coughing, the pale faces, the shallow breaths, the gasps. His coworkers were falling ill by the minute. And the advisory—it wasn't a broadcast, just a generic "stay at home" notice. It made him wonder if he was already infected. He didn't feel sick, but what if he was contagious? What if he was spreading it without knowing?
He let out a dry, bitter laugh.
"Seasonal illness," he muttered."Oh, sure. Like it's seasonal the way a bread deal gets cut after five at night."
He threw on a hoodie and padded down the stairs. He didn't know why he was doing any of this. His thoughts were spinning. The more time he spent inside, the more trapped he felt. What if the virus—or whatever it was—was responsible for all of it? What if he was next?
He checked his phone again. Deciding to call the store to call in sick.
There was a message from Sam—unopened. He was about to open it before someone finally picked up.
"Duty manager Megan speaking."
"Megan, hi. It's Ed. I, uh… I won't be in today."
"Oh—yeah. I was just going to… tell you, actually." Her voice cracked. "A lot of people are out sick today. It's… bad."
"Right," he said, forcing cheer into his tone. "Anyone in the office?"
A pause.
Then Megan snorted. "The office? You mean the staff room with three busted lockers and Barry sitting on a pallet of toilet paper?"
Edward smiled faintly. "Exactly. The retail heartbeat."
"Well, management's still technically in charge," she said. "But you can imagine how that's going."
Her tone dropped, softened. "Honestly, Ed… I don't know. People are showing up, but they're… not there, you know? Darren tried to shelve a whole bag of dog food on the greeting card table this morning. Swore it was canned soup."
Edward's smile vanished. "Is he okay?"
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know if any of us are."
Silence stretched between them.
"Okay," Edward said gently. "Just… keep your head down, yeah?"
"You too."
He hung up without saying goodbye.
Edward stared at the phone for a long time. An appallingly long time. The reality was settling over him like dust on forgotten furniture. Something was happening at the supermarket—and it wasn't going away.
He walked to the kitchen window, where strips of duct tape covered the frame. He peeled one back and looked outside.
The world was fine.
Still. Silent.
No sirens. No chaos. Just that terrible, unnatural quiet. Like the earth itself was holding its breath.
Then his phone buzzed.
Government alert:"Please remain indoors. Limit all non-essential travel."
Minutes later he finally decided open Sam's, Sam's last message came through—again, marked at 6:35 a.m.
"Ed. Lights. Not right. Hungry/"
Chills ran down his spine.
He glanced at the tape at the bottom of the curtain, one strip peeling away from the fabric. Too thin. Too exposed.
He opened the drawer, took out another piece of tape, folded it double, and carefully sealed the gap. Smoothing it down with steady fingers.
Light was dangerous. Sam had hinted at it. So had that cryptic warning.
Whatever was out there—Edward wasn't ready for it.
Not yet.