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Long before the suit, before the mirror, before the silence began whispering my name—there was me.
Just Rhysho.
A boy like any other.
Kind of.
I grew up in a dusty little town where kids ran barefoot, scraped knees were badges of honor, and bikes were passed down like family heirlooms. My mom—Elina—worked long shifts as a waitress and always smelled like cigarette smoke and vanilla lotion. My dad? I never knew him. Mom never talked about him.
But she smiled a lot. And back then, that was enough.
I had friends. A crew of five. We built treehouses, snuck snacks into the local library, and dared each other to go into the woods that bordered the edge of town—the ones everyone said were cursed.
We called ourselves The Rustlings, because we always moved like leaves in the wind—fast, noisy, impossible to catch.
There was Jayden, the loud one. Always first to speak, last to shut up. Jamie, the smart one. She could read a whole book in a day and still beat me in a foot race. Mikey, the coward. Ran from dogs, bees, shadows—you name it. Tasha, the brave one. She carried a switchblade in her sock and once bit a guy's ear in a playground fight. And then there was me.
The glue.
I was never the loudest, or the fastest, or the smartest. But I remembered birthdays. I drew maps to secret hideouts. I held us together.
We made memories like kids are supposed to.
Skipping stones. Summer sleepovers. Halloween pranks.
We talked about growing old together, living in a house with five bedrooms and no rules. Just pizza, games, and freedom.
And for a while, it felt possible.
Until the blur began.
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It started the week I turned nineteen.
Small things.
Jayden didn't show up for our traditional birthday bonfire. Tasha's texts stopped delivering. Jamie moved three towns over without saying goodbye. Mikey… Mikey was still around. But quieter. He stared at me too long. Blinked too slowly.
Then came the photo.
An old one. Summer 2012. All five of us on a tire swing. But something was… off.
I wasn't in it.
I was the one holding the camera.
Only I remembered someone else being there. A sixth figure. A boy with pale skin. A black hoodie. Smiling.
No one else remembered him.
Then came the dreams.
Doors in the woods. Screaming tree trunks. A man in a suit with no face, sitting at the edge of my bed, tapping the rhythm of my heartbeat.
Everything after that became a blur.
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[CONTINUES...]