The house is eerily quiet, which unnerved me because I was alone. After locking the door, I hurry toward the kitchen to put the groceries away. The room is warm and inviting, sunlight streaming through the window above the sink, but even that brightness feels thin, like it's struggling to hold back something lurking beyond it. I carefully set the bags on the countertops and start putting the items away with meticulous care, each one going in its designated spot. Every sound from the rustle of plastic to the clink of the jars feels too loud in the stillness. All the while, the envelope was weighing on my mind, begging me to open it. It is a silent demand pressing against my thoughts. Finally, I sit at the kitchen table; the envelope lies in front of me like a threat. I can't help but wonder what could be inside, and I feel a sense of trepidation take over.
The moment my fingers touch the envelope, the temperature in the room plummets. I can see my breath in front of me as it fogs. The warmth vanishes so fast it feels unnatural, wrong, like something is sucking the heat out of the room. A shiver slices down my spine. My hands tremble as I tear the envelope open. Inside is a single sheet of paper. It's a typed message: cold and impersonal, that reads, "LEAVE NOW OR REGRET IT. YOU CAN DISAPPEAR TOO." The words hit me like a physical blow. My heart races, pounding against my ribs.
I read the message again and again. Each time, the dread sinks even deeper, coiling tight in my stomach. The frigid air presses against my skin, almost suffocating, amplifying my fear. Why is someone threatening my life? No one should know I'm looking into the Catalano's disappearance, unless someone saw me at the library or town hall or has been watching me longer than I realized. I won't stop. I won't let this scare me. I have to know what happened to them and why. The most unsettling thing of this all is the house feels like it remembers me. It shouldn't; I have never stepped foot in here until I bought it. So many unanswered questions remain.
Carefully, I place the letter and envelope into a Ziplock bag, my hands shaking. I flee the kitchen, desperate to escape the unnatural cold. The moment I step into the living room, the warmth washes over me again. The temperature change is too sharp, too fast. Many questions ran through my head: How could it drop so quickly? How do I tell Zeke about this? He was already struggling to make sense of everything that had happened.
I turn on the TV for some background noise, hoping it will drown out the silence. I curl up on the couch, exhaustion pulling at me until I drift into sleep. As I sleep, the world around me melts away, and I am left with only my dreams of the surreal events that brought me to this moment. Somewhere, in the haze, I hear my name. At first, it blends into the dream, but then it grows louder, closer, more insistent. A hand shakes my shoulder.
"Wake up, Rocky, I brought tacos home for dinner." I blink awake, disoriented. Zeke stands over me, grinning, sunlight haloing behind him like he's the only warm thing in the room.
"Hey, Z," I murmur, rubbing my eyes. "I didn't mean to doze off."
"it's Alright," he says softly. "You're still exhausted from last night." His voice is gentle, grounding. I take the tacos he hands me, grateful for the normalcy he brings with him. We sit together on the couch eating in comfortable silence.
Curiously, I ask, "Did you find any good locations today?"
"A couple," he says around a mouthful of food. "I am going to have Dad come down and look at them, too. We'll see which one he likes the best."
I nod and take another bite of my taco. I was worried about the threatening letter from earlier; it was gnawing at me. I didn't want to ruin the evening by bringing it up, but I knew I couldn't keep it from him forever.
"Today, when I returned home from grocery shopping, an envelope was taped to the front door. There was a threatening letter inside."
"What did it say?" he asks. Grabbing it from under my laptop, I hand it to him. He reads it, jaw tightening, fear and anger flickering in his eyes.
"Did you see anybody when you got home?" he asks, his tone protective.
"No, Z, no one was here. I didn't even see the weirdo neighbor anywhere around."
"Rocky, should we report this?" he asks.
"No! They won't do anything about it, and I don't trust Sheriff Dawson." We needed to be careful with whom we confide in or trust. We kept stacking up unseen enemies day by day.
"Ok, for now, we will keep it to ourselves, but if it gets worse, I'm reporting it," Zeke stated in a matter-of-fact tone.
We finish dinner, then move the furniture and start painting. The silence between us is heavy. It isn't uncomfortable, just thoughtful, protective, and connected. We work side by side, the fresh paint smell filling the air, transforming the room. By the time we finish two walls, we're exhausted. As we head upstairs, I grab his arm.
"Z, would you stay in my room again tonight?" I ask quietly, vulnerable. "I don't feel comfortable being alone." I fear that the things that go bump in the night would jump out and get me.
He squeezes my hand. "Yeah. Honestly, I would feel better if we were together." He leads me upstairs, intertwining his fingers with mine. At the door to my room, he pauses.
"I need to go change, and then I'll be back. Will you be okay in the meantime?"
"Go ahead. I'll be fine," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it. After he leaves, I quickly pull my favorite t-shirt over my head and freeze. A loud rattling noise echoes from down the hall. I stand still, listening. It happens again. It's a sharp, frantic, metallic sound.
"What in the world is that?" I say out loud. Quickly, I throw on a pair of sleep pants and pad out into the hallway. Thankfully, the light we turned on is still lit. Zeke's door opens beside me. He heard it too. We hear it again coming from the bedroom furthest down the hall. We realize it is the rattling of the doorknob, like someone is trying to get out but is stuck.
We slowly move towards the door. Zeke instinctively pushes me behind him, and I grab his shirt for safety. As we approach the door, the handle goes quiet. There is no sound or movement now. I watch as Zeke wraps his hand around the brass doorknob. He flings the door open, revealing a spacious room. The moon's soft glow streams through the two windows facing the outside on the farthest wall.
We enter the room; the air feels charged, like someone was just here. The intricately carved wooden post of the four-poster bed is in the center of the room. Two sturdy wooden dressers with brass handles were positioned on the opposite wall of the bed. A cedar chest was sitting against the foot of the bed, and a white-painted vanity table sat by the windows, offering an unobstructed view of the backyard. It was all untouched, frozen in time.
We scanned the room, our eyes darting from one corner to another, expecting to find someone hiding or something that caused the commotion. But the room was empty. My eyes land on framed photographs. I walk closer, picking one up. It was the same girl who resembled my mom.
"Z, this must be Amber's room," I say excitedly. Going over to the vanity, I open the large drawer, hoping to find something that would help connect the dots between this family and their disappearance. Zeke goes to the closet and begins looking through it. At the bottom of the drawer, my fingers brush against a leather-bound book with the initials A.R.C. engraved on the surface.
"I think I found a diary or journal," I say to Zeke.
"Are you going to read it?"
"Yes, I'm curious about the people who lived here," I say, happily. I pause for a moment and think maybe it's wrong for me to invade this girl's privacy. I look thoughtfully at Z and ask, "Is it wrong of me to want to read it and try to figure out what happened?"
"No, not at all. I'm curious about them too," Zeke answers thoughtfully. I smile and grab the book, as we quickly make our way back to my room. We settle into the bed, and I flip through the pages, noticing that only a quarter of the book has been written in. This must have been Amber's last journal. Zeke asks me to read it out loud so he can hear it too.
Dear diary,
Today has been a tough day for me. My dad is acting all paranoid and has made me, Samuel, Betty, and Donovan come home straight after school. He's also insisting that we keep all the doors and windows to the house locked and not let anyone in, claiming it's for our safety. But I can't help but feel like he's losing his mind. My older brother, Donavvon, agrees with me. To make matters worse, Dad has forced me to break up with my boyfriend, Andy. As an 18-year-old, I should be able to make my own decisions. But when I beg and cry to see him, my dad always says no and sends me to my room. However, I have to see Andy soon. I couldn't resist stopping at the drugstore for an important test. It may shock you, diary, but it was a pregnancy test, and it came out positive when I took it.
I don't know what to do, and I'm scared. If the lockdown doesn't end soon. I'll have to ask my mom for help. Maybe she can help convince my dad to let me see Andy again, especially now that I have this huge secret. I hope my family is not too disappointed in me.
Thank you for listening, diary.
I stop reading and look up at Zeke, who seems just as interested as I am in the text. It also poses many questions. Why was Mr. Catalano acting paranoid? Is it the reason they went missing? Did he know something bad was going to happen to his family?
"Z, she was pregnant when her family vanished without a trace. It's heart-wrenching to imagine the fate of both the mother and her unborn child." He wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. His warmth steadies me, soothes me against the rising dread. The diary feels like a ghost whispering through time, and suddenly, the house doesn't feel as empty as before. I flip the page over and read the next entry.
Dear Diary,
I'm Sorry it has been over a week since my last entry. Things around here have gotten crazier. My brother was attacked on his way home from school. He told my dad that three men jumped him, saying his father needed to stay out of other people's business if he knew what was good for him. At the time, Donovan told my parents he didn't know who they were, but later confided in me that Ted, who graduated a few years ahead of him, was one of them. Ted was a weird guy whom we avoided. He hung around the high school, hitting on young girls even after he graduated. He creeped everyone out. He also lived across the street from us with his elderly parents.
We tried asking Dad what was wrong because we were scared for the safety of our mom and siblings. He got angry with us and told us he was handling it. We were shocked by his attitude. Dad was usually a sweet man and never said harsh words to us. I just wish he would tell us what's going on.
I'm scared not only for myself but for the safety of my unborn baby. I haven't told anyone yet. Andy is supposed to sneak over later so we can talk. Thankfully, he can climb the tree beside my window. Tonight is the night I tell him about our baby. My biggest worry is how he will react to the news.
His dad will be our biggest obstacle. He is hard on him and always pushes him to be perfect. Andy always complains about him, giving him a hard time about football and his grades. He definitely doesn't like us dating because I'm a distraction, he says. Andy always tells me he doesn't care what his father thinks because he loves me, and I love him too. We can conquer anything together, and I believe in him. Wish me luck.
Thanks for listening, diary.
My heart ached as I flip through the diary pages. The handwriting is elegant and precise, and the words seemed to leap off the page, transporting me to another time, another place. I feel a lump rise in my throat as I read about this young woman, her baby, and her family that would disappear without a trace.