Chapter 2 — Shadows and Omens
Emily Carter
The morning air in Cypress Falls offered no reprieve from the oppressive heat, but Emily accepted the sharp tang of coffee from her thermos as small consolation. The library loomed ahead, a modest structure of faded red brick nestled between the church and an abandoned mercantile, its weathered exterior blending with the town's quiet decay. She pushed open the heavy oak door, which groaned loudly in protest, and stepped into the cool, dim interior.
The air was thick with the smell of aged paper and wood polish, carrying a faint mustiness that reminded her of her university archives. Dust motes swirled in the narrow beams of sunlight streaming through high windows, and the sagging bookshelves seemed to bow under decades of neglect. At the far end of the room sat a woman with a sharp, hawk-like gaze, her graying hair pulled into a severe bun. She was hunched over a desk piled with papers and books, her thin-rimmed glasses perched precariously on her nose.
The woman looked up the moment Emily entered, her eyes locking onto her like a predator sizing up its prey. “Can I help you?” she asked, her voice clipped and cool.
Emily summoned a polite smile. “I’m looking for records on the town’s history—family names, old symbols, architectural records, maybe even folklore. Anything you might have.”
The woman set her pen down with a deliberate slowness, folding her hands on the desk. “Our archives are limited,” she said, her tone as unyielding as her expression. “Most of the older records are not available for public viewing.”
“Not available,” Emily repeated, her brow furrowing. “Or not organized?”
The woman raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Not available. For preservation purposes.”
The slight hint of condescension in her voice made Emily bristle, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. “Perhaps you could point me toward what is available, then?”
Mrs. Thompson—Emily had no doubt now that this was the infamous librarian she’d overheard mentioned at the inn—pressed her lips into a thin line. After a brief pause, she gestured curtly toward the shelves along the left wall. “Public records are over there. Anything more sensitive would require approval, and approval is rarely granted.”
Her gaze flickered down briefly, catching on the pendant Emily wore around her neck. The glance was quick, but it lingered just long enough for Emily to notice the tension in the woman’s jaw before she returned to her paperwork.
With a sigh, Emily made her way to the shelves. The books and documents were a chaotic mix—a few brittle genealogies missing critical pages, dry regional histories written by amateur enthusiasts, and collections of folklore so sensationalized they read like dime thrillers. She pulled a few promising titles and carried them to a small table tucked in the corner, her frustration mounting as she flipped through the yellowed pages.
The dry account of the town’s founding was her third attempt when a soft voice interrupted her concentration.
“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for in those.”
Emily glanced up sharply. Standing on the other side of the table was an older woman with silver hair neatly pinned into a bun. Her face was calm, her expression unreadable, though her posture carried an undeniable authority. Emily recognized her instantly—Maggie Hayes, the town historian. From her descriptions at the inn, she expected someone more austere, but Maggie’s presence was disarmingly composed.
“I’m sorry?” Emily asked, her curiosity piqued.
“The books here don’t tell the real story,” Maggie said, her lilting Southern drawl softening the edges of her words. She gestured to the open book in front of Emily. “That’s just the surface. The town’s history runs much deeper—deeper than most would care to know.”
Emily leaned forward, her investigative instincts kicking in. “Then maybe you could help me. I’m looking for anything connected to this.” She pulled the pendant out from under her shirt and held it up for Maggie to see.
For a fleeting moment, Maggie’s composed expression cracked. Her eyes flicked to the pendant, then back to Emily’s face, and something unreadable passed over her features. “That’s an old crest,” she murmured, her voice low. “I’ve seen it before. But its story isn’t written in any book.”
Emily’s pulse quickened. “Then where would I find it?”
Maggie glanced toward Mrs. Thompson, who was still absorbed in her work, before leaning in slightly. “Some stories aren’t written down, Miss Carter. They’re carried in whispers, passed from one keeper to the next.”
Emily frowned. “That’s not exactly helpful.”
“It’s not meant to be,” Maggie replied with a faint smile, though her tone carried a warning. “You don’t uncover truths like this by scratching at the surface. You dig. Carefully.”
Emily opened her mouth to press further, but Maggie straightened before she could speak. “If I were you,” Maggie said, her voice soft but firm, “I’d leave the past where it lies. But something tells me you’re not one for heeding warnings.”
“I’m here to uncover the past,” Emily said, her voice steady.
Maggie’s faint smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet regret. “Be careful what you uncover,” she murmured. Then, with a nod, she turned and left, leaving Emily staring after her with more questions than answers.
---
The sun hung low in the sky as Emily made her way back to the inn. Shadows stretched long across the cracked pavement, and an unnatural stillness seemed to settle over the town as the day waned. The faint metallic tang in the air from earlier had grown stronger, clinging to her senses like a warning.
As she passed the general store, she spotted a figure leaning against the wooden railing. At first, she thought it was just another wary local, but as she drew closer, she noticed the man’s piercing gray eyes fixed on her with unsettling intensity.
He was tall, rugged, and out of place in a town like this. His worn leather jacket and unkempt dark hair streaked with silver gave him the air of a wandering drifter, though his posture held a quiet confidence.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the evening stillness.
Emily slowed her steps, arching an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
He straightened from the railing and stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening. “I said, you shouldn’t be here. This place isn’t safe for someone like you.”
Emily squared her shoulders, her irritation flaring. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile. His stormy gray eyes seemed to search hers, as though weighing something unseen. “I don’t doubt that,” he said finally. “But there are things in this town you don’t understand. Things you’re better off not understanding.”
“If you’re trying to scare me off with cryptic warnings, you’ll have to do better than that,” Emily said, her voice sharp.
His expression hardened. “The full moon’s coming,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Leave before it rises. You don’t want to see what this place becomes.”
Before she could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the store. Emily stood frozen, her heart beating faster than she cared to admit. His words replayed in her mind—leave before the full moon rises. What did he mean?
---
That night, Emily sat at the small desk in her room, the hum beneath her feet louder than ever. Her journal lay open in front of her, filled with notes and hastily sketched symbols. The designs from the town fountain were nearly identical to some she had encountered before, but their meaning continued to elude her.
Her pendant rested on the desk, catching the warm glow of the lamp. She traced its edges absently, her thoughts tangled with the day’s encounters—Mrs. Thompson’s frosty dismissal, Maggie’s cryptic warnings, and the unsettling man’s urgent words.
A faint noise outside her window broke her concentration. She froze, listening. At first, it sounded like the rustling of leaves, but it grew into a low, guttural growl that sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Emily rose slowly and moved to the window, pulling the curtain aside. The square below was bathed in silver moonlight, the cobblestones gleaming faintly.
For a moment, she saw nothing. But then, at the far edge of the square, movement caught her eye—a shadowy figure, hunched and distorted, scuttling unnaturally between the buildings.
Her breath hitched, and her body tensed as the figure melted into the darkness, leaving only the sound of heavy, raspy breathing. A series of sharp, unnatural clicks echoed through the air, followed by silence.
Emily backed away from the window, letting the curtain fall. Her palms were damp, her pulse racing. She tried to rationalize what she had seen—or thought she had seen—but the hum beneath her feet drowned out her thoughts, resonating deep in her chest.
This town wasn’t just holding secrets. It was alive with them. And something beneath its surface was stirring.
