Echoes in the Dark

Vivian POV

The streetlights flicker as I hurry home, Tyler Grayson’s words clawing at my mind like a song I can’t unhear. “You’re not what you think you are.” What does that even mean? My sneakers slap the pavement, the rhythm too fast, too frantic, matching the hum buzzing under my skin. It hasn’t stopped since I left the field, that strange, electric pulse that feels alive, like it’s trying to break free. I’m Vivian Harper, the girl who fades into the background at Westbridge High, not someone with secrets worth cryptic warnings. But as the sky darkens, the air heavy with the scent of rain and something wilder, I’m not so sure.

I’m a block from home when a sound freezes me in my tracks—a howl, low and haunting, slicing through the dusk. It’s not a dog, not a coyote. It’s something deeper, something that makes the hum in my veins surge so hard I gasp, clutching my chest. My head whips toward the woods across the field I just left, their shadowy edges barely visible in the fading light. The howl lingers, a mournful echo that feels like it’s calling me. My breath catches, shallow and sharp, as I scan the darkness. Nothing moves, but the air feels alive, prickling my skin with invisible eyes.

“Get a grip, Viv,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. I’m imagining things—too many late nights lost in fantasy novels about magic and monsters. But Tyler’s face flashes in my mind, those piercing green eyes too knowing, too intense. He’d stepped toward the woods right after saying that weird thing, like he heard something I didn’t. Or knew something I don’t.

The hum stings now, a sharp jolt in my fingertips, and I clench my fists, forcing myself to move. My house is right there, the porch light glowing like a promise of normalcy. I’m not chasing ghost howls or cryptic new guys. I’ve got enough to deal with—Lila Carter’s taunts, Mr. Pierce’s quizzes, and now Tyler playing hero. My cheeks heat as I remember him stepping in earlier, scattering Lila and her minions like they were nothing. No one’s ever stood up for me like that. But the way he looked at me after, like he saw straight through me—it’s too much to unpack.

I’m at the door, fumbling with my keys, when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Maya Delgado, my best friend, with her usual perfect timing. I answer as I step inside, kicking off my sneakers in the foyer. The house is quiet—Mom’s working late at the hospital again, and Dad’s on a business trip. Just me, the hum, and a creeping sense of unease.

“Viv, you okay?” Maya’s voice is bright, but there’s a worry in it I can’t ignore. “You looked spooked when you left school. What happened?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, dropping my backpack by the stairs and sinking onto the couch. The hum’s still there, a restless pulse that makes my skin itch. “Just… a weird day. Lila was her usual self, and then Tyler—he said something strange.”

“Strange how?” Maya’s voice perks up, curiosity taking over. “Wait, back up—Lila first. What’d she do this time?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Cornered me by the field after school. The usual—calling me a loser, saying I’m not worth her time. But Tyler showed up. Told her to back off. She actually listened.”

Maya squeals, so loud I wince and pull the phone from my ear. “Are you serious? Oh my gosh, Viv, he’s totally into you! I knew it! Did you see how he shut her down? Like, zero hesitation. What’d he say after?”

I bite my lip, the memory of Tyler’s words in the field making my stomach twist. Maya’s my safe space, but telling her about the howl, the hum, Tyler’s warning—it feels too big, too crazy. “He… he said I’m ‘not what I think I am,’” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “It was… weird.”

There’s a pause, then Maya laughs, light and teasing. “Okay, cryptic much? What’s that supposed to mean? Maybe he’s just messing with you. Or—oh my gosh, what if he’s, like, a secret agent? Undercover at Westbridge to recruit you!”

I force a laugh, but it’s hollow, my eyes darting to the living room window. The curtains are drawn, but I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. “Yeah, right. More like he’s just weird.” But even as I say it, I know it’s not true. Weird doesn’t cover the way my skin buzzed when he looked at me, or the way that howl seemed to answer his words.

“You sure you’re okay?” Maya’s tone softens, her teasing fading. “You sound… off. I can come over if you want.”

“No, I’m good,” I say quickly, not wanting to drag her into whatever this is. “Just tired. I’ve got homework anyway.”

“Okay, but text me if you change your mind,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “And keep me posted on Mr. Mysterious, yeah?”

“Promise,” I say, hanging up with a shaky breath. The house feels too big now, every creak and hum of the fridge making me jump. I head to the kitchen, hoping food will ground me, but the hum’s still there, a pulse that’s starting to scare me. I grab a granola bar, but my appetite’s gone. Something’s wrong—I can feel it, like a storm I can’t see but know is coming.

I’m rinsing a glass in the sink when I hear it again—another howl, closer this time, right outside my backyard. My hand jerks, and the glass slips, shattering in the sink with a sharp crack. Shards glint under the running water, but I barely notice, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. The hum’s a roar now, drowning out everything else, and I’m at the window before I can stop myself, yanking the curtains back with trembling hands.

The backyard’s empty, just Mom’s neglected flowerbeds and the old swing set I haven’t touched since middle school, swaying slightly in the wind. But the woods beyond—they’re too dark, too still, the kind of still that hides something dangerous. The howl cuts off, and for a second, I think I’m safe. Then I see it: a flicker of movement, deep in the trees, where the moonlight doesn’t reach. Not a person, not an animal. Something bigger, its shape wrong—hunched but massive, moving with a predator’s grace. When it steps closer, I catch a flash of eyes—yellow, glowing, locked on my house like a hunter sizing up prey.

I stumble back, my breath ragged, the hum a scream in my veins. My vision sharpens, the room too bright, every sound too loud—the drip of the faucet, the creak of the floor, my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I clutch the counter to steady myself, but my hands are shaking, and—oh God—what’s happening to me? My nails dig into the countertop, and I hear a crack, sharp and impossible. I look down, and my stomach lurches. The edge of the counter’s splintered, tiny cracks spiderwebbing where my fingers grip. That’s not possible. I’m not strong enough to do that.

I pull my hands back, and that’s when I see them: my nails, longer, sharper, glinting like claws under the kitchen light. A scream tears out of me, raw and desperate, and the hum surges, a wave that makes my knees buckle. I hit the floor, my vision swimming, and all I can think is Tyler’s voice: You’re not what you think you are. What am I? What am I?

The window rattles—a sharp, deliberate tap that stops my heart. My head snaps up, and there, pressed against the glass, is a hand. Not human. Not entirely. It’s clawed, furred, with those yellow eyes staring right at me, unblinking, hungry, as if they’ve found exactly what they were looking for.