𝗔 𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗗𝗘𝗥
chapter si

        A fluorescent light buzzed ominously, its flickering casting erratic shadows across the dimly lit aisles of the quiet video store. The fluorescent tube hummed with an irritating urgency as the clerk on the ladder struggled to replace the bulb. He twisted the old one out of its socket, the weight of it feeling heavier in his hands than it should have, and set it gently on the shelf beside him. Reaching for a new bulb, he screwed it in with care, but the light continued to flicker stubbornly. With a sigh, he twisted it again, feeling the frustration build within the stillness of the store.

       Outside, the calm was about to be disrupted. Lydia Martin's car pulled up to the curb, tires crunching against the gravel. The engine quieted, and as she rolled down her window, the tension of a friendly argument floated through the air. Jackson Whittemore leaned against the car, gesticulating animatedly, his face flushed with enthusiasm. "Hoosiers is not only the best basketball movie ever made, it's the best sports movie, period!" he insisted, a grin breaking through his animated expression.

          "No," Lydia responded flatly, a teasing smile dancing on her lips.

        "It's got Gene Hackman and Dennis Hopper," Jackson countered, raising his brows for effect.

       "Still, no," she shot back, playful defiance threading her voice.

      "I swear to God, you'll like it," he insisted, his voice rising slightly in urgency.

      "No," Lydia repeated, more resolute this time.

         "I'm not watching The Notebook again," he declared, his hands held up in mock surrender as she hit the button to raise the window, a triumphant smile still lingering behind the glass.

          But within the store, Celeste was focused on her own mission, her eyes scanning the aisles in search of a familiar title, Love Actually. As she perused the rows of DVDs, she was oblivious to the world outside, lost in her thoughts about what movie to watch. Just as she turned a corner, she heard a voice calling out.

         "Can somebody help me find The Notebook?" Jackson's voice echoed through the store, carrying an amusingly desperate tone.

        Curiosity piqued, Celeste made her way around the shelf, spotting Jackson standing there with a furrowed brow, peering at the chaotic arrangement of DVDs. "Jackson?" she called, surprise coloring her tone.

      He spun around to face her, his expression shifting from concentration to recognition. "Do you work here?" he asked, pointing at her.

       "No, I'm just looking for a movie," Celeste replied, rolling her eyes with a smirk.

       "Can you help me find The Notebook?" he asked, his tone suddenly earnest, as if this was a life-or-death situation.

          "Sure," she replied, laughing softly as they began thumbing through the DVDs together. The two of them moved side by side, scanning the shelves until Jackson suddenly froze, his gaze shifting to something beyond the rows of cases.

         Through the wire frame of the shelf, Jackson spotted two shoes on the floor, toes pointed upward. A chill raced down his spine as he let the DVDs slip from his fingers, a gasp escaping his lips. Hand trembling, he took a cautious step to the left, edging around the shelf to discover the source of the shoes.

             Panic surged within him as he took in the sight: the clerk lay sprawled on the floor, lifeless, blood pooling around him. The reality of the scene hit him like a punch to the gut, the horror of it paralyzing. Celeste, who had been engrossed in her search, groaned in frustration, realizing Jackson was no longer helping her. "Jackson? Seriously? You make me look for a movie and then you just leave?" she called out, her voice tinged with irritation.

           Jackson staggered back, eyes wide, as he tumbled right into the ladder. The sudden crash sent the structure toppling down, wires snapping violently as an electric spark flew from the light fixture above. With a loud crackling, the store was plunged into darkness, the unsettling sound of silence echoing around them.

         "Jackson?" Celeste whispered, a creeping fear curling up her spine. The shadows felt alive, and she strained her ears for any sound.

            The unmistakable sound of movement drew Jackson's attention, a shelf rattling ominously as something large shifted behind it. Panic clawed at his throat as he realized the danger was closer than he had thought. "Celly... there's something in here," he breathed, barely able to steady his voice.

        Celeste's heart raced as she reached out, her fingers searching for Jackson's in the darkness. When she found his hand, she whispered again, "J-Jackson?"

        "Yeah, it's me," he whispered back, a tremor lacing his words. "There's something in here."

           In that moment of chaos, Lydia was oblivious to the panic unfolding within the store. Instead, she remained in her car, absorbed in the reflection on her camera phone, her lips pursed as she practiced the perfect pout.

            Meanwhile, Jackson and Celeste crouched behind a shelf, Jackson trying to steady his near-hyperventilating breaths. He cautiously peeked above the stacks of DVDs, his heart pounding in his chest. Suddenly, one of the shelves rocked forward ominously, and like a series of dominoes, they began to topple toward them. Jackson shoved Celeste aside just as one of the shelves crashed down on his back, pinning him to the floor.

           Celeste scrambled to her feet, adrenaline flooding her system as she rushed to help him. "Jackson!" she shouted, but he struggled beneath the weight of the shelf, groaning in pain. In that instant, she felt the darkness enveloping them, her heart racing as she held her breath, crawling toward a corner to seek refuge.

           A shadow fell over Jackson, and he held still, fear coursing through him. The store fell into an ominous quiet, and something growled mere inches from the back of his head. A clawed hand reached over his neck, marks still visible, yellowish and scabbed, looking infected. Jackson shuddered as the tips of the claws grazed his skin, the air thick with impending doom.

        Celeste pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle a whimper, tears slipping down her cheeks as she watched in horror.

       In that moment of chaos, Lydia finally stepped out of her car, her camera phone still clutched in her hand. She approached the store, unease prickling at her senses as the shattered glass of the plate window glimmered in the dim light. "Jackson?" she called, her voice wavering as she entered the store.

       Stepping past the scattered DVD cases strewn across the floor, she called again, "Jackson?" The air felt thick with tension, her heart racing as she ventured deeper into the dimly lit store.

         Then her gaze landed on a hand jutting out from underneath an overturned shelf, terror clawing at her throat. "Jackson?" she whispered, her fingers trembling as she reached out, hesitant.

        "Don't!" Jackson shouted, panic surging through him just as Lydia spun around, eyes wide.

      "Jackson!" she shrieked, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she looked at him, confusion and fear reflected in her eyes.

        Celeste, who had been hiding, stepped out into the faint light, her expression shifting from fear to bewilderment. "What the fuck just happened?" she exclaimed, her heart racing as the lights flickered back on with an electric crackle.

             As Lydia looked down, her eyes widened in horror at the blood-soaked carpet beneath her. The sight sent her spiraling into panic as she began to scream, the horrifying reality crashing down around them, leaving the three of them trapped in a nightmare they could never have anticipated.

            Sheriff Stilinski gripped the steering wheel of his cruiser with a sense of focused determination as he navigated the streets of Beacon Hills, the blue and red lights flashing in the early evening twilight. The rhythmic sound of tires rolling over pavement filled the car, punctuated by the rustling of fast-food bags cluttered in the passenger seat. Stiles, seated beside his father, rummaged through the remnants of their meal, the tantalizing aroma of burgers and fries wafting in the air.

          "Did they forget my curly fries?" Stilinski asked, a hint of annoyance threading through his voice as he cast a sideways glance at the fast-food bags.

            "You're not supposed to eat fries. Especially the curly ones," Stiles replied, teasingly, as he continued his search, shoving aside empty wrappers and crumpled napkins in his quest for the elusive fries.

        "I am carrying a lethal weapon. If I want the curly fries, I will have the curly fries," Stilinski retorted with a playful smirk, his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.

            Stiles rolled his eyes. "If you think getting rid of contractions in your sentences makes your argument any more legitimate, you are wrong," he shot back, a grin breaking through the jesting banter.

       Before his father could muster a comeback, the police radio buzzed to life, interrupting the lighthearted exchange.

      "Unit One, do you copy?" the voice of dispatch crackled over the airwaves, sharp and clear against the backdrop of the cruising vehicle.

         Both Stilinski and Stiles reached for the CB at the same instant, their hands colliding in a comical tangle of fingers and arms. The sheriff shot a knowing look at his son, the familiar frustration mixed with amusement etched on his features.

       "Force of habit," Stiles mumbled, pulling his hand back and trying to hide a sheepish grin.

         "Unit One, copy," Stilinski replied into the radio, his tone shifting to the professional demeanor he wore like a second skin. "Got a report of a possible 187."

           Stiles' heart dropped, the weight of the term hanging heavily in the air. He instinctively shoved a handful of his father's fries into his mouth, the salty crunch mingling with the sour taste of anxiety that curled in his stomach.

           "A murder?" Stiles asked,

        Lights flashing, Sheriff Stilinski's cruiser roared into the parking lot, the engine's growl cutting through the chaos of the scene unfolding before him. As he parked next to two other Deputy Sheriff cruisers, the weight of the situation settled heavily in the air. He turned to Stiles, the look on his face shifting from fatherly affection to one of serious authority.

         "Stay here," he instructed, his voice firm but not unkind. Stiles nodded, already feeling the urge to leap out of the car and make sense of the chaos around him. His father hurried out to confer with his Deputies, leaving Stiles behind to absorb the sight before him.

            Impatiently, he watched as the emergency lights flickered, casting erratic shadows over the store's shattered window and the mess of knocked-over shelves. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie, but what sent a chill down his spine was the sight of Lydia, Jackson, and Celeste being led out by a female Deputy. Stiles' heart sank. "No. Way," he muttered, feeling the urge to burst through the crowd of onlookers that had gathered, their faces a mixture of concern and morbid curiosity.

           "Get this place locked off," Stilinski barked at his Deputies, his tone brokering no argument. Stiles pushed his way through the throng of bystanders, his pulse quickening as he called out, "Celeste?"

            She looked up at him, a flicker of recognition lighting her eyes despite the fear that hung in the air like a heavy fog. With her arms wrapped around herself, she offered him a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. A female Deputy guided her, Lydia, and an irate Jackson toward the police cars, the latter's frustration bubbling over.

      "I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm fine," Jackson insisted, the tension in his voice palpable.

           Noticing the commotion, Stilinski moved closer, leaving his other Deputies to keep the onlookers back. "Why the hell can't I just go home?" Jackson continued, his agitation spilling over.

      "I'm sorry, but the EMTs tell me you hit your head pretty hard, and they need to make sure you don't have a concussion," Stilinski explained, his tone steady and calm.

        Jackson scoffed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What part of I'm fine are you failing to grasp here? I want to go home!"

      Stilinski maintained his composure. "I understand—"

         "No, you don't understand," Jackson interrupted, a note of incredulity edging into his voice. "Which kind of blows my mind since it should be a pretty basic concept for a minimum-wage rent-a-cop like you. I just want to go home."

         Stilinski's expression hardened slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait. Jackson's frustration was palpable, and he realized the eyes of the crowd were watching them closely, pity and curiosity etched on their faces. Among them was Stiles, who clearly wasn't happy about the rent-a-cop line, but before he could voice his discontent, something else caught his attention.

               "Hey, is that a dead body?" Stiles blurted out, incredulity lacing his words. The throng of onlookers rushed forward, their morbid fascination overwhelming any sense of caution. Stilinski shot an angry glare at his son, who instinctively shrank back into the shadows, the weight of the situation crashing down around them like a tidal wave. As all eyes focused on the video store, Stiles' heart raced, each beat echoing the unspoken terror of what had just transpired.

         As Celeste stood in the parking lot, the chill of the evening air wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. She was waiting for her parents, anxiety bubbling beneath the surface as she scanned the chaotic scene. The flashing lights from the police cruisers cast an eerie glow, illuminating the worried faces of the onlookers. Just when she thought her heart couldn't race any faster, she noticed a car pulling up, its headlights cutting through the darkness.

          The passenger door swung open, and Cecilia Harrow jumped out, her face etched with a mixture of fear and relief. Celeste's breath caught in her throat as she called out, "Mom!" Her mother closed the distance between them in a heartbeat, arms reaching out as if to gather her daughter into a protective cocoon. Cecilia took Celeste's face in her hands, her touch warm and reassuring against the cold backdrop of uncertainty.

        "Are you hurt? Are you okay?" Cecilia's voice was urgent, her eyes scanning Celeste's features for any sign of injury. Celeste shook her head, forcing a smile despite the tension knotted in her stomach. "I'm fine, Mom. Really."

         Behind Cecilia, Dominic emerged from the car, his expression equally concerned. "Are you okay, Celeste?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he stepped closer. She nodded again, the assurance in her tone more convincing this time. "Yeah," she replied, though the tremor in her voice hinted at the chaos still echoing in her mind.

        Together, they began to move toward the car, Cecilia leading the way with an urgency that only a mother could muster. Dominic wrapped his arm around Celeste's shoulders, drawing her close to him as they walked. The familiar warmth of his presence was grounding, a brief respite from the storm of emotions swirling in her chest.

           As they made their way to the vehicle, Celeste's gaze drifted backward, instinctively searching for the one person she had been thinking about since the chaos erupted. There stood Stiles, just outside the crowd, his expression a mixture of concern and hesitation. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her, and though he seemed to want to ask if she was okay, the distance between them felt insurmountable.

               In a moment of silent connection, Celeste mouthed the words, "I'm fine." It was a simple gesture, but one that carried a weight of reassurance. She hoped he could see that beneath the fear and confusion, she was still standing strong, still fighting against the shadows that threatened to close in around her. As her parents guided her toward the safety of the car, the bond they shared provided a flicker of comfort in the darkness, even as the storm continued to brew just beyond the parking lot.