Chapter 3 – The First Signs
Jack sat on his bed, the box on his desk. It hadn't moved since last night, yet somehow it felt different. He could hear something faint — not whispers, exactly, but a tap-tap-tap, like tiny claws against metal. He leaned closer, squinting. The sound stopped the moment he moved his head.
Calvin's voice echoed in his memory from yesterday: "I think it's alive." Jack had thought he was exaggerating. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Downstairs, the radio flickered on for no reason. A garbled voice scrambled across the static: "…not safe… must… hide…" Jack froze. The words weren't clear, but the meaning was unmistakable. The radio had been unplugged.
He jumped when his door creaked open. Nothing was there. Only a small black smear, like ink, that had appeared across the floorboards. It seemed to pulse, almost like it was breathing. Jack recoiled, knocking over his comic books.
He didn't tell his parents. He couldn't. How could he explain a moving stain of blackness and a radio speaking in broken, urgent phrases?
At school, the three of them met behind the bleachers. Calvin was pale. His hand shook as he held up his notebook, pages filled with jagged, frantic scribbles.
"I dreamt it," he said. "I was in the wheat field again… only this time, it wasn't empty. People were there. Dozens of them. And they were screaming, but when I got close… they just turned to ash."
Elena shivered. "I saw the same thing. But I wasn't dreaming. I was awake. My little brother said someone was standing at the foot of his bed. A man… no, a shadow. He moved when we blinked."
Jack glanced at the box, now glowing faintly in the daylight. The metal edges seemed sharper, almost like teeth. "It's… learning," he said.
Calvin swallowed. "Learning what?"
"That it can scare us. Test us. See what makes us weak," Jack said. "It's not just a box. It's a… tool. Or a trap."
That afternoon, strange things started happening in town.
At Mrs. Henderson's rose garden, flowers twisted toward the ground as if bowing, petals blackened at the edges. Across Main Street, a shopkeeper left his store mid-sentence, eyes wide and unblinking, stepping outside like he had somewhere urgent to be — and then he vanished. No one noticed at first. By the time the town realized, it was already too late; the shop was empty, the lights flickering.
In Jack's classroom, a student's handwriting changed mid-sentence, letters twisting into shapes that made no sense, almost like writing that was alive. When the teacher turned around, the words returned to normal, but the student's face had gone pale.
Even animals reacted. Calvin's dog growled at shadows in empty corners, teeth bared at nothing. Jack noticed birds circling above the wheat fields in formations that made no sense, murmuring in low, discordant patterns.
By evening, the three of them met at Jack's house again. The box sat innocuously on the desk, yet its influence radiated outward.
"It's getting stronger," Elena said, pacing. "It's not just our dreams anymore. Look around."
Jack followed her gaze. Across the room, the shadows of furniture shifted ever so slightly. The air smelled metallic, like blood mixed with ozone. A picture on the wall — of Jack and his father at a fishing trip — tilted forward as though leaning closer to the box.
Calvin shivered. "It wants us to notice it," he whispered. "It wants us to know it's here. And it's… hungry."
Jack's stomach churned. "We can't leave it here. But if we open it…" He swallowed. "We don't know what happens."
Night came, and with it, the first direct encounter.
Jack awoke to movement across the ceiling — hundreds of tiny shadows scuttling, flickering against the dim light of the streetlamp outside. They weren't spiders, not really, but their shape reminded him of legs, too many to count. He froze as a low, humming vibration passed through the floorboards.
Calvin's house shook lightly that same night, doors banging against frames, windows rattling, and a voice calling his name — unmistakably him — from the darkness outside. When he ran to the window, nothing was there, but footprints in the dust of his porch led into the night, vanishing into the empty street.
Elena's younger brother screamed. Something had brushed his arm, cold and slimy, leaving a streak that smelled like iron. She rushed in, only to find him trembling, pointing at the corner of the room. There was nothing there — but the wall itself seemed… wrong, faintly rippling, as if alive.
By the third night, Dry Hill wasn't just quiet anymore. It was watching. People began to notice odd things:
Streetlights flickered in sequence, like a signal.
Fences leaned toward the box, casting shadows that weren't possible.
Dogs barked at invisible intruders, refusing to go outside.
A stranger passed through town — tall, featureless, silent — only to vanish around a corner, leaving nothing but footprints.
The kids met at Jack's room again. They hadn't spoken much; they didn't need to.
Jack set the box between them. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
"This is just the beginning," he said, voice tight. "Whatever we woke up… it's choosing its prey. And I think… it's choosing us."
Calvin looked around nervously. "Then what do we do?"
Jack swallowed, staring at the faint glow. "We survive. That's all we can do. And we need to figure out what it wants — before it's too late."
Outside, the wheat field whispered, black shapes moving beneath the stalks. A soft, clicking sound echoed from the distance.
And somewhere in the darkness, hundreds of eyes blinked open.