The morning air carries the familiar scent of freshly cut grass and damp pavement. The houses along the street stand in uniformity—neatly kept lawns, cars parked neatly in driveways, porches decorated with seasonal decorations.
It's the kind of place that seems unchanged by time, where neighbors wave from their mailboxes, dogs barking from fenced yards, and flowers growing in flower beds.
But even with its picture-perfect calm, something always feels off about the neighborhood. As if the place is trying too hard to be normal. The silence isn't comforting—-it lingers too long, stretches too thin, making the air heavier than it should.
Maybe it's the way the light filters through the trees, casting shadows that shift when no one's looking. Or Maybe it's the house.
It sits at the edge of the street, where the perfect lawns end, like a scar no one talks about.
The house is old—older than the others. Its brick frame streaked with moss, the color of decay.
Vines coil up the siding, curing around the edges like skeletal fingers gripping what's left of the deteriorating structure. Even in the bright daylight, shadows cling to the house, stretching long and heavy across the cracked sidewalk.
The porch sags under years of neglect, it's once brown paint peeling exposing rotting wood beneath. The windows, layered with dust, reflect nothing but an empty gray sky, as if the house has long since stopped acknowledging the world outside.
A wooden stake in the ground where a mailbox once sat. The yard—-where grass once was—-has been swallowed by tangled weeds, dry and brittle, whispering against the wind like something alive.
No one ever talks about it. No one goes near it.
Until today.
The low hum of an engine breaks the morning stillness, a moving van parked in the driveway. Boxes are stacked haphazardly on the lawn, and a sleek black car sits at the curb, gleaming under the sun. A family is moving in.
I slow my steps, unable to stop myself from staring.
The first person I notice is the woman. Tall, elegant, and almost too poised, as if she belongs in a different time.
Her long brown hair flows past her shoulders, catching the dim morning light in a way that makes it seem like liquid ink. Her features are sharp and refined, skin pale in the sunlight.
Even though the morning is warm, she wears a long black coat, the fabric flowing behind her like a cloak. She walks in a straight line, her focus never leaving the house while she carries boxes from the moving van.
The man beside her is just as striking but in a completely different way. Tall, short brown hair with broad shoulders that makes him appear more cold than the woman.
He directs the movers with precise, clipped orders, his tone polite but final. The only crack in his stern features is when the woman looks at him, his features soften for the briefest of moments for her. But there's something about him, something sharp, like a blade hidden beneath expensive clothes and a polished demeanor.
As his wife, he wears a black coat over his blue button up shirt. The colors working well with his pale skin, suggesting he too doesn't get much sunlight.
Then my gaze shifts to the boy standing at the edge of the lawn.
He's leaning against the moving van, arms crossed over his chest, watching the activity with a quiet sort of amusement.
Dark hair falls messily over his forehead, framing sharp features, but it's his eyes that hold me captive. They're deep blue, almost black, and when they meet mine, my heart stutters.
A chill runs through me.
His gaze is steady, unblinking, like he sees more than he should. More than he's supposed to. For a fleeting moment, the world feels too still—like the air itself is waiting for something to happen.
A soft cough draws my attention.
Near the house, standing just behind the woman, is another presence. A girl, close to my age, stands with her arms crossed. Long auburn hair styled flawlessly. Her features remind me of a model from a magazine—-tall, skinny, sun-kissed tan with deep green eyes flicking over me.
She tilts her head slightly, lips curving into a smirk. Not a friendly one. More like amusement....or recognition. She never looks away, not even when the woman turns and whispers something into her ear.
I glance away, pretending to check my phone, my fingers trembling slightly. But the moment is already burned into my memory, an imprint I can't shake.
I force myself to keep walking, but my pulse thrums in my ears.
Who are these people? And why do I feel like I already know them?
******
I make it to school just as the first bell rings, slipping into my usual seat near the window.
The classroom hums with quiet conversation, but I barely register it..
My thoughts are still tangled with the unsettling feeling from earlier, the weight of that boy's gaze lingering on my skin like an unspoken question. The mocking smirk the girl gave me while the woman talked to her.
I try to shake it off, but the feeling sticks—like something unseen has followed me here.
Mr. Stetson is scribbling equations on the board when the door swings open, and a hush falls over the room.
I don't need to look up to know who it is.
I already know. My skin prickling the way it did this morning.
"Class, we have a new student joining us today," Mr. Stetson announces. "Please welcome Justin Vandir."
I don't breathe.
I look up just as Justin moves toward the empty seat beside me, his gaze flicking in my direction. There's something knowing in his expression, like he expected this.
"Mind if I sit here?" His voice is smooth, warm, but there's an undertone I can't quite place.
I swallow hard, forcing my lips into a smile. "Uh, sure."
He settles into the seat, pulling out a notebook like he's been here before. Like he belongs.
But I know better.
Something about him is off.
Mr. Stetson drones on about algebra, but I can't focus. Every nerve in my body is hyper-aware of Justin sitting beside me, of the way he moves, the way he occasionally glances in my direction with a faint smirk, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
I don't like it.
I don't like how my pulse quickens when he leans slightly closer, how my skin prickles when he turns those dark eyes on me.
By the time the bell rings, I'm ready to bolt.
I shove my books into my bag, keeping my head down, but as I stand, Justin steps into my path, blocking my escape.
"Sarah, right?" His voice is casual, almost amused.
I hesitate. "Yeah."
His smirk deepens, and for a second, I swear his eyes darken, like a shadow passes through them.
"See you around, Sarah."
He walks away before I can respond, leaving me standing in the middle of the classroom, heart pounding, hands clenched at my sides.
I don't know what it is about him, but I do know one thing.
Justin Vandir isn't normal.
And I need to stay far, far away from him.
But something tells me…
I won't be able to.
*******
By lunchtime, I can barely focus. I sit in my usual spot at the back of the cafeteria, hoping to go unnoticed.
But as if on cue, they approach.
Justin steps up beside my table, holding his tray. "Hey," he says, that easy grin still in place. "Mind if we sit?"
I hesitate. It's not really a question.
"Uh...yeah. Sure."
He takes the seat across from me, setting his tray down like we are old friends. Before I can say anything else the girl slides into the seat beside him, her movements smooth, deliberate.
Her green eyes flick over me again, calculating, amused. She doesn't even touch her food—-just watches.
Justin leans back slightly. "Looks like we have a lot of classes together," he says, like it's some funny coincidence.
I nod, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, we do."
Natalia hums. Not a friendly sound.
I glance at her, and her smirk deepens, like she's been waiting for me to notice her.
She tilts her head. "You're different than what I was expecting."
I frown slightly. "Expecting of me?"
Justin exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Natalia." A warning.
She ignores him, resting her chin in her palm, eyes still locked on me. "We all have expectations, don't we?"
The air between us tightens.
I don't know what she means. But I do know that she's playing some kind of game.
And I'm already losing.
Justin clears his throat, shifting his tray as if to break the moment. "So, Sarah," he says, steering the conversation away. "What did you think about that algebra lesson?"
It takes me a second to catch up. My mind is still tangled in whatever just happened with Natalia.
I shrug, pushing a bite of food around my plate. "It was…..interesting."
"Just interesting?" His smirk is teasing, but his eyes are watchful.
Natalia doesn't look away. I can still feel her gaze on me.
The bell rings, and I exhale quietly. I barely ate.
As I gather my things, I feel both of them standing beside me. Their presence is suffocating, yet undeniably magnetic.
Justin smiles, easy and unreadable. "See you around, Sarah"
Natalia's smirk lingers just a second longer than it should.
"Yeah," I murmur. "See you."
Even as I walk away, I can still feel their eyes on me.
******
In the next class, I take my usual seat in the back, next to the window. I pull out my notebook, pencil, and highlighter, settling in—-until I hear Justin's voice.
I don't have to look up to know he is talking to the teacher.
My stomach knots.
He's going to sit next to me again.
And, just like that, he does.
I stare straight ahead, gripping the pencil tighter than necessary. Why is he always near me?
A storm churns inside me—-equal parts intrigue and unease. Justin is a mystery, one I want to unravel, but another part of me knows better. He's too close, too watchful.
Before I can say anything, Mrs. Shanda starts her lecture.
Her voice fades.
Why does Justin's family feel so familiar?
Why does he seem so interested in me?
By the time I get to Literature, my favorite class, 'm determined not to let him ruin it for me.
I slip into my usual seat at the front, near the window.
"Okay, class," Mr. Lawson begins, "from here on, you'll be in assigned groups of two or three. You'll write a story that leaves the reader wanting more at the end. This will be your semester project, and I'll be assigning the partners."
I sit up straighter. This is something I can do.
Unless…..
Mr. Lawson calls out names, finally reaching mine.
"Sarah, you're with…"
Please not Justin. Please don't let it be Justin.
"…Justin."
I stifle a groan. Of course.
Justin turns to look at me, grinning like he finds this funny.
"Looks like we'll be spending more time together," he says. "If you want, we can meet up and get started today. I have some ideas if you're interested."
I force a tight smile. "Sure. How about the library? Their computers are better than mine."
I choose the library deliberately, a public place.
Justin tilts his head slightly, as if amused. "Okay, that works for me."
He continues jotting down notes, unbothered by my hesitation. Like this is just another assignment.
But my instincts won't let me believe that.
Mr. Lawson outlines the project, but my mind is elsewhere. I have a bad feeling about this.
As class wraps up, Justin remains engrossed in his notes. His enthusiasm is almost infectious, and I find myself softening a bit.
Maybe this won't be so bad after all.
Then, Natalia saunters into the room.
The air immediately shifts.
Her gaze zeros in on me.
"Sarah," she says, her tone challenging.
"Natalia," I reply, nodding. Her smirk suggests she knows something I don't, sending shivers down my spine.
How are she and Justin siblings when they're so different?
I walk out of class, my pulse still uneven.
I wait by my locker for Justin to finalize our plans, but after ten minutes, I give up and head home.
As I approach their house, the rhythmic sound of a basketball hitting pavement reaches me before I see him.
Justin.
He's outside, shirtless, the glow of late afternoon light casting long shadows over the driveway.
I don't mean to stare. I really don't.
But there's something effortless about the way he moves—-controlled, precise, like he's done this a thousand times. His muscles flex as he dribbles, the sharp motion of his arms sending an unexpected jolt through me.
For a second, I forget why he unsettles me.
For a second, I forget to breathe.
He pivots and shoots. The ball arcs smoothly through the air, landing in the hoop without so much as touching the rim.
Perfect.
I shouldn't care.
But my stomach twists in a way that has nothing to do with unease.
Then, movement catches my eye.
Natalia and their mother.
They sit at a small table nearby, their mother's posture again too perfect, too poised.
Natalia's head tilted slightly toward her mother, both reading.
I swallow, my gaze flicking between Justin and Natalia.
The warmth from before, the unintended, fleeting attraction, is gone.
I lower my head and force myself to keep walking.
At home, I try to eat something before meeting Justin, but my nerves make it impossible to stomach anything more than a few bites.
I decide to make some homemade mac and cheese, my go-to comfort food, hoping it will help calm me down. The familiar smell of cheese melting and noodles boiling does soothe me a little.
I manage to eat most of the bowl, but my stomach still feels unsettled.
I glance at the clock. Almost time to go.
With a sigh, I clean up, grab my bag, and head for the door.
I tell myself this is just a project.
But my instincts won't stop whispering otherwise.
*****
When I arrive at the library, Justin is already seated at a computer, his fingers moving so fast over the keyboard it's almost unnatural.
How long has he been here?
"Hey, Sarah!" He greets me without looking up, his focus locked on the screen. "Sorry, I had some ideas I didn't want to forget."
I hesitate. He seems different here—--focused, intent, almost like he's chasing something.
Still, I manage a smile. "No worries. I do that too—once inspiration hits, you have to run with it."
At that, he finally looks up, his grin easy, familiar, as if everything is normal. And just like that, the tension from earlier melts away.
We spend the next few hours brainstorming and outlining our story. Justin's energy is infectious, and soon we're throwing ideas back and forth, building on each other's thoughts.
"How about a town that traps its visitors?" Justin suggests. "Once you enter, you can't leave without something terrible happening."
A shiver of excitement runs through me. "I like it. Maybe it's a small, remote town, the kind people warn you about. Nearby towns tell tales of people disappearing when they enter."
Justin nods, typing quickly as we brainstorm. "Should we add some fantasy elements? Like vampires and witches?"
"Absolutely!" I say, a grin spreading across my face. "Those are some of my favorite topics."
He laughs softly, his voice dropping to a whisper when a librarian shoots us a disapproving glance. "You think like me, Sarah. I knew we'd make a great team."
His words shouldn't make my stomach flip. But they do.
For a while, I forget to be uneasy around him.
But just as I'm getting comfortable, Justin's voice turns serious.
"Can I ask you something?"
Justin's tone is different now—-quieter, more serious.
The change in his tone catches me off guard. "Sure."
His fingers tap against the desk, but he doesn't look at me when he asks,"Why do you seem… scared of me?"
The question slams into me like a shock of cold water.
I straighten slightly. "I'm not scared," I lie, my voice betraying a slight tremor. "I just… I guess I don't understand why you're interested in being friends."
Finally, he looks at me.
His blue eyes are searching, softer than before."I'm sorry if I came on too strong. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost embarrassed, a blush creeping on his cheeks.
"It's okay," I say, my own face warming.
"It's just… hard being the new person, you know?" His smile brightens, and for a moment, my unease fades.
I'm in big trouble. I can already feel it.
"Can I ask you something now?" I venture.
He tenses slightly, but nods. "Sure."
"Your sister… Natalia doesn't seem to like me. Did I do something to upset her?" I watch his expression shift, his eyes widening slightly as if I've touched on a sensitive topic.
"When it comes to Natalia…well, she has her own way of seeing things. It's not you," he says, his voice careful. "Getting her to explain herself is like pulling teeth."
I nod, sensing that pushing further won't get me anywhere. Sometimes silence is the best option.
As we're wrapping up our session, Justin's phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, and all the color drains from his face.
"I have to go," he says abruptly, shoving his things into his bag.
"Is everything okay?" I ask, alarmed by his sudden urgency.
He hesitates, as if weighing whether to confide in me. "Just be careful, Sarah," he says finally, his voice low.
His eyes flicker towards the library door, as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment. A shadow shifts outside—a passing car, maybe. Or something else.
"There are things… you should be aware of."
Before I can ask him to elaborate, his phone buzzes again, and he grimaces. "I really have to go," he mutters, hurrying out.
I watch him leave, a knot of worry tightening in my chest. I gather my things, the library's usual comfort replaced by a sense of unease.
As I step outside, the cool evening air wraps around me like a cold embrace. The sky is darkening, casting long shadows that make the street feel unfamiliar.
I decide to take the long way home, hoping the walk will help clear my head.
As I approach Justin's house on the corner, my steps slow. The lights are on inside, spilling out through the stained-glass windows. Shadows flit across the glass, too vague to make out, but unsettling nonetheless.
I freeze.
The street is silent, the air unnaturally still. My breath comes shallow, uneven. Just as I'm about to turn away, the front door swings open.
Natalia steps out.
She stands in the doorway, bathed in the golden light from inside. At first, she doesn't seem to notice me, but then her head slowly turns, and our eyes meet.
We stare at each other for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she raises her hand and points to the third-floor window.
A strange cold washes over me. I follow the line of her finger, squinting against the dim light.
Something moves behind the glass.
A figure.
Just a flicker of movement—a shift in the darkness.
When I look back at Natalia, she's gone. The house stands quiet and still, as if nothing had happened. But it wasn't nothing. It wasn't my imagination.
I'm left alone on the sidewalk, my heart pounding and my mind racing with questions.
What did I just see? And why do I feel like Natalia was trying to tell me something—something important?
I don't realize I'm trembling until I wrap my arms around myself.
Run.
The word pulses through my mind, instinctive, like a heartbeat.
I turn on my heel and I hurry home, the image of the shadow behind the stained-glass burns in my mind. For the first time, I consider talking to someone about this. But who would believe me?
As I pass their house again, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A figure in the window, watching.
By the time I reach home, the sky has darkened completely, and the wind picks up, rustling the trees in a way that makes me shiver. I'm relieved to be home, but the unease hasn't left me. It follows me like a shadow, creeping just behind me.
I quickly head inside, locking the door behind me. The house feels too quiet, too still. I throw my bag on the couch and sink into the armchair, trying to calm my racing thoughts. But the more I try to dismiss what happened, the more vivid the images become.
With a sigh, I rise from the chair and head upstairs to my room. I pull the blinds open, glancing out the window toward Justin's house, but I see nothing—just the street bathed in the cold glow of street lamps.
For a moment, I think maybe I was just imagining things, letting my mind run wild. But then my phone buzzes, pulling me back to reality.
I pick it up, and my heart skips when I see a message from Justin:
"Hope you made it home okay. Let me know when you want to work on the project again. And… be careful. Things are not as they seem."
I stare at the screen, my pulse hammering.
A long pause.
Then another message comes through.
"Trust me."
A cold shiver runs down my spine.
I stare at the message for a long moment, the weight of it sinking in. I don't know what he's trying to say, but something tells me I'm about to find out, whether I'm ready or not.
And with that thought, the feeling of being watched returns, stronger than before. The room around me feels colder, the shadows darker.
I pull the blinds closed, trying to shake off the unease, but I know—whatever's coming, I won't be able to ignore it much longer.