The rain didn’t just fall in the town of Oakhaven; it drowned it.
James Jackson sat in the driver’s seat of his aging sedan, the rhythmic thwack-thwack of the windshield wipers providing a steady beat to the horror audiobook playing through his speakers. The narrator’s gravelly voice described a spirit trapped in a loop, haunting a lonely stretch of road. James leaned back, his eyes sharp and alert behind his glasses. Most people found horror unsettling at 1:00 AM in a thunderstorm. For James, it was the only time he felt truly at home.
"Cliche," James muttered to the empty car, reaching over to turn the volume down. "Ghosts don't just stand in the road waiting for a ride."
He rounded a sharp bend near the outskirts of the university campus, his headlights cutting through the silver sheets of rain. Suddenly, his foot slammed onto the brake. The tires shrieked against the wet asphalt, the car fishtailing slightly before coming to a jarring halt.
There, in the center of the beam, stood a girl.
She didn't move. She didn't flinch. She stood perfectly still in a white summer dress that was plastered to her thin frame. Her dark hair was a tangled silk curtain over her face.
"Hey!" James yelled over the thunder, rolling down his window. "Are you crazy? You’re going to get killed!"
The girl slowly turned her head. Her skin was the color of unpolished marble—not just pale, but drained of every ounce of warmth. She looked at him, and for a second, the audiobook in the background seemed to glitch into static.
"I... I can't find the way back," she whispered. Her voice shouldn't have reached him through the storm, yet it sounded like she was sitting in the passenger seat right next to him.
James hesitated. His "horror fan" brain screamed danger, but his gut saw someone who was freezing to death. "Get in. I'll take you to the campus security or a hospital."
She walked to the car, her movements unnervingly smooth. When she sat in the passenger seat, the temperature inside the car plummeted. James cranked the heater to full blast, but the air coming out felt like a draft from a basement.
"What's your name?" James asked, putting the car back into gear.
"Rebecca," she said. She was staring straight ahead, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wasn't shivering, despite being soaked. "Rebecca Jenkins."
James paused. The name rang a bell—something from a university bulletin board months ago—but he pushed it aside. "Okay, Rebecca. I'm James. You’re lucky I have fast reflexes. What were you doing out here?"
"I was at a party," she whispered. Her voice grew distant, echoing. "There were flowers. He told me I deserved a celebration. But then... it got so dark. And the dirt... the dirt was so heavy."
James gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Who is 'he'?"
Rebecca didn't answer. She just pointed toward the apartment complex at the edge of the woods. "Can I stay with you? Just until the rain stops? I don't think I can go back to the woods tonight. It’s too quiet there."
James looked at her. Her eyes were wide and filled with a sorrow so deep it felt physical. Against his better judgment, he nodded. "Yeah. Just until the rain stops."
James’s apartment was a sanctuary of the macabre. Shelves were lined with Stephen King novels, vintage Scream posters, and a collection of old VHS tapes. He set a mug of steaming chamomile tea on the coffee table in front of Rebecca.
"Drink. It'll help with the shock," James said, sitting in the armchair opposite her.
Rebecca picked up the mug. James watched her closely. She held it to her lips, but the steam didn't fog up her face. She took a long sip, but when she set the mug back down, the liquid was still at the very brim.
James felt a cold prickle at the base of his neck. He looked down at the floor.
"Rebecca," he said slowly, his voice dropping an octave. "Where are your footprints?"
She looked down at the hardwood floor. She was dripping wet, her hair matted against her neck, yet the floor beneath her was bone-dry. Not a single drop of water had fallen from her dress.
James stood up and walked over to his television. It was turned off, the black screen acting as a dark mirror. In the reflection, he could see his own silhouette, the lamp behind him, and the messy stack of books on the table.
But the sofa where Rebecca sat was empty.
James turned back to her, his heart hammering—not with fear, but with a grim, fascinated realization. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and tried to touch her shoulder. His fingers passed straight through her, feeling nothing but a sensation of dry, biting frost.
Rebecca looked up at him, her eyes finally meeting his. A single tear tracked down her pale cheek—the only thing about her that looked real.
"James," she whispered, her voice vibrating through the very walls of the room. "Please don't be afraid. I just want to go home. But I don't know where they put me."
James took a breath, leaning back against the TV stand. He looked at the girl the world had forgotten, then at his shelf of horror stories. He realized he wasn't reading a story anymore. He was in one.
"I'm not afraid, Rebecca," James said, his voice steadying. "I've spent my whole life reading about people like you. I think... I think I was meant to find you."
Rebecca reached out, her translucent hand hovering over his. "He’s still out there, James. He’s walking in the sun while I’m stuck in the rain. He thinks he won."
"He didn't win," James promised, a dark spark of determination in his eyes. "We're going to find where he put you. And then, we're going to make sure he never sees the sun again."
Outside, the thunder clapped with the force of a falling gavel, sealing a pact between a boy who loved monsters and the girl who had become one.
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and then Add to home screen.