This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Andy3103 on 2024-10-22 19:45:18+00:00.


Part 1 Part 2

Going back to teaching on Monday was harder than I expected. The moment my alarm jolted me awake, a wave of dread hit me like a punch in the gut. I tried to convince myself that I’d be fine. I had my iron ring, still around my neck, and I had no plans of taking it off ever again—not even in the shower. Besides, logic told me that if something was going to come for me, as experience has already taught me, hiding indoors wouldn’t make a difference. But logic didn’t stop the cold sweat from pricking my skin or the feeling of nausea rolling in my stomach.

My stomach churned, and I couldn’t even think about food. Not that it mattered—my weekend of self-imposed isolation meant that I never went to the city to get groceries for the week anyway. I spent most of the early hours of the morning pacing around my tiny, freezing house, debating whether it was worth it to go to work. Part of me wanted to just pack up and leave the town altogether, disappearing back to Spain where at least the sun still existed, and there were no monsters lurking in the dark and trying to eat me.

But I’m not a quitter. That much I knew. So I forced myself out the door, bracing against the October chill. My heart stuttered again as I stepped into the cold air, but then I spotted my car. It had been sitting there all weekend, untouched. Normally, I would walk to school—it’s only thirty minutes, and I enjoyed the fresh air—but not today. Today, I needed to feel secure. Even if the drive was only a few minutes, I needed something I could control.

When I pulled into the school parking lot, I realized I had arrived much earlier than usual. The five-minute drive left me with too much time to sit and think, something I really didn’t need right now. As I stared at the school building, trying to collect myself, I noticed Cormac arriving. He walked across the lot, much earlier than anyone else. His eyes flicked toward me, one eyebrow raised slightly, but he didn’t say a word. I watched as he disappeared into the building, my stomach twisting in knots. I wasn’t ready to face him yet, not after everything that had happened.

In a way, I was relieved he hadn’t stopped to talk. I didn’t know how to thank him—or how to process the fact that he’d saved my life. The words felt too small, too shallow for the weight of what had happened, and yet Cormac didn’t seem like the type to dwell on such things. So, I pushed down my anxiety, took a deep breath, and headed inside. 

My first class of the day was with the first graders—usually my favorite. Their energy and excitement for learning was contagious, and it often helped distract me from the unease that had lingered since I arrived in this town.

But today, something wasn’t right. As I went through attendance, I noticed one of my students was missing. A little boy, quiet and shy, but always present. There had been no call from the office, no notice that he’d be absent, which was strange. Parents were usually diligent about calling the school if their child was going to stay home, especially in a town like this.

A cold sensation crept up my spine, and something in my gut told me that I was wrong. I had learned by now not to ignore these feelings, so I decided I would call his parents during lunch to find out where he was, but when I saw his older brother walking through the halls later, my concern deepened.

By the time lunch rolled around, the unease had settled deep in my bones. I headed straight to the office,  hoping that maybe his parents had called late, that there was some simple explanation for his absence. But the secretary shook her head—no call had come in. The knot in my stomach tightened. I asked for the boy’s parents’ number, trying to keep my hand steady as I dialed.

When his mother answered, I explained that her son hadn’t made it to school that morning, my voice wavering slightly. A part of my brain couldn’t help but wonder if maybe that little man in red had something to do with this. There was a brief silence before she responded.

“What?” she gasped, her voice shaking. “He left on time this morning with his brother. They always walk together. How could he not be there? Where is he?” She asked, whimpering a little bit on the other side of the line. 

I immediately pulled my phone from my pocket, my hands trembling slightly, and dialed the police while the boy’s mother was still on the line. Her frantic voice was echoing in my ear as I tried to explain the situation to the operator, barely able to focus on both conversations at once.

“The boy’s missing,” I managed to say, my voice shaking. “He left for school this morning with his brother, but he never made it. His mother said she saw him leave on time. Something’s wrong.”

The operator’s voice was calm but direct, telling me they would send officers out immediately and begin a search. They asked for the boy’s details—what he was wearing, his route to school, any other information I could give them. I relayed what I knew with the mother’s help, glancing around the empty office as if expecting to see him just walk in, safe and sound.

As soon as I hung up with the police, I turned my attention back to the boy’s mother, her voice still shaking on the other end. “They’re going to look for him,” I said, trying to sound more reassuring than I felt. “They’ll find him. I’m sure of it.” But even as I spoke, that familiar knot of dread twisted tighter in my gut.

After the calls, I went back to class, but my mind was everywhere but on teaching. Every time a student raised their hand, I had to remind myself to stay focused, to stay present for the kids who were still in front of me. But it was hard. The missing boy was all I could think about, and every second that ticked by without an update made my stomach knot even tighter. I kept glancing at the door, half-expecting the principal, or worse, the police, to walk in with news.

By the time the final bell rang, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and the hunger was gnawing at me, making me dizzy. I decided that the best option was to drive to the supermarket in the city, and I’d better do it fast before it got dark and I lost my courage to brave the country roads—anything to take my mind off the sick feeling in my gut.

As I gathered my things, the halls slowly emptied, the usual chatter fading into silence. I walked toward the exit, intending to make a quick escape to my car, but just as I turned a corner, I bumped straight into someone—hard.

I stumbled back, heart racing, only to find myself staring right into Cormac’s chest.

“Whoa,” he muttered, steadying me with a firm hand on my arm. His touch jolted me back to reality, and I flinched slightly as I realized who I’d bumped into. My pulse was already sky-high from the shock, and now, standing this close to him, I felt completely off balance.

“I—I didn’t see you,” I stammered, rubbing my forehead where I’d knocked into him. My thoughts were still spinning, stuck somewhere between the missing boy and now this new encounter with Cormac.

He looked at me, his usual smirk absent, replaced by a serious expression. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly, but not unkindly.

“I feel like hell,” I admitted, trying to regain my balance—physically and mentally. 

“You heard about the boy,” Cormac said, his voice steady, not asking, just stating it like a fact.

“Yeah…” I exhaled, feeling the weight of the day pressing harder on my chest. “I’m the one who called the police.” My voice cracked, and I quickly glanced down, as if not seeing his face would make this conversation easier.

He nodded, but he didn’t say anything else about the topic. “Have a safe drive, and hurry, there’s maybe an hour and a half left of daylight if you’re lucky” He said before leaving.

I nodded, still trying to steady my thoughts. “Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled, watching as he turned and walked away down the hall.

I went to the grocery store and I loaded up on groceries as quickly as possible, but I didn’t manage to beat dusk. By the time I was close to town, the last streaks of daylight were slipping away, the sky shifting from deep orange to a dusky purple. I sighed in relief when the familiar houses came into view—no strange encounters, no unsettling shadows on the road. I made it back without incident. But just as I entered the small town, something caught my eye at the boy’s house.

At first, I thought it was just a trick of the fading light, some shadow from the roof or the trees swaying in the breeze. But then, as I drove closer, I saw it. Perched on top of the house, barely illuminated by the last glimmers of the setting sun, was a figure.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn’t a person. I could tell that immediately. The shape was all wrong—its limbs too long and thin, its body hunched unnaturally. The head was the worst part: i…


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