Losing our innocence can be dangerous because our ignorance is a shield. - Dan Simmons

Food prep was only slightly more eventful than gym.

Jon and I paired up together, as always.

Amidst the clattering of pots and pans, Jon and I worked tirelessly on preparing desserts for an upcoming event hosted by our strict but well-meaning teacher, Mrs. Mack.

As the daughter of a renowned baker, Mrs. Mack had entrusted us with the important task of creating an array of delectable treats to impress the guests.

Jon and I were a well-oiled machine when it came to baking; I handled the mixing and measuring while he took charge of decorating and presentation.

Despite the chaos around us, we moved in perfect harmony, each knowing our role in this culinary dance.

Mrs. Mack's constant reminders about the significance of the event only fueled our determination to excel. We tripled recipes and whipped up batches of cupcakes, brownies, and cookies with precision and care. The kitchen was filled with tantalizing aromas that promised a sweet reward for our hard work.

After an hour of intense labour, we finally completed our task and arranged platters of desserts before carefully wrapping them for storage in the fridge.

The temptation to sneak a taste was strong, but we knew better than to risk Mrs. Mack's wrath by indulging prematurely.

Bidding her farewell, we headed off to our last class of the day, English.

We made our way down the steps with our backpacks slung over our shoulders, ignoring the rule against bringing bags to class, as it was hardly actually enforced.

Jon and I were always ahead of the curve, taking our seats in the middle row as Mr. Haggerty entered with a warm smile directed at me. I exchanged a quick smile before turning to Jonathan, who had already taken out his research notes for our project.

Not long after we arrived, Mr. Haggerty entered, greeting me with a small smile before taking a seat at his desk.

Approaching him before the lesson began, I hesitated slightly before clearing my throat to get his attention. "Mr. Haggerty," I started tentatively. "We wanted to speak with you about our assignment after class."

His eyes met mine with a knowing look as he agreed to our request, causing relief to wash over me.

As I returned to my seat, the classroom filled up with students bustling around. Mr. Haggerty announced that we could work on our projects during this period and even offered access to the computer lab for further research later in the week.

Jon and I wasted no time diving into our work, starting with reviewing my rough draft of the introduction on my laptop.

The small town of Willow Creek appeared picturesque on the surface, with its charming main street lined with old-fashioned lamp posts, quaint shops, and friendly faces. But beneath the facade of innocence lay a dark history that few were aware of.

Children played in the streets, their laughter echoing through the quiet town, while parents watched from their porches with smiles on their faces.

But not everything was as it seemed in Willow Creek.

For years, a shadow had hung over the town, a darkness that seeped into every corner and crevice.

The townspeople went about their daily lives, oblivious to the evil that lay hidden within their midst.

One by one, girls began to disappear without a trace. Their families were left devastated, and their friends were haunted by unanswered questions. Where had they gone? Who had taken them? And most importantly, who killed them?

Over a century ago, in the 1840s, the first whispers of vanishings began to echo through Willow Creek. Girls went missing without a trace, leaving behind only sorrow and unanswered questions. Where did they go? Who took them from their loved ones? And most importantly, who was responsible for their untimely demise?

As rumours spread and paranoia grew, the townspeople turned on each other. No one knew who to trust anymore. Friends became enemies, and neighbours eyed each other with suspicion.

More than a century later, more than a hundred girls have vanished without a trace. Only a handful have ever been found, their fates sealed in tragedy.

Miranda Hutchins was the latest victim to fall prey to whatever malevolent force lurked in Willow Creek. Her classmates whispered amongst themselves, fear and suspicion clouding their once carefree days.

Miranda was a bright young girl with a promising future ahead of her. She was well-liked by many of her peers and adored by her family. But one fateful night, she disappeared without a trace, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions and shattered hearts.

As whispers spread like wildfire through the town's gossip mill, suspicion fell upon neighbours and friends alike. No one was safe from scrutiny as paranoia gripped Willow Creek in its icy grasp.

But amidst all the chaos and confusion, one thing remained certain: evil had seeped into Willow Creek's very foundation, poisoning its once peaceful existence. As night fell over the town like a thick blanket of dread, shadows danced ominously along deserted alleyways and empty streets. The moon cast an eerie glow upon dilapidated buildings and forgotten corners where unspeakable acts had taken place.

Monsters did not reside in closets or under beds in Willow Creek; they dwelled within the hearts of men and women. Lurking, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves, to unleash havoc upon the unsuspecting residents.

The shadows whispered secrets long buried as residents were forced to confront their own inner demons. And as night fell over Willow Creek once more, it became evident that some monsters wear human faces, lurking just beneath the surface.

Jon's words cut through my insecurities like a ray of sunlight piercing through dark clouds. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. His approval meant more to me than any accolade from a teacher or peer.

I looked at him with surprise and gratitude, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. Jon had always been brutally honest with me, never one to sugarcoat his opinions. It was this honesty that made his praise all the more meaningful.

I chuckled. "This is totally off topic. But did you know you have tiny flecks of green in your eyes?"

"Ha. Yeah, they do that sometimes, mostly in the sun. Why?"

I shook my head. "No reason. I just like your eyes and couldn't believe I hadn't noticed before."

"Oh..."

As we continued our conversation, the sky outside darkened ominously, signalling an impending storm. I cursed silently under my breath for forgetting my umbrella at home. Jon noticed my dismay and offered a solution: to wait out the rain together while he practiced with the basketball team after school.

Raindrops began to fall against the windowpane, creating a soothing rhythm that matched the beat of my heart. I watched as the world outside transformed into shades of grey, finding comfort in the gentle pitter-patter of rain.

The school bell rang to signal the end of another day, and Jon and I found ourselves lingering in our seats while the other students filed out. The light from the grey skies filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the empty classroom as we made our way towards Mr. Haggerty.

Seated in front of him, we listened intently as he began to unravel a tale that would forever change our perception of Willow Creek's history.

He recounted the story of how his great-great grandfather, William Haggerty, stumbled upon Willow Creek in 1815, rather than Arthur Ingram, as we had been led to believe. He spoke of how his ancestor, fleeing from unknown troubles in England, accidentally discovered the town we now call home.

Jon and I were captivated by the hidden truth behind the town's founding. The sight of a willow tree on the edge of a creek led to the naming of this place, which held so much mystery and intrigue.

But it was what Mr. Haggerty revealed next that truly shocked us to our core. He spoke of rumours surrounding his family's past—whispers of a supposed cult that had once operated within their midst.

As he delved into these dark secrets, we couldn't help but feel a shiver run down our spines at the thought of such sinister tales lurking beneath Willow Creek's serene facade.

Despite our curiosity and eagerness for more information, Mr. Haggerty cautioned us against seeking out further details that may not reveal the whole truth.

His words lingered in the air like an ominous warning as he gathered his belongings and prepared to leave for the day.

I looked over at the clock, and my heart sank. Shoot! Jon's basketball practice was starting at any minute. I quickly slapped Jon's arm to get his attention. "Your basketball practice," I reminded him urgently.

Jon jumped up from his chair, a look of panic crossing his face as he scrambled to gather his belongings. Papers flew everywhere as he threw everything into his bag haphazardly.

I sighed and reached out my hand. "I'll take care of this mess. You go grab your things for practice."

"Thank you, thank you," Jon exclaimed gratefully, giving me a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out the door towards his locker.

I shook my head with a small smile, knowing that Jon always seemed to be in a hurry, no matter what the situation. As I gathered up his scattered papers and books, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself at the chaos that seemed to follow my friend wherever he went.

Just as I was about to leave, a nagging question popped into my mind: had Mr. Haggerty told Mr. Killian about how easily distracted I could be in class?

"Oh. I almost forgot." He raised his head. "Did you ever tell Mr. Killian that I frequently get distracted in your class?"

His brows furrowed as he shook his head. "No, I didn't. Why do you ask?"

"It's just... today in biology, he spoke of changing my seat because I was talking to Damon, and he said you told him that I get distracted by friends, and he was considering moving my seat."

"I don't know why he would say that." He chuckled to himself. "He probably just wants you close so he can keep an eye on you."

I'm not sure why, but the way he said it sort of creeped me out.

I noticed the grip on his pen had tightened so much that it had snapped in half, spraying ink all over his desk.

"Um, Mr. Haggerty," I called, trying to break him from the trance-like state he appeared to be in.

"Sorry," he said, grabbing a set of tissues from the corner of the desk, trying to sop up the spilled ink. "I won't keep you any longer. Is that all you wanted?" I nodded. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your friends practice."

"Bye, Mr. Haggerty!" I said, waving as I scurried to catch up to Jonathan.

As I made my way to the door, something caused me to look back.

Mr. Haggerty had not moved from his seat, now staring blankly at the ink residue he had attempted to clean.

In that split second of observation, it became clear. He was one of many, carrying with him secrets and stories untold.

I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries hidden within Willow Creek's history—about how truth can be twisted and obscured over time, leaving only fragments for curious minds like ours to uncover.

And so, as dusk settled over Willow Creek Institute and shadows lengthened in its corridors, Jon and I were left pondering what other secrets lay buried beneath its tranquil surface, waiting to be unearthed by those brave enough to seek them out.