The weird part wasn't that it was quiet. It was that the world acted like nothing happened. The sun still came up. The wind still blew. The birds? Gone. The people? Gone. But the sky? Still blue, pretending everything was fine.
Alex stood in the middle of the street like a glitch in a perfect photo. The silence was heavy, not just the absence of noise—but like the air itself was holding its breath. His footsteps echoed more than they should've. Every movement he made felt like it was being watched, recorded, judged.
"Hello?" he called, just in case the universe forgot to tell him where everyone went.
Nothing.
Not even an echo.
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the chill crawling down his spine. "Okay," he said to no one. "Weird prank. Elaborate. Good job, everyone. Come out now."
The town didn't laugh. Nobody jumped out from behind a bush with a camera. The trees just swayed gently like they were mourning something.
He walked. Just wandered. Not really going anywhere. His feet knew the streets by heart—he'd biked up and down them since he was eight. Now he was seventeen and suddenly every corner felt like it was hiding something.
Mailboxes stood open like mouths mid-sentence. Sprinklers came on in one yard, then stopped halfway through like they changed their mind.
He passed by Mrs. Hanley's porch. Her plastic flamingos were still standing there like nothing was wrong. She used to yell at him for stepping on her grass. Now her grass looked sad. Unbothered. Untouched.
That's when he noticed the mailbox. Bent. Open. And inside? Something black. Small. Tucked carefully like someone wanted it to be found.
Alex's stomach knotted as he reached in. A little journal. Leather-bound. Faded. His name was written on it. Not a label. Not printed. Written. In sharp, uneven handwriting like someone was in a rush—or scared.
He hesitated. Looked around.
Still alone.
He opened the book. Most of it was blank, except one thing tucked in the center like a heart: a folded piece of paper.
One word:
Seek.
He flipped it over.
Numbers. Coordinates, maybe? They looked like something from a spy movie, not something a regular kid like him was supposed to understand.
"What is this?" he whispered. But he already knew. It was a clue.
Another one.
He had two now—the photo with Remember the old place, and now this? Seek? His mom's letter in the house wasn't just a warning. It was a map.
His mouth went dry. What was he supposed to seek? Where?
And more importantly… why him?
He shoved the paper into his pocket, glancing back at the street. Everything looked the same. The houses. The cars. But it all felt… wrong. Off. Like he was in a painting of Oakdale, not the real thing.
Down the block was Sam's Corner Market.
He didn't even remember deciding to go there—his legs just moved. Like maybe part of him thought Sam would still be there, wearing that dumb visor, pretending to care about coupons.
He stepped inside.
The bell above the door made the saddest ding he'd ever heard.
It was cold inside. Too cold for summer. Shelves were stocked. Lights still on. Nothing was knocked over. No signs of panic. No signs of struggle.
But no people.
No music from the radio.
No buzzing fridge.
Just… nothing.
Alex walked slowly through the aisles. Grabbed a soda without really thinking. He paused at the chip rack. Took his favorite. Nacho cheese. Because if the world was ending, he wanted flavor.
He passed the counter. That's when he saw it.
The register was smeared.
Dark. Dried. Red.
It wasn't paint. And it definitely wasn't ketchup.
His breath caught. He took a step back.
Then two more.
The bag of chips fell from his hand.
"Nope," he whispered. "Nope, nope, nope."
He turned and bolted out the door, the bell slapping the silence like a scream. Outside, the air was warm again. But it didn't help.
He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath, but it felt like something was wrapped around his chest, squeezing.
There hadn't been a body.
That made it worse.
Blood with no body meant something took it—or someone.
He glanced up. The street was still. Peaceful. Like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just seen blood in the only store in town.
He walked faster now. More alert. Looking over his shoulder every few seconds. The breeze carried whispers that weren't there. Or maybe they were. Maybe this place wanted him to lose his mind.
He passed the park.
Empty.
The swings rocked a little in the breeze, but no one pushed them.
His gaze drifted to the photo again.
Remember the old place.
That old cabin in the woods? The one they used to visit before everything got weird? Or was it the bookstore his mom loved when he was little?
Then the paper in his pocket.
Seek.
It didn't feel like a game anymore. These weren't fun riddles left for a treasure hunt.
These were breadcrumbs in a nightmare.
He headed back home. It felt like the only place left to hide, even though hiding didn't seem to be working.
The door creaked as he opened it. The house greeted him with more silence.
Upstairs. His room. The same. Bed unmade. Posters crooked. Console still on pause from the night before.
He sat on the edge of his bed, letting the soda can sweat in his hand.
Everything felt like it was tipping.
Like reality had one leg off the edge of a cliff.
He pulled out the note again.
The answers are hidden where the past meets the present.
His past. This town. His mom.
Everything was pointing backwards.
And something told him if he didn't figure it out soon…
He'd be stuck in this ghost town forever.
Alone.
Or worse—
Not alone.