Chapter 5: The Town That Forgets
Something Watches in Halden’s Grove
You finish breakfast in silence, the clink of silverware the only punctuation. Your father sits across from you, his eyes cloudy but fixed on you like he knows something you don’t. When you glance at the mirror above the sideboard, your father’s reflection doesn’t match his movements.
You stare. He chews. But in the glass, he’s smiling.
You blink and it’s gone. Just him again, slack-jawed and exhausted.
You wipe your mouth, place the napkin over your empty plate, and stand.
"I'm going to take a walk," you mutter to the nurse and your father.
She nods. He doesn’t react.
You head to the bathroom and splash your face. The skin around your eyes is swollen, rimmed with the aftermath of terror and tears. Your reflection stares back like it wants to speak, but you’re not ready. You keep your gaze on the faucet while the water runs too hot.
The shower is blistering. You scrub your skin like something might still be clinging to it.
You do not look in the mirror again.
The Walk Begins
You pop on your shades as the door closes behind you, trying to disguise your eyes from the serious lack of sleep you didn't get.
Outside, it’s springtime-perfect. Sunlight spills onto the street like someone turned the saturation up on reality. Lawnmowers hum. As you walk out into the neighborhood a dad teaches his kid to ride a bike. A teen jogs by with earbuds in, mouthing lyrics you can’t hear.
But something’s... wrong.
Everyone looks a little too plastic. A little too posed. Like they’re actors in a commercial for antidepressants. This is not how the world felt yesterday.
You walk further into town.
A little girl on a tricycle stops pedaling and stares at you. Dead-eyed. Quiet. Her mouth moves like she’s about to say something profound—but what comes out is:
“You look different now.”
Her mother doesn’t even notice. Just pulls the girl along and crosses the street.
You keep walking, your pulse fluttering in your neck.
A golden retriever lunges at a chain-link fence as you pass a yard, snarling like it knows what’s inside you now. Its owner yells an apology, but the dog just growls, foaming at the mouth, eyes locked onto you with animal precision.
You turn down Main Street. That same coffee shop still stands—former church, now overpriced cappuccinos and vegan muffins. Outside, a busker strums a guitar.
At first, it seems random.
But then the notes curl into a melody you know too well—a haunting tune your father hummed just last night in his wheel chair, in the creepy corner of the darkness. The exact rhythm. The same key. You freeze.
“Do you know that song?” you ask.
The busker shrugs. “The muse of the melody just came to me this morning. Dunno why.”
A Distorted Reflection
You stop outside the hardware store and squat to tie your shoe. Your eyes flick to the display window beside you—mostly a reflection of the sky and awning.
Except… there’s someone standing behind you.
In the glass, they reach toward your shoulder.
You spin around—heart slamming your ribs—but there’s no one there. The sidewalk behind you is empty.
When you look back at the reflection?
The figure’s still there.
Hand. On. Your. Shoulder.
Their face is a blur—like the glass can’t hold the shape of them.
You stand slowly, backing away from the window without turning around.
And in the glass?
The reflection doesn’t move.
But a whisper reaches your ear, your name, again.
Exactly the same, rasped and wet like it crawled up from a throat full of soil.
Your breath catches, feels like something is caught in your throat, perhaps it's your own heart.
Option 1: Call Oliver. Tell Him Everything.
You need backup. A witness. Anyone who might believe you. You call Oliver and spill everything.
Option 2: Go Behind the Church. Find the Mirror.
A flash pops into your memories, the mirror from the journal. The church isn't too far from here.
You pull your phone out of your pocket, thumb hovering over Oliver’s contact—your last lifeline to anything normal—or you could keep walking. Toward the church. Toward the thing that’s been beckoning you.
Either way, something’s about to answer.
I'm just joining on this journey, so of course I had to go back and read the other 4. Now I'm hooked! This one has a very "Wandavision" feel to it, if you've ever watched that series.