I didn't plan to wake up that early. Saturdays are supposed to be lazy. But the garbage truck came rumbling down Maple Street at 6:03 AM, and that horrible clanging of metal bins against concrete practically punched the sleep out of me. I groaned into my pillow, hoping the noise would stop, but of course it didn't. Nothing ever stops when you want it to.
So I got up, rubbed my eyes, and tried to convince myself it was a good idea to take a morning walk. Fresh air, calm streets, maybe a coffee later. Normal stuff. And in a town as small as Blue Ridge, normal is the only thing we usually get.
Except that day.
I remember shoving my hands into my hoodie pockets because the morning air was colder than I expected. The sky was a hazy gray, like the sun couldn't be bothered to show up. Birds chirped, but even they sounded a bit tired. Our town isn't exactly exciting — two grocery stores, four churches, one high school, and a mayor who always smells like soap and bragging rights. Crime here is mostly limited to stolen bikes or teens setting off fireworks where they shouldn't.
But as I turned onto Willow Lane, I saw a police car flash by — fast. Too fast for this place.
I frowned. Weird.
I kept walking, curiosity pushing me forward. The road twisted, like it always did, hugging the line of old brick buildings that blocked most of the back alleys. That's when I noticed another police car parked near the entrance to one of them. Lights on, doors open, officers rushing around.
My heart kicked a little harder. Something was wrong.
Blue Ridge doesn't do drama. If two officers show up somewhere, it's usually to help a cat down from a roof or break up a neighbor screaming match. But this… this looked different. There was tension in the air, like everyone was breathing the same nervous breath.
I slowed down, because that's what you do when something big is happening — you pretend you're not watching while desperately trying to watch everything.
"What happened?" a woman ahead of me asked one of the officers.
But he didn't answer her. He just lifted his hand like he was directing traffic in a city far bigger than ours and told people to stay back.
Which made it feel even bigger.
A few neighbors gathered, all wearing pajamas and bed hair. We weren't used to police tape. It felt out of place here, like seeing a shark in a kiddie pool. I lingered behind them, trying to see what had happened.
Then the smell hit me — metallic and sharp, like pennies and bleach smashed together. It burned my nose. People started whispering. A man gasped. Someone said a prayer under their breath.
An officer finally came out of the alley, his face pale and eyes wide like he'd seen a ghost that slapped him.
"There's a body," a woman near me whispered. "God… someone's dead."
The crowd rippled with fear and shock. First death by murder in… I don't know how many years. Maybe ever.
I swallowed hard. My tongue felt dry like sandpaper.
A detective stooped under the police tape and stepped out — Detective Rowan. I recognized him from the one time he visited the school to lecture us about safety. He was always calm, the kind of guy who could tell you your dog died and still make you feel comforted.
Not today. His jaw was tight. His eyes darted everywhere — except at us.
I didn't want to stare, but I did.
Was it a man who died? A woman? Someone from around here? A stranger? Questions flooded my brain faster than answers. And then, as if the universe wanted to make everything worse, someone shouted:
"It's a woman!"
The words slammed into me.
My lungs stopped moving for a second.
Dead. Murdered. A woman in a quiet alley where I walked past nearly every day.
The woman next to me gasped. "Here? In Blue Ridge? No way."
More officers arrived. Cameras. Gloves. Clipboard scribbles. It felt like the town was shrinking around the crime scene, like everything familiar was suddenly overshadowed by a dark cloud that had been waiting patiently above us.
I backed up slowly, feeling the cold finger of panic run down my spine. I didn't want to get in the way.
People glanced around at neighbors like strangers suddenly hid among them.
"Who would do something like this?"
"This early in the morning?"
"Do you think the killer is still here?"
Every voice made me more uneasy. Eyes scanned faces like they were sorting through a deck of suspects.
I tried not to look guilty of… anything. Just breathing.
Detective Rowan called for the body to be moved. Officers carefully lifted a stretcher from the alley. Everyone gasped at the same time. The sheet covering the body wasn't long enough — a pale hand slipped out, fingers stiff and lifeless.
I shivered, not just from the cold.
A woman. She looked young. Maybe 30. Not someone I recognized. But that didn't make it better. It made it worse — because strangers aren't supposed to die in alleys here. Not in our quiet town where the most exciting thing last spring was a raccoon stuck in the library.
I stepped away, pretending I suddenly remembered somewhere I needed to be. My heart kept thudding against my ribs like it wanted out. The police tape looked like a warning line between the world we knew and something darker that just kicked our door in.
People began asking each other, "Where were you this morning?"
The question wrapped around me like a noose.
I scratched my neck nervously.
Where was I?
Right here.
Walking past this alley before anyone arrived.
But I didn't need to tell anyone that. It wasn't important, right?
Right.
I shoved that thought away quickly, the way you hide a breakable thing behind a tougher object. I didn't want to remember the exact time I walked past here — the officers might ask. They were already looking too hard at everyone.
I didn't want to be noticed more than usual. I'm the type of guy nobody really pays attention to — the shy one always standing at the edge of group photos, hoping the camera doesn't spotlight my awkward smile. I don't stand out. I like it that way.
I crossed the street and kept walking, pretending that I wasn't looking back. But I did. The police cars. The flashing lights. The crowd of confused neighbors.
Something inside me whispered that the town would never be the same again. That a single body had shaken the ground we thought was solid.
I pulled my hoodie tighter around me. The chill wouldn't go away.
By the time I reached the small bakery at the end of the street, the bell above the door chimed a cheerful jingle that didn't match the fear pulsing in my veins. The smell of warm bread wrapped around me like a blanket, but it did nothing to calm the knot twisting in my stomach.
Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was fear.
Or maybe it was curiosity.
That sharp, buzzing kind that makes you want answers even if you're scared to hear them.
The radio behind the counter was already talking about it.
"—police have discovered the body of an unidentified woman—"
"—investigation ongoing—"
"—no details released—"
I sat by the window, coffee warming my hands, but my mind was back in that alley. The woman's hand. The look on Detective Rowan's face.
Dead.
Murdered.
Someone killed her.
Someone from here?
Passing through?
Still lurking?
The town felt smaller. Tighter. Like the walls of every building were leaning closer, listening. Watching.
People always say small towns are safe. But maybe that's only because the darkness hides better here. Maybe we never noticed it before.
I kept glancing at the door, expecting the police to burst in and question everyone. My heartbeat refused to settle. I kept telling myself to breathe. I even whispered it:
"Breathe, okay? Just breathe…"
The worker at the counter gave me a strange look. I gave her a shaky thumbs-up, like I wasn't freaking out or anything.
I left after two sips of my drink. Couldn't stay still. My legs practically marched me home without permission. When I got to my apartment, I locked the door — double locked it — and leaned against it, breathing hard.
Silence.
No sirens. No whispers. No neighbors gawking.
Just silence.
I sat on the couch, pulled my knees up a little, and stared at my phone as if a notification might explain everything. Nothing came. The town group chat remained quiet, like everyone was too scared to type.
I didn't know what to do except sit there, information spinning around in my head like a tornado.
A woman died.
In our small town.
Right near where I walked.
And suddenly, normal felt like a lie we all agreed to believe.
I didn't realize how long I sat like that until my phone buzzed with a news alert. I opened it immediately:
BREAKING: HOMICIDE INVESTIGATION IN BLUE RIDGE
The headline punched me in the gut all over again. The article didn't say much. Just a discovery. No suspects. No identity.
I swallowed and set my phone aside.
Went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.
My reflection stared back — tired eyes, slight shaking. I tried to smile. It looked wrong.
I whispered, "It's okay. You're okay."
But even I didn't believe me.
I climbed into bed, pulling the blanket tight as if it could protect me from the truth. But my mind wouldn't shut up.
Why there? Why her? Why now?
What if the killer was someone we'd seen at the grocery store? Someone who waved during morning walks? Someone who smiled too widely?
Someone unexpected.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling.
I shouldn't have gone near that alley. I shouldn't have looked. I shouldn't have stayed to watch…
…or passed by earlier that morning.
But that detail… I'll keep to myself for now.
I'm scared. What if I get killed next? What if.. no no.. I have to think positively.