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The truth was that James was alone, just as Demi and Mark had been. James picked up his phone, scrolling through his contacts. Maybe he should reach out to others from their high school days, warn them, or at least share his concerns. But what could he say? Be careful, we might be next? The thought was too grim, too real. He set the phone back down and let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of isolation and vulnerability. The usual sounds of the night, the distant hum of traffic, the occasional bark of a neighborhood dog, now seemed amplified, each noise making him tense.
In an attempt to distract himself, James turned the volume up on the TV, flipping through channels aimlessly. But the flickering images did little to ease his mind. His thoughts kept drifting back to Demi and Mark - the lives lost and the unknown terror still at large in the streets of Stamford.
James had been close with Demi and Mark throughout high school, and remained pals with Mark well into adulthood. Their childhood connection had been one of survival, the strongest banding together for total domination. It had been a success, but it had come at a cost. James struggled to forget some of the horrors he'd inflicted upon those he deemed weaker, incidents that went beyond typical locker-stuffing and mockery. These were moments of true cruelty, the kind that left scars, not just on the victims, but on James himself. He had tried to put that part of his life behind him to become a better person, but the past always had a way of catching up.
Was there any chance Demi and Mark’s demise could be a coincidence? He didn’t know much about Demi’s day-to-day, but Mark had his share of demons, the least of which was alcohol. The news hadn’t been very forthcoming with the details, so all he really had to rely on was local rumor and conjecture. Was it possible Demi and Mark took their own lives?
Or was this a revenge plot by someone they’d wronged in high school?
He remembered Lucas Trent, the quiet kid who'd borne the brunt of their cruelty. Lucas was always an easy target, someone they could mock to elevate their own status. Then there was Jenny Thompson, a shy girl who had suffered their relentless teasing for her awkwardness and bookish nature. James could still recall the look of hurt in her eyes, a look he had ignored back then.
There were others, too, faces and names that he had tried to forget. Kids who were different, who didn’t fit into their narrow view of what was acceptable. James had never considered the long-term effects of their actions, the wounds that might never heal. It was all just fun and games to them, a way to pass the time in the mundanity of high school life, a way to survive the most difficult period of everyone’s adolescence.
As James's thoughts spiraled, a sudden noise at his front door jolted him out of his reverie. It was a subtle sound, like a faint scraping or a light tap, but in the silence of his tense vigil, it sounded like a thunderclap. His heart raced, pounding in his ears as he sat frozen, staring at the door. The cozy living room, once a haven, now felt like a trap.
The possibility that someone was right outside his front door was too terrifying to contemplate, yet he couldn't ignore it. James's instinct was to stay put, to pretend he hadn't heard anything, but the uncertainty was unbearable. He needed to know to confront whatever – or whoever – was out there.
With a shaky breath, he forced himself to stand. His legs felt like jelly, but he managed to edge closer to the door, his every step cautious and measured. The familiar creaks of his floorboards underfoot now seemed to betray his movements, loud and clear.
Gripping the cold handle of a knife pulled from the kitchen drawer, James felt a surge of both fear and absurdity. He'd never used a knife for anything more violent than slicing a steak. The weight of it in his hand was foreign, and the idea of using it against someone was almost unthinkable. Yet, the unnerving reality of the situation propelled him forward, through his kitchen, towards the exit.
As he neared the door, each creak of the floorboards sounded like an alarm, signaling his approach. James's heart thudded in his chest, a cacophony that drowned out the quiet of the night. He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob, the knife gripped tightly in the other.
His mind raced with scenarios of what he might find on the other side. Would it be the killer, ready to claim another victim? Or could it just be a stray animal, a branch, or some other innocuous cause for the noise?
With a deep breath, James steeled himself and grabbed the doorknob.
Then stopped.
There was something on the floor.
A brown envelope lay on the brown tiles, an unsettling sight in the otherwise ordinary setting. The words ‘OPEN ME’ were scrawled across it in bold letters.
Someone had pushed this under his door.
For a moment, James stood frozen, the knife in his hand feeling even more out of place. A whirlwind of thoughts ran through his head, and James struggled to mask the feeling of vulnerability. Was this some sick joke? A threat? Or something far more sinister?
Cautiously, James looked beyond the frosted glass partition into the street.
No shadows, no silhouettes, no suggestions of movement.
He bent down to pick up the envelope, his senses heightened. He couldn’t see or hear signs of life, but the fear of being watched, of being exposed at this very moment, gnawed at him.
Turning the envelope over in his hands, James contemplated his next move. Opening it could provide answers, but it also felt like stepping into a trap. Yet, the need to know, to understand what was happening and why he was a part of it, overpowered his apprehension. He stood with his back to the wall as though his vantage point over the whole kitchen awarded him the upper hand.
With a deep breath, he carefully tore open the envelope, his hands trembling slightly. Inside, he found a single piece of paper, folded neatly. James unfolded it, his eyes scanning the contents.
Two lines.
One riddle.
In a clock’s face, where hands unite.
Thrice six they mark, in day or night.
And below that, a heap of jumbled letters.
EWWL EW SL LZW YSJSYWK TQ LZW GDV TJAUC KLGJW LWF HE LGFAYZL GJ QGM OADD VAW.
