The journal fluttered open to another blank page as if some unseen figure was moving it. The ink didn't just appear – it formed slowly and deliberately, like the journal wanted me to feel every word as it carved itself into the page. The air around us shifted, thickening with a faint static charge that raised the hairs on my arms.
Uncle Donovan leaned closer, his breath catching. "This is freaky. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." His voice was barely above a whisper. I steadied my breath, though my heart hammered against my ribs, and began to read.
My Sweet Girl,
There is something else I need to explain to you. Something I hoped you would never need to know. When I was young, before I met your grandfather, I met a man named William Dunhiil.
At first, he was sweet, charming, and tentative. He said and did all the right things. I only thought of him as a friend. He confessed he was in love with me, and I did my best to let him down gently. I wanted to stay friends but didn't have romantic feelings towards him. He didn't take it well and became obsessive. He would stalk me, always showing up wherever I was.
He started to send threatening letters. Telling me he knew about my family and my gift. He then studied the veil for years. He believed the dead could be controlled, not guided. He had researched the veil since he was a teenager and had come across our family history. He traced my family lineage and wanted me to marry him. That way, I could produce daughters for him who had the gift and help him.
When I refused, he became angry. Yelling, I would regret my decision. He also told me I was his and no one else's. He had no plans to set me free. Then I met your grandfather. He was a blessing, smart, funny, and strong. My heart skipped a beat every time I saw him. It was love at first sight for both of us. I told your grandfather everything about Dunhill and my family. From that day on, he protected me on several occasions. Dunhill tried to take me by force. After that incident, your grandfather and I fled and built a new life far away from him. But eventually he found us and made our lives miserable.
If you get one thing from this, remember, men like Dunhill do not care who they hurt to achieve their power. He is coming for you when you least expect it. Always be careful of your surroundings and stay safe.
Love, Grandma.
My hands shook as I closed the journal, the leather warming beneath my palms like it was still alive with her fear. The room felt smaller. Suddenly, the shadows grew deeper. The house, which had been settling into a strange, tired quiet since Elias's banishment, now seemed to hold its breath again – waiting.
Zeke's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with anger. "So Dunhill didn't just want the gift. He wanted your grandmother."
"And when he couldn't have her," Uncle Donovan said quietly, "he went after her children and now you." His voice cracked on the last word. I felt sick because the danger wasn't known but inherited. Knowing someone had been hunting my family for decades made my stomach turn. This evil was rooted in my family's destiny before I was born. Before anyone could say something else, the quiet of the night was shattered by a blood-curdling scream. It sent chills throughout my body. We all looked toward the windows.
"What the hell was that?" He asked, concern etching his face.
Donovan stands up and rushes to the windows, almost tripping over his own feet. "Oh, my God." He whispers.
Zeke and I walked up beside him, my heart pounding so hard that it felt like it might crack my ribs. I was terrified of what site was waiting for me outside the windows. The scream echoes again – loud and chilling – then abruptly stops. Zeke quickly shuts off the lights in the living room, casting our house into darkness. We stood by the windows facing the driveway, searching the darkness for the cause of the screams. What we see shocks us all.
Two large men dressed in dark clothes and ski masks were dragging an unconscious Ted toward their black van in the driveway. His head tilted to the side, with blood smeared on his cheek. Blood was dripping down his leg onto the porch, leaving a trail of drops. His arms hung loosely, swinging with each jolt of their steps. It resembled a scene from a horror movie. While there was no clear sign whether he was alive or dead, we hoped he was just unconscious.
"Holy shit, they have Ted," I say, my breath hitching. It wasn't the most intelligent thing to say, but my mind was frozen.
We watched in terror as they shoved Ted's lifeless body into a dark, windowless van parked crookedly in his driveway. The metal door slams shut with a hollow clang that echoes across the street. The engine roars to life. Then the van peels out of the driveway, tires screeching, speeding past our house so fast the windows rattled in their frames. A gust of wind slammed against the windows, carrying with it the faintest whisper of something unnatural, as the veil itself recoiled from what we had just witnessed.
"I'm calling the sheriff," Zekes says as he grabs his phone off the coffee table.
"No," I said sharply. "Call the deputies. Just not my grandfather, please. Anyone but him,"
"You're right. He would cover it up," he says.
Zeke dialed, pacing, "Yes, we just witnessed an abduction. It was our neighbor across the street, Ted. Two men in masks dragged him out of his house. He was unconscious. We couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. They were too far away. There was blood. We will wait for the officer. Thank you."
My whole body was trembling from fear. His abduction wasn't random. It was planned with precision and patience. Somebody was trying to shut him up because he knew too much. I didn't like Ted; he gave me the creeps, but I would never wish this on anyone. The question that kept running through my mind was: Is this Dunhill's doing, or did Ted piss the wrong people off? Not knowing the answer made the dread in the pit of my stomach grow.
Twenty minutes later, we heard the sirens from the sheriff's cars. They pulled into Ted's driveway, and the deputies moved quickly. They approached the house; flashlights sliced through the darkness as they crossed Ted's yard. The beams jittered across the porch, illuminating the smear of blood on the railing, the overturned chair, the shattered glass near the door.
All three of us moved onto the porch to watch the scene unfold. I wrapped my arms around myself. Trying to steady the tremors wracking my body. I had never witnessed something so terrifying. The night air felt colder now, sharper, like the darkness itself had teeth.
Zeke stood beside me, his hand brushing mine, grounding me without saying a word. Uncle Donovan was wearing a path on my porch, pacing back and forth, lost in thought. His jaw was tight, eyes darting between the deputies and the empty road where the van had disappeared.
One of the deputies ducked inside Ted's house. The door creaked as he pushed it open wider, revealing the dark interior. Looking inside from our distance, it felt wrong, heavy. Like the air inside held the secrets of the violent incident.
"This wasn't random," Zeke says, leaning towards me as he exhales slowly. His statement brought Uncle Donovan out of his thoughts.
"No," Uncle Donovan says, stopping mid-pace. "This was planned and coordinated. They knew exactly when to strike."
"They didn't even hide it," I said. "It was like they were not worried about witnesses. Do they think no one will talk or report them?" We all knew the answer to my question. It was because they knew the sheriff was in Dunhill's pocket and he wouldn't investigate it properly. They had no fear of being caught. That thought alone made my stomach twist.
A faint hum brushed the edges of my hearing, a soft and distant vibration that made me stiffen. It felt as though the veil was pushing through, trying to warn me.
"Something's wrong," I state, swallowing hard.
"What do you mean?" Zeke asked as he turned to me.
"The veil feels unsettled," I whisper.
"Do you think it's because of Ted?" Uncle Donovan asks his eyes widen.
"I don't know," I say quickly. "But whatever happened in that house. It wasn't just a violent act. It was a warning." Before either man could respond to my statement, we heard the deputy shout.
"You should see this," the man yells to the deputy in charge. We couldn't hear what they were saying because the distance was too great; unless they were shouting, their words were inaudible. While the deputies spoke, the one in charge glanced over at our house and saw us all on the porch, watching and waiting for them to come closer. A moment later, he and one of the younger deputies followed him as he walked over to our porch.
"Hi folks, I'm Deputy Johnson. Were you the ones who called the incident in?" He asked, assessing us one by one. When his eyes landed on me, a flash of recognition was visible in his eyes. He had obviously heard about the incidents at my house and my connection to the sheriff. He quickly masked it and focused on Zeke. He asked him to tell him what happened in detail. Zeke explained everything we had seen from the window and how it felt like it wasn't a random act.
"I agree with you," The deputy states. "There was a lot of blood inside. We also found signs of a struggle. His furniture was overturned, broken lamps, and drag marks."
"It looks like he put up a good fight," the younger deputy adds. "But whoever took him was prepared,"
"Do you have any clue who might have done this?" Zeke asked.
"No, we don't." The lead deputy says while exchanging a strange look with his colleague. They knew more than they were saying. "We will be canvassing the area, looking for clues. If you think of anything else, please give us a call," he says, handing Zeke a card with his direct number on it. Zeke thanked him and told him we will. Something felt wrong about the investigation. It didn't seem like they were taking the gravity of the situation seriously. Ted's life was in their hands. Assuming he was still alive.
The deputies thanked us for our time and headed back to their cruisers, speaking in hushed tones as they walked away. We sat on the porch for a while watching the investigation. None of us talked; we just sat in an uneasy silence. After a couple of hours, the deputies wrapped up the initial investigation. Their headlights swept across the yard as they pulled away. Their cruisers disappeared down the road, their red taillights swallowed by the dark. The moment they were gone, the night seemed to exhale; a long, low groan of shifting shadows. It did not feel like relief but as if the darkness was slipping closer.
Zeke stood at the edge of the porch, staring at the empty road. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscles twitch.
"This is bad, this is really damn bad," Uncle Donovan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
"We need to call Agent Williams," I say on a shaky breath.
Zeke nodded, "Yeah, before Sheriff Dawson gets involved and covers the whole damn thing up." I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed Agent Williams number. He picked up so quickly it caught me off guard.
"Roxanne," His voice was sharper than usual; alert and tense. "Are you guys alright? What happened?"
"We are fine," I say, my breathing unsteady. "Something happened across the street tonight. Ted is gone. He's been abducted." There was a pause.
"What do you mean gone?" he asks in a low voice.
Zeke steps closer to me, so Agent Williams can hear him. "Two men took him. Dragged him out, unconscious and bleeding."
"They shoved him into a windowless van and sped off. We saw the whole thing unfold," Uncle Donovan added.
We could hear Agent Williams swear under his breath. It was a rare crack in his professional demeanor. "Did you call the Sheriff?" He asked.
"We called the office, but deputies came out. Not him." Zeke said
"Good," Williams says, sounding relieved. "That was the right call."
I swallowed hard. "They found blood inside the house. There were also signs of a struggle."
He paused for a long time. He was thinking, calculating.
"Listen to me carefully," Williams serious voice says. "This can't be random. If it wasn't a burglary gone wrong, then this was a targeted attack."
"We know," I say. My stomach is twisting.
"No, you really don't know. You think you do, but you don't understand the gravity of how deep this actually goes," He says firmly.
A cold wave washed over me, "then tell us." I demand.
" I will," he says. "But not over the phone. I'm coming by first thing in the morning. Until then, stay inside. Lock your doors. Don't talk to the sheriff. Don't talk to anyone who shows up unannounced."