Whispers

Emma

The shop has been busy all day, and I’m so glad to finally make it to closing time. Well, it isn’t quite there yet because we have a lot of people still sitting in the booths chatting, but they are slowly starting to head out to the point where I can start wiping down tables. 

My mom always tells me to mind my own business and try not to listen when other people are talking privately, but I can’t help overhearing sometimes. Mom says I have some kind of supersonic hearing. She says it as a joke, I know, but I’ve noticed that she doesn’t exactly look like she’s joking when she says it. Sometimes I just don’t understand that woman, but she’s my mom, and I love her, quirks and all.

One group has been sitting there for about an hour. Normally, I don’t mind. Our shop is one place in town where the college-age crowd likes to hang out, so it’s nice for me because I have a lot of friends around when I’m working. It makes the day go faster. But tonight, I’m just a little tired and want to get all the closing tasks over with so I can just go home. 

A hot bubble bath sounds amazing. 

I have to clean a table nearby, so I really can’t help overhearing one group’s conversation. It seems like they are trying to keep their voices down, but it’s as clear as a bell to my ears. 

“It’s been over twenty-four hours,” one of the girls says. She’s about eighteen with jet-black, straight hair that looks as soft as silk. 

I like my wavy long hair well enough, but I’ve often been jealous of people who can just brush their hair and go first thing in the morning while still looking incredible. Whenever I wake up, my hair looks all bent out of shape like it got run over by a semitruck or something. 

“I know,” one of the guys agreed, a tall one who is slender but with an athletic build. “We’ve got a team out scouting for him.” Something in this guy’s voice sounds off, like a mix of fear and worry. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” This time it’s a girl with butter blonde hair. 

Why do I pay so much attention to hair color? Colors, mannerisms, even smells sometimes–I just seem to notice a lot about people. It must be all that time with Kara and her character profiles. 

“I wish I knew,” the guy replies. “He’s only sixteen, and it’s not like him not to check in.”

So, they’re looking for someone who’s missing, and he’s only sixteen. I’m starting to get worried about it myself. Emerald Valley is a safe town, but we’re located right on the edge of a pretty wild forest. 

It’s gorgeous here, with lots of beautiful greenery and a crystal-clear lake that I love to hang out at in the summertime. But for a young boy stuck out there alone, it could be dangerous. The forest is incredible, but it’s full of wildlife of the more dangerous sort–bears and wolves that could tear you apart. I love to be out there, but I rarely go out there alone, especially at night. 

The girl with the dark hair looks at me funny, and I realize I’ve paused my table wiping to stare at the group a little bit. I haven’t even noticed that I’ve done that, and I feel bad for listening in. I go back to wiping, but I also worry about the group. The girl looks at me for a split second with frightened eyes. Maybe she’s asking for my help.

“Emma?” My mom is right beside me all of a sudden. I didn’t even see her walk up. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh, no, sorry,” I say distantly. 

How had I heard this group’s every word and not heard my mom call me? I don’t even know these people. Well, I’ve seen them around a lot. You can’t miss anyone in this town. But I don’t really know their names or who they are. Yet I feel a weird connection to them, as though I should listen to them. I suppose I’m just worried about the boy.

My mom shakes her head. “Are you feeling okay?” she asks.

“I’m fine, Mom. What did you need?”

“I was asking if you can handle closing up for me,” she says. “I’d like to go over some paperwork and was going to just take it home, where it’s easier to spread out. But if you’re not feeling well….”

“No, Mom. I’ve got this,” I assure her. “You go ahead.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking like she’s fighting the urge to put her hand on my head to check for a fever.

“I’m fine,” I insist with a smile. “I can close up. You go ahead.”

She still has that crooked-mouthed ‘mom’ look on her face, the one that’s half a smile and half a ‘maybe I should call the doctor or rush you to the ER real quick’ look that I’ve seen on her a million times before. 

“I really am fine,” I repeat, laughing lightly to get her to stop worrying. 

“Okay,” she says reluctantly. “I’ll go gather the files. I’ll be home if you need anything. Just call.” 

“I will, Mom.” I try to look reassuring.  

It still takes her a few minutes to get ready to leave, and all the while, the people at the table keep talking about the missing kid and how worried they are about him. 

After my mom walks out the door, I turn to them. They’re the last group still in the shop, so I feel comfortable blurting out, “Hey, I noticed you were talking about a missing teenager. Have any of you called the police?” 

They all stiffen a little, but the dark-haired girl looks at me with that worried expression again, and I can’t stand it anymore. I just have to help.

“I’ll give them a call for you,” I tell them. “It’ll be okay. The sheriff here is really nice. All she’ll care about is getting him home safe. So, what does he look like, and where was he last seen?”

They all look at each other like they are trying to decide if they should answer me, almost like they’re silently communicating with each other. Finally, the tall guy speaks up. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have more eyes out looking for him,” he says cautiously. He keeps looking at one of the other guys and raising an eyebrow. I guess they all think they’ll get in trouble. Maybe they were supposed to be watching the kid who is missing or something. 

“Okay, good,” I say, ignoring the other guy. “What does he look like?”

“Blond hair, about to his shoulders. Skinny. Average height,” the blond guy explains.

“Okay,” I say, taking out my cell phone and dialing the sheriff. I’m not sure how much of an emergency this is, so I don’t want to call 911 and get everyone in town all worked up. After all, he’s a teenager. Maybe he’s just at a girlfriend’s house or something. 

I have the sheriff in my contacts–like I said, it’s a small town—and my mom and the sheriff are good friends. 

“How about where he was last seen? Or where he might be?” I ask. 

They all shrug their shoulders. “Last we knew of him was yesterday in school,” the blonde girl explains. “I don’t think he ever made it home.”

I raise my eyebrows, a little surprised that his parents don’t already have the cops out looking for him, but I relay all this information to the sheriff, who has just answered me. 

“Okay, she’ll be by shortly,” I tell the group as I hang up. “Hang out here for a few, please, so you can give her more details.”

“Okay,” the tall guy says, a little hesitantly. 

As I walk away, I hear them still talking about the boy, although they’re trying to talk in an even lower whisper. I swear I hear the strangest word. But I must have misheard them. Maybe I’m just tired. Still, an icy chill runs down my spine at the thought. 

Vampires?