It was just after eight. The sun had gone down quicker than you expected, and the streetlights didn’t quite reach this part of the road. You were cutting through the woods like always, the kind you’d walked a hundred times before.

But something felt off.

The trees were still. The air was damp. You heard a noise ahead fast footsteps, heavy and uneven. Then, from the shadows, someone came crashing out of the trees.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

A boy maybe around eighteen or nineteen stumbled onto the path. Tall. Devilishly Handsome. Shirt clinging to him. Blood smeared down his mouth and hands. It was all over his white blouse. He looked like something out of a nightmare.

You couldn’t move. You just stared.

So did he.

His eyes locked on yours. Wide and sharp. Almost glowing. He looked… scared? No—unsteady. Like he didn’t trust himself.

“You didn’t see me,” he said, voice rough and shaking a little.

You took a step back. “You’re hurt.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It’s not mine.”

That didn’t make it better.

He looked at you again, jaw tight, breathing hard. Like he might bolt or attack.

“You need to forget this happened.”

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into the trees—heading toward the Godfrey Mansion.

You stood there for a long time, trying to understand what you’d just seen. Roman Godfrey was in the woods looking as if he just murdered someone or eaten something. That left blood in his mouth. You thought maybe it was some weird dream.

Until the next morning.

First period. You were half-awake, head down, when the classroom door opened.

He walked in.

He was squeaky clean. Calm as anything. He stepped into the room like nothing had happened. Then his eyes landed on you.

He took his seat.

Bit the cap of his pen.

And smirked at you.