The Little Man Who Wasn't There Novels & Stories

I end the call and leave the house. The day after the night the pretty boy dropped me off at home, I woke up to my car outside my house with a sticky note on it: Good morning, Little Miss. I immediately knew he was the one who got my car home. And I didn’t run into him at school anymore — it felt like he disappeared for almost a week. I didn’t want to go to the gala. It’s going to be filled with insufferable housewives who are miserable and want company. They’ve always had a problem with how I look. It’s why I always try to tone it down at any school event.

I put my head on his neck and started crying in his arms. "Oh, Trevor," I shutter his name while crying and nuzzling his neck. "Why did you leave? I miss you so much," I said with hick-ups and wiping my face with his shirt. "I am so sorry, little one, but I don't have any choice, that bloodsucker had attacked me and killed me before I could do anything," he said while caressing my back. "I will leave you guys to give you so much privacy," the woman said and walked out from there.

SABRINA MORALES There was a man in the kitchen. Barefoot and bubbly, humming a tune I was sure I knew but couldn’t quite remember. My neck ached from carrying my head, and everything felt heavy like lead and boulders were piled on my shoulders. “What the…” I grumbled quietly to myself. My brain was processing things slowly, and time seemed to drag. Then, bit by bit, it all came back. Blaze. Mum’s wedding. The semi-family dinner last night. All the drinks I had.

He smiled, leaning closer to my ear, whispering the words, “I dare you to, Ivan.” Something snapped inside me and the next thing I was clicking on the trigger, my eyes squeezed shut as I waited for the ‘bang’ sound that never came. I parted my eyes, looking down, but there was no blood. He chuckled, pulling the gun away from my hands before I could process what happened. “Too bad it’s empty.” He tsked, backing away and scanning me with no expression on his face. Lorenzo cleared his throat, announcing his presence that I didn’t bother acknowledging, nor did Cristiano.

Days? I reached a small town. It looked like it had been there forever—stone houses, flowers on every windowsill, people waving hello as if I were just another traveler passing through. “Do you know the Blackwell family?” I asked the first old man I saw. He furrowed his brows. “Blackwell? Doesn’t ring a bell.” “What about the manor? The one by the cliffs?” “There’s never been a manor out there, sweetheart. Just a stretch of land. Abandoned.”

In the picture, Harold was listening intently to a doctor in a white coat, while Jacob sat obediently beside him. Susan's face was only half visible in the corner of the frame, but she was smiling brightly. The caption read. "I thought I'd hit rock bottom, only to realize a new path was waiting just ahead. I'm so lucky that you're always here." I thought I'd be angry when I saw the post. Yet, to my surprise, I felt nothing. It felt like I was observing two strangers who no longer had any connection to me. I liked the post and commented, "Such a lovely family. Congratulations."

He was going to write something down. That was the moment the man had been waiting for. When James's eyes dropped to the notebook and his hand moved toward it and his full attention shifted for the two seconds it needed to shift . The man moved. It was fast. Not violent in the way violence usually looks. There was no struggle. No noise. James did not shout. The thing the man used was small and the chemical worked with a speed that left no space for reaction. James's hand stopped on the notebook. His head came up once.

The trees swayed gently beneath the night breeze as the shadows shifted. Moonlight spilled across the clearing. Empty. I knitted my brows and stared at the clearing. A second ago he had been standing there, watching. Now there was nothing. No trace that anyone had ever been there at all. Then my phone buzzed one final time. UNKNOWN NUMBER: Good girl. See you soon, Little Cub.