SHADOWS MOVE WHEN YOU WATCH THEM

CHAPTER 3

The next day at school, I cornered Daniel after AP English. He was alone, leaning against the lockers, pretending to scroll through his phone like the hallway wasn’t pulsing with whispers.

“Hey,” I said.

He looked up, and for a split second, something flinched in his expression—surprise, maybe. Or guilt.

“Well, if it isn’t the ghost of Brianna’s best friend,” he said, flashing that practiced grin.

I held up my phone and tapped the screen. The photo. The one from my window.

The smirk faded.

“Where’d you get that?”

“You tell me.”

He looked around. “Is this a threat?”

“No. It’s a warning.”

Daniel straightened. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, Jasmine, but dragging me into it is a mistake.”

“You were at the pool.”

“I left before anything happened.”

“Did you see her?”

He met my eyes. “No.”

Lie.

I leaned in closer. “I think someone pushed her. And I think you know who.”

Daniel’s jaw clenched. “Back off, Jasmine.”

I stepped away before a teacher could notice the tension. But I saw it—the flash of fear behind his eyes. He knew something. And maybe someone else knew he knew.

Which meant he wasn’t just a lead. He was a liability.

⸻

That night, I didn’t sleep.

Instead, I wrote.

Page after page in my red notebook. Not poetry this time. Just names. Timelines. Observations. I mapped out everything I knew on the wall above my bed with string and tape and desperation.

At the center: Brianna.

Around her: Daniel. Malik. Gloria. The party. The pool. The photo.

And me.

Me—alive, but already a ghost in my own story.

Because I could feel it, like a storm rolling in across a quiet beach—something was coming. Whoever was watching me wasn’t finished. The notebook was only the beginning. The photo was a message. A test. And I had passed, somehow.

Now I just had to figure out what the next move was before they made it for me.

The day after I found the message on my window, the world didn’t stop spinning.

I hated that.

I woke up to the same dusty sunlight bleeding through the blinds, the same half-wilted plant on my windowsill, the same sound of Gloria’s heels clacking across the kitchen floor downstairs. The note was still there. I had folded it once, twice, three times until it was so small it could fit under my tongue. Then I tucked it into the back of my mirror, behind a loose panel only I knew existed.

“I see you too.”

Those four words felt like a match lit inside my chest. Not enough to burn, but enough to make me feel the heat.

I didn’t tell Gloria. She wouldn’t believe me. Or worse—she’d believe me and make it worse. Call the cops. Call a therapist. Call my dad in whatever city he was pretending to live in this month.

So I stayed quiet.

I stared at my reflection and tried to look like someone who wasn’t being watched.

My eyes betrayed me.

At school, things were loud again. People were done whispering about Brianna and had moved on to a girl in 9th grade who got caught vaping in the counselor’s office. Grief had an expiration date here. Three days, tops.

Only Lana was still missing.

No one mentioned her name. No one asked about her. She had just… vanished. Like a page torn out of a book no one was reading closely anyway.

During third period, I found something in my locker.

Another note.

Folded the same way. No name. Just left, like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

My fingers shook as I opened it.

“Meet me where the lights never reach. 4PM. Don’t bring anyone.”

There was a small sketch at the bottom. A stairwell. I recognized it.

Backside of the auditorium. The fire exit with the busted light. Kids went there to vape or make out or cry in private. I’d used it for all three.

My heart beat like it was trying to escape.

Someone wanted to meet me. Someone who knew about the first note. Someone who knew about Brianna.

I didn’t even make it through the rest of class. I faked a bathroom emergency, walked the halls like they were made of glass, and hid behind a vending machine until the bell rang.

At exactly 4PM, I made my way to the stairwell.

It was darker than I remembered. The bulb above the exit flickered once, then died completely. The air smelled like wet concrete and sour secrets.

No one was there.

“Hello?” I whispered.

Silence.

Then—footsteps.

I turned so fast my backpack swung off my shoulder.

A figure emerged from the shadows. Hoodie up. Hands in pockets. Skinny and tall and twitchy. I took a step back, ready to bolt.

Then he spoke.

“You came.”

My eyes narrowed. “Malik?”

He pulled the hoodie back. His face was tired. Paler than usual. His curls were crushed on one side like he hadn’t slept.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s me.”

I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Not since I ghosted him. Not since the last time we kissed behind the gym and I felt nothing.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t know who else to talk to. You’re the only one who isn’t pretending this is over.”

“What do you know about Brianna?”

He looked around, checked the shadows like someone else might be listening. “She came to me the night of the party.”

“What?”

“She called. Twice. I didn’t pick up. Then she sent a voice message.”

He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then held it out.

I took it.

Her voice crackled through the speaker. Panicked. Breathing heavy.

“Malik, if you get this, I need you to come get me. Now. Something’s wrong. I think… I think they’re gonna do something. I heard them talking—about me. About Jasmine. Please. Please don’t let them—”

The message cut off.

I stared at the phone like it might bite me. “Why didn’t you show anyone this?”

“Because I didn’t know who ‘they’ were. And I figured no one would believe me. But then you started acting weird. Asking questions. Getting messages. I thought maybe… you were next.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“You think someone killed her?”

He nodded slowly. “And I think they’re watching both of us.”

I backed up until my spine hit the wall. “Why me?”

“She said your name, Jasmine. In the message. And I think… I think she was trying to protect you.”

My knees felt weak. Like the floor wasn’t real anymore. Like I was standing on a dream I didn’t want to be in.

“There’s more,” Malik said. “Lana didn’t disappear.”

I looked at him sharply. “What?”

“I saw her yesterday. Around 10PM. Near the edge of the woods behind the soccer field.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“She looked… lost. Like she didn’t know where she was. She was barefoot. No phone. I called out to her, but she didn’t even blink. Just walked straight into the trees.”

A chill slid down my back. “And you didn’t follow her?”

“I wanted to,” he said. “But I—I got scared.”

We were both quiet for a moment.

Then he said, “There’s something else you should see.”

He reached into his bag and pulled out a photo. Not a digital one. An actual printed photo, like from a disposable camera.

It was Brianna.

But not any version of her I’d ever seen.

She was standing in front of a mirror, mouth wide open in a scream, hands pressed against the glass like she was trying to escape her own reflection.

It was the image from my dream.

Exactly.

Same angle. Same lighting. Same terror.

I staggered back.

“This is impossible.”

Malik looked just as freaked. “I found it in my mailbox. No name. No explanation. Just… this.”

I wanted to throw up. Or scream. Or both.

Instead, I whispered, “She’s trying to tell us something.”

Malik nodded. “And I think we’re the only ones listening.”

We left the stairwell without saying goodbye. It felt too dangerous to linger. Like shadows might grow fingers and grab us if we stayed too long.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, every sound from outside setting my nerves on fire. Branches scraping the siding. A car door slamming. The distant bark of a dog.

Then my phone lit up.

Unknown Number.

No name. Just a video message.

My hand shook as I tapped it open.

It was Lana.

The video was grainy, like it had been shot from a distance. She was standing on a rooftop, barefoot, arms wrapped around herself like she was cold or scared or both. She looked over her shoulder once. Then leaned toward the edge.

Then—static.

The video ended.

No context. No timestamp. Just thirty seconds of horror.

I called Malik. Straight to voicemail.

I texted: Where are you? I just got a video of Lana. Something’s wrong.

No response.

I tried to breathe. In and out. Count to ten.

Then I noticed something.

My window was open again.

Even though I had locked it. Checked it twice.

On the sill—another note.

I moved slowly. Like the wrong motion might set something off.

The paper was damp. Smudged.

“Tell no one. Or she falls next.”

There was a photo clipped to the back.

Lana.

Tied to a chair. Gagged.

Eyes wide with terror.

My scream never made it past my throat.