Late afternoon. Library hours. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like they knew secrets too.

You sat alone in the quiet corner by the windows — notebook open, pen tapping, trying to focus on homework instead of the weird uneasy pulse running through Woodsboro lately.

Your phone buzzed. Unknown number.

You frowned. Probably a telemarketer or someone in class needing notes. You answered anyway, low voice so the librarian wouldn’t snap at you —

“Hello?”

A breath on the line first. Too quiet. Too long.

Then a voice — distorted, hollow, playful in the way only people with bad intentions enjoy.

“Where ya hiding?”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe for a second. You swallowed, voice steadying.

“Wrong number.”

Silence flared again. Then the voice laughed. Low. Like it was laughing right in your ear.

“Oh, come on. Don’t lie to me. I can see you.”

Your eyes flicked around the room without meaning to — instinct. Bookshelves, students scattered, people pretending they weren’t scared of anything in this town.