The night was cold, the kind of bone-deep chill that made every movement uncomfortable. Sharing a small, cramped room with four people was no joke, the air felt heavy, damp, and impossible to breathe freely. Elaine lay next to Helana, listening to the uneven rhythm of her breathing, while the shadows from the lone lamp flickered across the walls. Allan had said she wouldn't dream tonight. Somehow, he had sounded certain, as if he had the power to control sleep itself. That certainty gnawed at her, how could anyone be so sure of such a thing?
Hours crawled by slowly, each tick of the clock amplifying the discomfort. The night finally yielded to dawn, but the pale light that trickled through the window did little to brighten the damp, oppressive room. It smelled faintly of mildew and unwashed linens, the scent making Elaine wrinkle her nose.
Meanwhile, back in HERBERT WILBUR, Gwen and Horace sat beneath the wide canopy of ancient trees, their surroundings silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves. Horace broke the quiet first, his voice playful, tinged with curiosity. "How do you think Allan is faring now?"
"How should I know?" Gwen replied with a sigh, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Since yesterday, when most of the students had departed, she had become irritable, snappish over things she usually ignored. "It's only been a day since he left, nothing should have happened yet," she added, her tone sharper than intended.
"So, you're saying something will happen?" Horace teased, leaning back casually.
Gwen rolled her eyes. "I didn't say that," she muttered. "Besides, why does it seem like you're looking forward to something bad happening?" Her eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across her face.
"No, not at all," Horace said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender.
Gwen glanced away, her attention drawn to a dark figure in the distance. Her face hardened as a surge of anger and unease rose within her. Horace followed her gaze and spotted them, a pair of girls walking together with an aura that immediately set his nerves on edge. One was unmistakably the soul leech, Dana, whom Gwen despised with every fiber of her being. Beside her, a striking girl with black hair and darkly painted eyes walked confidently, Vanessa, the one who had almost started a fight with June the day she argued with Dana in the playroom.
Horace didn't know Vanessa, but Gwen's expression told him all he needed to know. Dana turned briefly, her eyes locking on Gwen, a sinister smile playing across her lips, a promise of cruelty hidden within. Vanessa only gave Gwen a single glance, her distaste obvious. Watching them side by side felt like witnessing two storms gathering, their combined presence heavy with menace.
Gwen took a step forward, ready to confront them, but Horace placed his hands firmly on her shoulders, stopping her.
"Let go of me!" she snapped, struggling briefly, but the grip held. Slowly, as the initial surge of anger ebbed, she calmed, taking ragged breaths.
"Let me go now," she said more quietly, her anger still simmering but contained.
Horace released her. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, genuinely confused. He had thought they'd agreed to leave Dana alone for now.
"They're up to something," Gwen said through clenched teeth.
"What do you mean?" Horace asked, stepping closer.
"They mean nothing but harm," she added, her gaze lingering on the girls. She wanted to say more, to explain why her instincts screamed danger, but the words died on her lips. Even she couldn't explain the sharp, foreboding feeling that twisted in her stomach the moment she saw them.
---
The loud noises outside jolted everyone awake, loud chatters, hurried footsteps, and the clattering of doors. Simmy stirred beside her father, confusion etched across her features.
"What's going on?" Helena grumbled, still half-asleep. Next to her, Elaine and Leonard rubbed their eyes, struggling to wake fully. Allan, however, remained seated on the edge of his bed, eyes sharp and alert, as if he had been expecting this.
They moved cautiously outside, the morning air crisp yet carrying an odd tension. Groups had gathered, murmuring in low, urgent tones. Simmy pushed forward, curiosity overcoming her grogginess.
"Good morning, ma'am," she greeted an older woman, catching her attention.
"You haven't heard?" the woman replied, worry etched on her face. "Five men have been missing since last night."
Simmy's brow furrowed. In their small town, disappearances were rare, almost unheard of.
"And that's not all," the woman continued, her voice dropping, as though excited to share the recent gossip. "Another man was found…"
"What happened?" Simmy asked, leaning in.
"He… wasn't in a state to speak," the woman said, her tone heavy. "Torn apart… tongue ripped out… belly opened… head hanging barely on his neck."
Simmy gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her mind struggled to imagine such a gruesome scene.
"Probably a wild animal attack," the woman added, though her eyes betrayed doubt.
Simmy ran back to inform the others, her heart racing. Conversations erupted around her, fear and disbelief mingling in the morning air.
"Wild animals? Here?" Helena whispered, pale and frightened. "Why now, while we're here?"
Elaine, however, felt a different chill crawl up her spine. Something about the scene didn't sit right. She turned back toward the room, intending to retreat into the relative safety of sleep, but froze. Allan sat upright, eyes fixed on the door as if waiting just for her.
"You're up," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper, caught between dread and curiosity.