Grief is like an earthquake. The first one hits you, and the world falls apart. Even after you put the world together again, there are aftershocks, and you never know when those will come. - Unknown

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the walls.

Photographs of happier times lined the walls, but they felt distant now. My dad's old motorcycle helmet sat on the shelf, a relic of a life I felt had been stolen.

His leather jacket hung limply on the chair, untouched since that fateful day. I ran my fingers over the cracked leather, a chill spreading through me. I could almost hear the roar of his bike, the rush of wind as we zoomed through the countryside. His laughter used to fill the air, a sound so warm it felt like a hug. I missed those late-night talks over steaming mugs of cocoa, where I told him of my dreams for the future.

Each day felt like an uphill battle, searching for meaning in a home that felt so hollow without him.

Though he was not physically here, his presence was still felt in our lives. Every corner of our home held pieces of him. His favourite books sat on the shelf, untouched, and his tools collected dust in the garage.

Mom threw herself into work, her hands a blur. But she always found time for me. I caught her looking at the old photos sometimes, eyes distant. She had lost the love of her life, my grandparents their only son. I lost my dad.

No sweet sixteen. No driver's license to celebrate together. No graduation to share. Just the ache of missing him—his laughter, his warmth.

A soft breeze brushed my cheek, even though the windows were shut tight.

It was him. I knew it.

I blinked back tears, whispering, "I love you, Dad."

Love didn't disappear; it changed form. It became a tether, a bond that connected us even in loss.

We held onto our memories, inscribed in our hearts, like tattoos. They were our refuge.

"What are you thinking so hard about?" Jon's voice broke the silence as he stepped into my room.

I sighed, my gaze drifting to the floor. "I'm just missing my dad. He always knew what to do in times like these. I wish I had inherited more of his strength and wisdom."

Jon leaned in, his hand warm and steady on mine. "Harley, you are just like him. You have his resilience and determination running through your veins. He would be so proud of the person you've become."

A lump formed in my throat.

Memories of my father played in my head—his smile, his bear hugs, the way his laughter filled our home. It had been years since the accident took him, but the ache never really faded. "I wish he was here," I murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "To see what I've become. To tease me about not marrying until I was fifty—unless it was to you."

Jon's eyes softened. He brushed a tear away, his thumb warm against my skin. "He may not be here, but he's watching over you. And I'll always be here too."

A bittersweet smile appeared on my lips. Jon had stood by me through everything. My mom often joked he was like a second son to her.

"You know," he began, his tone shifting, breaking the heavy mood. "Your dad once told me if anything happened to him, he trusted me to look after you and your mom."

A swell of gratitude filled my chest. Jon's loyalty was a treasure, one I could never repay. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Hey. We never looked at that CD, remember? I think we should see what's on it. It might crack this case wide open," he said.

I stood, my heart racing as I approached the bookshelf. My fingers danced over the spines of novels until I found the titanium box, hidden among the stories. After a quick search, I pulled it free and returned to my bed, heart pounding.

"Okay, I got it. Now let's see what's on here," I announced, sliding the CD into my laptop's disk drive.

Jon and I leaned forward, the screen flickering to life.

A hooded figure appeared in a shadowy room. His voice sent a chill through the air. "I know you're investigating the disappearances of young women in this town," he began, his tone cryptic. "But to grasp the truth, you must return to the start."

Jon sighed beside me, clearly frustrated. I shot him a look.

We focused on the screen as the figure spun a dark tale that began in England. Five brothers aimed to keep their bloodline "pure", marrying their cousins. The results? Disturbing birth defects and a desperate need to reach beyond their family.

"Incest? This is getting weird," Jon whispered, disbelief etched on his face.

The video shifted to a photo of William Haggerty, a descendant of those brothers who settled in our town, Willow Creek. He promised prosperity to families, painting a picture of honor as founding members. But behind that mask was a darker motive: the Haggertys craved young women to bear their children.

"They lured families here with lies," I murmured, piecing it together. "They wanted girls for breeding."

The hooded figure confirmed it. Young girls were married off too soon, pushed to have families right away. "The Haggertys had their pick of women... even if they were already married," he warned, his tone heavy. Those who resisted faced harsh fates—annulled marriages and men cast out.

"Sounds like a cult more than a founding family," Jon remarked, his tone bitter. We exchanged a glance, the tension thick around us.

As the story unfolded, it became clear: Willow Creek was not just a quaint town. This place was steeped in ancestral sins, haunted by the ghosts of its past.

The hooded figure continued, each revelation more disturbing than the last. My heart raced, fingers trembling. This was not just a tale. It was a warning.

"So, what happened to these women?" Jon finally broke the heavy silence, his voice low. His brow furrowed, eyes darting around as if he expected shadows to whisper secrets.

"Many of these women disappeared without a trace," came the reply. "Some were never seen again. Others... well, there are whispers about tragic ends."

The family saw this as a chance for power. They married off young girls, some barely out of childhood, to keep their bloodline pure. But what sent a chill through me was how they sent young men to lure girls from outside. Those girls vanished, only to return as new members of the family. It was a sick game to preserve their twisted legacy.

Jon's fingers drummed against his thigh, an anxious rhythm. The leaders feared exposure, the kind that could lead to real consequences. Their fears were justified. The town buzzed with concern as parents tightened their grip, desperate to keep their daughters safe. They tried everything to avoid becoming the next chapter in this dark tale.

The Haggertys were forced to pause their recruiting. At least until the noise subsided. As we soaked in every detail, a thought crept in. Could my stalker be tied to this family? I swallowed hard. It felt wild, but in this moment, nothing felt impossible.

Jon scribbled notes, his pen flying across the paper. The voice from the video continued, detailing how new members were pushed to sever family ties and commit fully. "The Haggertys, the founding family, owned lots of land, still do. They paused on new recruits to build their own town—a school, gardens, parks."

"Like a hidden society in our town," I whispered, wide-eyed. Jon nodded, his jaw clenched, gaze fixed on the screen. Every detail seemed to pull us deeper into this nightmare.

"Everyone was categorized based on what they could offer. Many women wore green, signaling their fertility. They aimed to expand the family."

It felt more like fiction than reality—like something out of a dystopian novel.

"Divergent type shit," Jon muttered, a smirk breaking making its way onto his face. I chuckled, a nervous laugh, but it didn't last long.

This was unlike any case before. It felt like a surreal nightmare where being different was a death sentence.

The images flashed—women in green, children laughing in manicured parks, men overseeing their daily lives.

It looked too perfect, too controlled. And it was. This was a carefully constructed facade, hiding a dark truth behind their survival and growth in this isolated world.

"Check for a disruption in the timeline," I whispered to Jon, my voice low, urging him to dig deeper into this web of shadows.

"They formed a group of men to surveil the town, looking for new recruits," the voice echoed. "Men and boys lured these girls away from their families under false pretenses."

Jon's brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. "This is sickening," he muttered, turning his gaze from the screen, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Just as we thought we couldn't handle more, the voice dropped another bombshell. "They infiltrated other parts of our town—law enforcement included," it revealed. "Fake identities got them into the police department, tipping off their comrades about upcoming raids."

My heart raced. The very people meant to protect us? Corrupted by this insidious cult lurking in the shadows.

Then came the most gut-wrenching truth. Some of these abducted women met tragic ends when they tried to escape or speak out. The thought of innocent lives snuffed out curled my stomach. "So they killed them?" I gasped, the words barely escaping my lips.

"They were given chances to repent, to stay with the family. Some did; others didn't. They were seen as threats. They couldn't risk them leaving and spilling their secrets. So, they were killed, and their children raised by their fathers or close relatives."

"Oh, my God. That is awful. How could they do that? Who knows how many mothers they've robbed of seeing their kids grow up?"

How could such darkness exist in our quiet town? How many more lives hung in the balance if we didn't act soon?

"We need to expose this," Jon declared, determination hardening his features.

I nodded, a chill settling in my chest. This was no longer just a mystery. It was a fight for justice for those trapped in this nightmare.

"Enclosed in the envelope was a letter, which I hope you've destroyed. But I hope this gets you the answers you need." The hooded figure stood, moving toward the camera. The image flickered, replaced by a grainy video.

"Oh my God! Is that...?"

"Elena."