I wasn’t supposed to be outside that night. It was nearly midnight, the kind of small-town silence where even the gas station lights looked sleepy. I was biking home from my part-time shift at the diner when I saw her—standing alone in the pouring rain, barefoot, her hair plastered against her face.
Something about her didn’t fit. Not the weather, not the street, not even this entire town. She wasn’t trembling, she wasn’t calling for help. She was just… standing there, staring at the blinking traffic light like it was the only thing in the world keeping her upright.
“Hey—are you okay?” My voice cracked louder than I expected.
She turned her head slowly, as if every movement weighed a hundred pounds. That’s when I saw the necklace—thin silver, a locket etched with a strange, swirling symbol I’d never seen before.
Her lips moved, but the rain swallowed her words.
I stepped closer. “Do you need help?”
She blinked, finally focusing on me. Her eyes were pale gray, the color of storm clouds about to split open. “I… don’t remember.”
I frowned. “Don’t remember what?”
“Anything,” she whispered.
By the time I convinced her to follow me, the storm had soaked us both through. I gave her my hoodie, which barely helped. At home, Mom was half-asleep on the couch with the TV humming. I prayed she wouldn’t wake up, because how do you explain bringing home a soaked stranger who doesn’t even know her own name?
We tiptoed upstairs, dripping across the carpet. She looked around my messy room like every object carried some secret meaning. When her gaze fell on my bookshelf—old photo albums, yearbooks, my dad’s dusty records—her face changed.
Her hand hovered over one of the albums. “This… feels familiar.”
I snatched it away too quickly. “It’s just old family stuff.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Instead, she sat on the edge of my bed, clutching the locket.
That’s when I noticed something else—etched faintly on the back of the silver locket, almost invisible in the dim light: the same symbol carved into the wooden box my dad keeps locked in the attic.
My stomach turned cold.
I wanted to ask her more, but before I could, a shadow crossed my window. A tall figure stood under the streetlamp across the road, unmoving, watching the house.
When I blinked, he was gone.
I yanked the curtains shut, my heart hammering. The girl tilted her head, like she’d felt it too.
“Who was that?” I whispered.
She clutched the locket tighter. “They’re coming for me.”
Her voice cracked as thunder rolled outside: “And if you’re with me… they’ll come for you too.”
