The final bell rang, loud and shrill, and the school exploded into motion.
Students poured out through the gates in waves—laughing, shouting, complaining about homework. Some walked in pairs, some in groups, some alone. Bicycles rattled past. A few parents waited by the roadside, engines humming. To most of them, it was just another normal afternoon.
Ace walked out by himself.
His backpack hung heavy on one shoulder, but it wasn't the books weighing him down. His thoughts kept circling the same place, the same image—the old house on the hill, silent and waiting.
He stopped near the gate.
A small group of students stood just outside, their uniforms a different shade—St. Caldron. They looked exhausted. Eyes red. Voices hoarse. One of them stepped forward and held out a sheet of paper.
Ace took it.
The flyer showed a photo of Anthony Hayes—smiling, careless, frozen in a moment before everything went wrong. Below it was a short message:
MISSING
LASTSEEN NEAR OLD HOUSE
PLEASE CALL IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION
A phone number was scribbled at the bottom.
Ace's fingers tightened around the paper.
The students didn't beg. They didn't cry. They just kept handing the flyers out, one after another, like if they stopped, it would mean accepting the truth.
"Hope you find him," someone muttered as they passed.
Ace folded the flyer once and slipped it into his pocket.
You don't even know what took him, he thought.
And you shouldn't have to.
The walk home felt longer than usual.
By the time Ace reached his neighborhood, the noise of the school had faded completely. He stopped in front of the familiar blue gate and pushed it open.
Inside stood three houses, arranged side by side.
The one in the center belonged to Ace and his family. To the right was his father's eldest brother's house. To the left, the middle brother's. Same land. Same blood. Different doors.
Ace's house wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. Two floors. White walls dulled slightly by time. A small garden wrapped around the front, flowers his mother insisted on keeping alive no matter what season it was.
He stepped inside and shut the gate behind him.
For a moment, he just stood there.
This place was safe. Normal. Quiet.
And somewhere not too far away, something had dragged a boy into the dark.
Ace exhaled slowly and headed inside.
Ace climbed the stairs, dumped his bag in his room, and shut the door harder than he meant to.
He stood there for a second, breathing.
Then he changed clothes and headed downstairs.
The sound of water sloshing filled the house. His mother stood near the basin, sleeves rolled up, wringing out clothes with practiced motions. The room felt small. Too quiet.
Ace opened his mouth.
"No."
He stopped.
"…What?"
She didn't look at him.
"What do you mean no? I didn't even say anything yet."
"I know what you're going to say," she replied. "I watched the news. I saw the house. I heard the name."
Ace shifted his weight. "So you're just gonna shut it down without listening?"
She finally turned to face him.
Her eyes were sharp—but underneath that, scared.
"You're not going," she said. "End of discussion."
Ace scoffed. "Mom, someone disappeared."
"And people disappear all the time," she shot back. "They get lost. They run away. They make stupid choices."
"You don't believe that," Ace said quietly.
She looked away.
"You don't want to believe what I believe," she said. "Because if you do, it means I'm right to be afraid."
Ace stepped closer. "This isn't new to me. I've been on hunts before."
Her head snapped up. "With your father."
"Yes," Ace said. "And I came back every time."
She laughed once, bitter and short. "So did he."
That hung in the air.
Ace swallowed. "Dad taught me how to identify signs. Tracks. Residue. He didn't throw me into fights—I learned."
"And where is he now?" she asked quietly.
Ace didn't answer.
"You think I don't notice?" she continued. "Every time you leave the house, I see him. The same walk. The same look. Like you're already somewhere else."
Ace clenched his fists. "He's not gone. He's just out there hunting."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" she snapped. "That he vanished into whatever nightmare you people deal with?"
Ace winced. "We don't go looking for nightmares. They come to us."
She shook her head. "You're still a child."
"I stopped feeling like one a long time ago," Ace replied. "Not by choice."
Silence.
Ace reached into his pocket and placed the folded flyer on the counter. Anthony Hayes. Smiling. Alive.
"I saw his friends today," Ace said. "They were handing these out like it's gonna fix something. They don't even know what they're up against."
His mother stared at the picture, her jaw tight.
"You think knowing the truth saves people?" she whispered.
"No," Ace said. "But it stops more people from disappearing."
She turned back to the basin, hands shaking slightly as she gripped the cloth.
"I raised you normal," she said. "I tried. School. Friends. A future that didn't involve blood or monsters or whatever the hell your father dragged into our lives."
Ace softened. "You did raise me normal."
Then, quieter: "The world just isn't."
She turned back toward him, eyes glossy. "Every time you talk like this, it feels like I'm losing you too."
Ace stepped closer. "You're not."
"You don't know that," she snapped. "I don't have symbols or strength or whatever it is you and your father have. All I can do is worry."
Ace nodded slowly. "And all I can do is act."
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
"You're asking me to let my fifteen-year-old son walk toward the same darkness that swallowed his father," she said.
"I'm asking you to trust that he prepared me for it," Ace replied. "And that I won't be reckless."
She hesitated. Long. Painfully long.
"…Fine," she said at last.
Ace blinked. "Wait—what?"
"You can go," she continued. "But you don't fight unless you understand what it is. You don't chase. You don't play hero."
"I won't," Ace said immediately.
"And the moment something feels off, you leave," she added. "I don't care if the thing is right in front of you."
"I promise."
She pointed at him. "You go with Cedric."
"Yeah."
"And you call me. Before and after."
Ace smiled faintly. "Deal."
She sighed and turned back to the laundry. "If you don't come back—"
"I will," Ace said softly.
She didn't answer.
Ace hesitated, then hugged her. This time, she hugged him back immediately—tight, like she was afraid to let go.
Ace slipped out through the blue gate and headed straight for the neighboring house.
Cedric's place sat behind a green gate, bigger than Ace's but cramped in a way that suggested too many people, too many lives stacked on top of each other. The lights were already on, shadows moving behind the curtains.
Ace barely reached the gate before it creaked open.
Chloe stood there, arms crossed. Cedric's sister looked him up and down like she already knew why he was there.
"Cedric's said you'd been coming, you're late though," she said.
"Had to talk to my mom."
She nodded slowly. "Figures."
Ace hesitated. "He upstairs?"
"Room at the end of the hall," she replied. "And if you're dragging him into something stupid—"
"I'm not," Ace said quickly. "I promise."
She held his gaze for a second longer, then stepped aside. "You better."
Ace took the stairs two at a time.
Cedric's room was exactly how Ace remembered it—clothes everywhere, half-empty energy drink cans, posters peeling at the corners. The hum of a computer filled the air.
Cedric sat at his desk, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"—bro you sold the round—" Cedric snapped, then glanced over and froze.
"Ace?"
Ace shut the door behind him. "Log off."
Cedric studied his face for a moment, then sighed and ripped the headset off. "Okay. That look means this isn't about homework."
Ace nodded. "My mom agreed."
Cedric leaned back in his chair. "Seriously?"
"Conditions," Ace added. "We observe first."
Cedric grinned. "Always do."
The grin faded just as fast.
"So," Cedric said, lowering his voice. "What do you think it is?"
Ace moved toward the window, peering out at the fading light. "Too early to say."
Cedric snorted. "That's your way of saying it's bad."
Ace didn't deny it.
"The timing's wrong," Ace continued. "Disappearances don't usually happen this close to town unless something's feeding or marking territory."
Cedric stood up, grabbing a jacket from the floor. "Could be a goblin. They get bold when they think no one's watching."
"Goblin wouldn't pull someone inside a structure that unstable," Ace replied. "They avoid collapsing ground."
Cedric frowned. "Skinwalker?"
Ace shook his head. "No sightings. No mimic reports. Plus… the house is uphill. Skinwalkers prefer forests."
Cedric's expression darkened.
"Chupacabra?"
"Wrong region," Ace said. "And they don't vanish people clean."
Cedric exhaled slowly. "So what, then?"
Ace hesitated. "Could be a blob."
Cedric grimaced. "Please don't say that."
"I'm serious," Ace said. "Low intelligence, high hunger. Slips through cracks. Pulls prey somewhere dark."
Cedric rubbed the back of his neck. "That would explain why no one heard anything."
They stood there in silence for a moment.
Cedric broke it first. "You think he suffered?"
Ace didn't answer right away.
"I don't know," he said finally. "And I don't want to guess."
Cedric nodded.
"So we check the house," Cedric said. "Scout the perimeter. Look for residue. Tracks. Anything out of place."
"And if we confirm something?" Ace asked.
Cedric met his eyes. "Then we plan."
Ace allowed himself a small breath of relief.
"I need to let my mom know when we're heading out," Ace said. "She'll freak if I don't."
Cedric smirked. "Must be nice. Mine just assumes I'll come back injured."
Ace cracked a smile, then sobered. "Meet me outside after sunset. No rushing in."
"Yeah," Cedric agreed. "Slow and quiet."
Ace turned to leave, hand on the doorknob.
Cedric spoke again. "Hey."
Ace looked back.
"You ever think," Cedric said slowly, "that this thing showed up because your dad's been gone?"
Ace's jaw tightened.
"…Yeah," he said. "All the time."
Cedric nodded. "Then let's make sure it doesn't get comfortable."
Ace stepped into the hallway.
Outside, the sun dipped low, shadows stretching longer than they should've.
Tonight, the house on the hill wouldn't be empty anymore.