Sirens twisted through the early morning light, pulling at Sam’s exhaustion like teeth on a too-tight thread. She rolled out of bed, clutching her chest against the sudden thrill of fear. The other bed was empty, and for a moment, panic caught her breath until she heard Lilly’s voice carry from the hallway. A neighbor’s shout. Another wail from the sirens. Then more familiar sounds, closer. “Sam! You up?” Then a soft knock. Sam found her footing and managed a reply as she slipped out of the room. She took the stairs two at a time, blood pumping.
“Looks like we missed the action last night,” Lilly said, bundled in her oversized hoodie and bouncing with excitement.
Sam tried to clear her head, frowning in concentration. "What happened?"
"There are police everywhere," Lilly said, pulling her towards the front door with a sense of urgency that overrode Sam's objections. "It’s really close by. Maybe someone lost it?”
"Or maybe it’s nothing," Sam replied, though her doubt was starting to show.
Lilly tugged her along. "Let's go see!”
"Not while I'm still in my pajamas. Let me put on some pants and a proper shirt first," Sam insisted.
The morning air was sharp and cool as they moved towards the flashing lights of the police cars. Mist curled lazily upward, and Lilly walked ahead of Sam, her steps confident and quick, untroubled by the doubts and second thoughts that filled Sam's mind.
“What if it’s the symbols?” Sam called after Lilly, half desperate for her sister to wait up and half to share her growing concern. “What if it’s... something we did?”
Lilly turned back, a flash of mischief in her eyes. “Then we better check it out and maybe if Tyrone is there he can help.”
A small crowd had already gathered outside a house three blocks down from the B&B. The scene unfolded in surreal stillness, broken only by the periodic squawk of a radio or murmured conversation. Sam scanned the onlookers, noting how many seemed just as unsure as she felt. They stood in clusters, their faces etched with the universal need to know what had happened.
“I don’t think we’re going to get very close,” Sam said, her hesitation cutting through the thrill of discovery.
“We know the sheriff,” Lilly shot back, undeterred. “Come on, Sam. You know you’re dying to see.”
Sam couldn’t deny the lure of the flashing lights, the sense that they might finally find some answers. They moved in tandem toward the knot of bystanders, only to be stopped by a deputy with a tired, no-nonsense demeanor.
“Let’s keep back, folks,” the deputy said, his voice carrying an authority that lacked the usual small-town warmth.
“We’re staying at the B&B,” Lilly explained, flashing her most persuasive smile. “Right down the street. Just visiting.”
The deputy raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Don’t matter where you’re staying,” he replied, his Southern drawl adding weight to the words. “You need to stay behind the tape.”
Sam caught a glimpse of something on the porch, a flash of red that sent a chill through her. She grabbed Lilly’s arm, steering her away from the growing crowd and toward a side street.
“We’re wasting time,” Lilly said, her frustration evident as she tried to break free from Sam’s grip.
“No, look.” Sam stopped, pointing to the front of the house. “Tell me that doesn’t look familiar.”
The door was scrawled with symbols, their meaning hidden beneath the crude strokes but their shape unmistakable. Blood ran in uneven rivulets, dripping down to the floor. Sam felt a twist of nausea, the reality of the scene slamming into her with the force of a confession. She thought of the tome, the night before, the glow, the weight of everything they’d set in motion.
“Do you think it’s the same?” Lilly asked, her bravado faltering.
“Too close to be anything else.” Sam’s voice was tight, an edge of guilt creeping in. “Lilly, I think this is all my fault.”
She spotted Tyrone standing on the porch, his uniform rumpled and his face a mix of weariness and concentration. The set of his jaw softened as he saw Sam, recognition breaking through his professional detachment. He said something to the officer beside him, then made his way over, moving with the steady, deliberate pace of someone juggling too many pieces at once. Sam felt her resolve crumbling, the need to tell him everything rising like a tide.
***
“Sam, you shouldn’t be here,” Tyrone said, his voice low but not unkind.
“I think I should,” Sam replied, urgency giving her words an unexpected sharpness. “I know those symbols.”
He hesitated, the weight of the morning hanging between them. “You need to step back,” he insisted, though his tone lacked the force of conviction.
“Tyrone,” she said, cutting him off. “Please. You don’t understand. I’ve seen this before.”
His skepticism was apparent, but Sam caught the flicker of something else—interest, concern, maybe even fear. She followed his gaze back to the symbols on the door, watching as the certainty of what she’d done began to erode his disbelief.
“You really think...?” Tyrone started, but Sam’s intensity stopped him.
“I do,” she said, her voice steadying. “And there’s more.”
He regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Sam braced herself for him to send her away, the urgency of the situation too delicate for the kind of help she could offer. Instead, he sighed, an almost imperceptible sag of his shoulders.
“Let’s talk over here,” Tyrone said, leading her away from the prying eyes of the onlookers. They moved to a patch of lawn where the grass was slick with dew, far enough from the scene to speak without interruption. He glanced at her, a mix of curiosity and caution. “What else do you know?”
Sam took a breath, her mind racing with the enormity of what she’d opened. “I know those symbols,” she repeated, struggling to maintain her composure. “I think it’s connected to a book my mother left me.”
Tyrone didn’t flinch at the admission, though the surprise registered in his eyes. He nodded, a subtle cue for her to continue.
“It’s full of the same markings. The same... things we saw last night.” She didn’t dare elaborate, fearing the thread of doubt in her own words. “I think someone’s trying to send a message.”
Tyrone considered her explanation, his gaze shifting from Sam to the porch and back. She could see the gears turning, the same questions she’d wrestled with now taking root in his mind.
“You know how this looks,” Tyrone said finally, his voice steady. “Not just for you, but for everyone in town. The body was... Look, it’s not something you need to see.”
Sam felt the weight of his concern, the warning beneath it, and the way it wrapped around the guilt that was already tightening in her chest. “I need to know,” she said, her conviction brittle but unyielding.
Tyrone let out another sigh, visibly wrestling with the decision. "It seems like someone went to great lengths to make it appear ritualistic, like a sacrifice.”
Sam felt a chill run through her at the word.
"Sam, I'm serious. This isn't something you should be involved with," Tyrone said, his expression cautious, the warning clear.
"I have to see it," she insisted, feeling the weight of responsibility in her voice.
He observed her, his professional demeanor faltering under the pressure of their shared past and the uncertainty now connecting them.
"Sam, I have to know, where were you last night?" Tyrone asked.
The unspoken accusation hit Sam hard. "How could you ask me that?"
"I need to know; others will have questions," Tyrone urged.
Sam looked confused. "Why, what others?"
Tyrone glanced at the floor before meeting her eyes. "The body... it’s Billy Jacobs."
Sam felt the air leave her lungs; she could barely breathe. It was as if a wave had crashed over her, leaving her disoriented and dizzy. Tyrone reached out to steady her.
"He's... dead?" she managed to ask. Tyrone nodded, but Sam was at a loss for words. She wasn't upset, not after what had happened so long ago, but a tiny part of her felt relieved. Did that make her a bad person?
Lilly took Sam's hand, "Are you okay?"
Sam nodded and then looked at Tyrone. "Alright, I need to do this."
Against what seemed like his better judgment, he gestured for her to follow.
***
They moved toward the house, Tyrone pausing to tell the officer at the door to let them through. Sam caught Lilly’s eye as they passed through the crowd, leaving her behind, the shared understanding between them a fragile thread. She knew her sister would push for more details later, that her curiosity and concern wouldn’t let this go.
As Sam crossed the threshold, an unnatural warmth washed over her, enveloping her like a blanket of intent. The inside of the house was stifling, at odds with the cool morning air outside. She fought the instinct to retreat, pushing deeper into the room, her mind absorbing the details with academic precision.
The smell of ash and damp earth clung to every surface, an unsettling reminder of the presence she’d felt since opening the tome. The scent crowded her senses, thick and suffocating, mingling with the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. Sam’s breath came short, a knot of fear and guilt tightening in her chest.
They moved to the living room, the morning light casting long, eerie shadows that danced across the walls. More symbols marked the plaster, scrawled in violent, haphazard strokes. Some she recognized immediately, their meaning hovering just beyond her grasp. Others were new, variations she hadn’t seen but understood instinctively to be part of the same terrible language.
She felt Tyrone’s eyes on her, gauging her reaction, but the weight of her responsibility kept her focused. Each symbol seemed to pulse with accusation, and Sam’s mind raced to connect the lines, to form a complete picture from the pieces she’d carelessly scattered.
“You really know what all this means?” Tyrone asked, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over them.
“Not yet,” Sam admitted, her voice strained. “But I will.”
When they reached the kitchen, Sam’s heart shattered her logic as she knelt beside the scorched floorboards, her mind whirling with the enormity of what she was about to do. The sigil was unmistakable, its rough edges charred into the wood like an accusation, demanding answers she wasn't sure she could give. Her hand trembled, hovering over the burned symbol with a mix of dread and desperate curiosity. She told herself not to touch it, that she didn’t need to prove anything to Tyrone or herself, but her need to understand overpowered her reason.
She reached for the sigil.
The world imploded. Heat slammed into her, and she was no longer in the room but pulled into a maelstrom of terror and pain. The agony was visceral, tearing through her with the force of a scream she couldn’t voice. She was inside Billy Jacob’s final moments, his fear enveloping her like a living thing, each second stretching into an eternity as the tendrils of darkness closed in.
Billy’s end became hers.
The room spun away, the reality of the kitchen collapsing around her. The walls seemed to writhe with the intensity of the symbols, their meaning becoming painfully clear in those endless seconds of torment. Her body gave out, the weight too much to bear.
Tyrone’s strong hands caught her, breaking the fall, anchoring her back to the world she thought she'd lost.
"What happened?" Tyrone demanded, his voice edged with concern. He helped her to her feet, his grip strong on her arm.
Sam looked at him, the rawness of the vision still vibrating through her. "It's him," she gasped, struggling to find her voice. "I saw what he saw. I felt what he felt. It was—"
She stopped, the impossibility of what she'd experienced nearly choking off the words.
"Calm down," Tyrone said, but the panic in his own eyes betrayed him. "Take a breath. Start from the beginning."
He watched her, and Sam knew what he was thinking. That she'd lost it. That she'd tipped over the edge. That the past and the ghosts and the weight of too many truths had finally broken her.
"You wouldn't believe me," Sam said, her voice shaky but determined. "I barely believe it."
Tyrone released her arm, but his presence was close, too close.
"Try me," he said, an edge of challenge in his words.
Sam glanced at the charred sigil on the floor, remembering its sinister pull, its way of dragging her into memories that weren't hers. "It was like I was him. Like I was right there with him. Seeing it happen. Feeling it happen."
The silence stretched, pulling at them.
"And?"
"And it was horrible," Sam said, her voice small against the enormity of what she'd seen. "That thing... that shadow. It's real."
Tyrone looked at the sigil, then back at Sam. His face was an unsettling mix of skepticism and the first hints of belief.
"You've changed, Sam," he said. His words were thick with meaning.
"You think I don't know that?" she shot back, her frustration barely contained. "Everything is changing, and I can't keep up. You think you could do better?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to," Sam said. Her gaze dropped to the sigil, its presence pressing against her.
Tyrone rubbed his forehead, the pressure of what he'd seen—the thing, the figure, the impossible dark from that night at the gazebo. He opened his mouth to say more, but Sam spoke first, the words spilling out like a confession.
"I've felt this way since we got back," she said, her voice a blend of defiance and vulnerability. "I've felt like I'm going crazy."
Tyrone didn't answer, but his expression softened, the skepticism giving way to something else.
"I'm not," Sam said, as much to herself as to Tyrone. "I'm not crazy."
He looked at her, his silence urging her on.
"I know what it feels like to have your whole world flipped over," Sam said. Her tone was less certain now, less of an admission and more of a question. "I know what it feels like to have everything you believe shattered."
"I just don't know how to make sense of any of it," Sam said, the exhaustion clear in her voice.
"Neither do I," Tyrone admitted.
***
Before Sam could reply, Hank rushed in through the front door, his eyes wide and his face tense with fear.
"You shouldn't be here," Hank warned in a hurried whisper. "You're awakening old ghosts."
Panic was etched on his face as he looked at them. Sam stood there, uncertain of how to respond or what to feel.
Nearby officers began to move towards Hank, ready to escort him out, but Tyrone motioned for them to back off.
"Hank," Sam started, her voice tentative.
"Don't," Hank said, his words short and jagged. "Don't do this."
He turned to leave, but Sam's voice stopped him. "What do you know?" she asked, her desperation bleeding through. "What did you hear?"
Hank hesitated, a moment of indecision, before speaking. "This town is full of people who remember," he said. "Who remember and don't want to remember."
He turned again, but this time Sam reached out, her fingers brushing his sleeve. "Hank," she pleaded, her grip both physical and emotional. "We need to know."
He pulled away, the motion more gentle than his words. "No," Hank said, his refusal a wound. "No, you don't."
He left without another word, his retreat swift and certain. Sam watched him go, her heart a knot of fear and anger and hurt. She looked at Tyrone, the weight of Hank's warning crashing over them both.
"I don't get it," Sam said, her frustration breaking through. "I don't get any of this."
"You're right," Tyrone sighed after a moment. "Something's happening here. Something big."
"It's all because of the book," Sam said, her voice a whisper. "It's all because of me."
Tyrone shook his head. "Don't," he said, his words firm. "This isn't on you."
"It feels like it is," Sam said, her voice cracking.
"But it's not," Tyrone replied. "And whatever's happening, we're in it together."
The truth of his words settled over her, easing the tightness in her chest. She felt the comfort of it, the first sliver of hope in the darkness.
Tyrone left to catch up with Hank, the urgency of their situation clear in the determined set of his shoulders. Sam watched him go, the memory of his steady presence a balm against her fears.
Sam looked at the charred sigil, its cruel lines a reminder of how little she understood. She had opened the door, and now the ghosts—old and new—were closing in.
An officer walked up to Sam and indicated, "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I've been directed to escort you out.”
Sam thought of Lilly, recalling the fear and pain in her sister's eyes. They would get through this. They had to.