It was a cool evening on the Outer Banks, the ocean breeze carrying the scent of salt and sand as JJ and John B. snuck through the winding streets of Figure 8 Island. The two of them had been causing a bit of trouble, as usual. Ding-dong-ditch was their game—quick, loud laughs as they rang doorbells and sprinted away before anyone could catch them. The sun had dipped low, casting an orange hue over the quiet neighborhood, but their mischievous energy never seemed to wane.

They rounded a corner, their footsteps light on the asphalt as they approached another house. It was one of those big, quiet properties on the north side, tucked behind a few trees, the kind where you’d expect not to see anyone for days. JJ had already rung the doorbell when he heard footsteps from inside—fast, purposeful, like someone had been waiting for a reason to open the door. He stepped back behind a bush, motioning for John B. to follow.

The door swung open, and for a brief moment, JJ forgot to breathe.

Standing in the doorway was you. Your eyes were wide with surprise, as if you weren’t expecting anyone to be at your door. Your hair caught the fading light, and in that moment, JJ thought you looked like something straight out of a dream