*Seacliff Cove, October 1986*

  Laura Halstead's fingers traced the rim of her gin and tonic, collecting condensation as the ice melted. The Velvet Room smelled the same as it always did on Friday nights—cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the faint mustiness of the red velvet booths that had given the place its name sometime during Prohibition. The jukebox in the corner played the Eurythmics, Annie Lennox's voice cutting through the ambient noise of clinking glasses and murmured conversations.

  "Earth to Laura," Marcus said, waving a hand in front of her face. "You're doing that thing again."

  "What thing?" She blinked, forcing herself back to the present.

  "That thousand-yard stare." Marcus took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke hanging in the air between them. His multiple silver earrings caught the dim light as he tilted his head. "Like you're listening to something the rest of us can't hear."

  Laura smiled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Just tired. Double shift yesterday."

  "Hospital still working you to death?" Vanessa asked, sliding back into the booth. She set down a fresh round of drinks with practiced precision. Her sleek bob and designer clothes looked out of place in the dive bar, but Vanessa had never cared about fitting in.

  "Someone has to cover the night shift," Laura said. "Most people don't want it."

  "Most people are sane," James said, reaching for his beer. His police uniform was replaced with jeans and a plain blue shirt, but his posture remained unmistakably official. "Normal humans sleep at night."

  "Normal is overrated," Daniel chimed in, his voice warm as he settled closer to Laura. His tweed jacket brushed against her arm, and she caught the scent of old books and the sandalwood cologne he'd worn since college. "Some of us are night owls by nature."

  Laura smiled at him, grateful for the defense. Daniel had always understood her in ways the others didn't quite manage. Their friendship had been the most immediate, the most natural, even when the six of them had first gravitated toward each other in high school.

  Six. Laura glanced around the table, momentarily disoriented.

  "Where's Annie?"

  "Bathroom," Vanessa said, stirring her martini. "She was saying something about finding weird stuff in the library archives?"

  Marcus leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Weird like ghost stories weird, or weird like actual historical significance?"

  "Both, maybe," Annie said, returning to the table. Her copper-red hair was slightly damp at the temples from where she'd splashed water on her face. The silver locket around her neck—the one she never took off—caught the light as she slid into the booth. "I've been cataloging the town founder journals for the historical society, and there's this whole section in Jeremiah Seacliff's diary that doesn't make sense."

  "Please tell me it's a sex scandal." Vanessa grinned. "I could use some historical dirt to spice up my real estate listings for those old houses on Founder's Row."

  Annie rolled her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint. It's more... I don't know, cryptic? There are these gaps in the journal, and then when the writing picks up again, it's different somehow. And there are these symbols in the margins—"

  "Symbols?" Laura asked, a chill running down her spine that had nothing to do with the bar's air conditioning.

  "Yeah, like—" Annie began, but was interrupted when a waitress arrived with a basket of fries no one had ordered.

  "Compliments of the gentleman at the bar," the waitress said.

  They all turned to look. A man in a gray suit nodded at them, his face oddly shadowed despite the neon beer signs behind him. Laura couldn't make out his features, but something about his posture seemed familiar.

  "Do we know him?" James asked, professional suspicion in his voice.

  "Don't think so," Daniel said, but his voice had a strange quality to it. "Probably just being friendly."

  "Or hitting on one of us," Vanessa said. "My money's on Annie. Mysterious library girl is totally his type."

  Annie flushed, the color nearly matching her hair. "Stop it." She glanced at the man, then quickly away. "Actually, I think I've seen him before. At the library. He's been researching town history too."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Laura felt a sudden unease. She looked again at the man, but he was gone, his barstool empty as though he'd never been there.

  "Anyway," Annie continued, "the weird thing is, these journals mention some kind of 'offering' made every few decades. And there are these gaps in the town records that line up with periods when multiple people went missing. Including 1959."

  "That's just because record-keeping was spotty back then," James said, the voice of reason as always. "My dad worked those cases when he was on the force. Standard missing persons. Most of them probably just left town without telling anyone."

  "But what if they didn't?" Annie pressed. "What if—"

  "Oh my God, are we really going to spend another Friday night on one of Annie's conspiracy theories?" Vanessa groaned, but her tone was affectionate. "Can we at least dance first? They're playing our song."

  The opening notes of "Don't You (Forget About Me)" filled the bar, and Vanessa was already pulling Annie from the booth. James followed, always protective of them both.

  "Coming?" Daniel asked Laura, his hand extended.

  Laura hesitated, still troubled by the stranger who'd vanished and the unfinished conversation. "In a minute. I need to finish my drink."

  Daniel nodded, understanding as always. "Don't take too long. I want at least one dance with you before last call."

  As he walked away, Laura felt Marcus watching her. "What?" she asked.

  "You saw it too, didn't you?" he said quietly. "That guy at the bar. There was something off about him."

  Laura nodded slowly. "You felt it?"

  "I've been getting weird calls at the station lately," Marcus admitted. "During the midnight show. Caller never identifies themselves, just recites these strange phrases, then hangs up."

  "What kind of phrases?"

  "'The hollowing approaches.' 'The cycle returns.' Cryptic shit like that." He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but she could see tension in his shoulders. "I figured it was just some local weirdo."

  "Maybe it is," Laura said, but her mind flashed to her recent dreams—of standing in shallow water as a voice whispered from the depths.

  "Maybe," Marcus echoed, unconvinced. "Hey, Annie's been acting weird lately. Have you noticed?"

  Before Laura could answer, the bar lights flickered briefly, and the music skipped, a momentary glitch in the cassette. When it resumed, the song had changed to something slower, more melancholy.

  "We should join them," Laura said, suddenly wanting the safety of the group.

  As they crossed to the dance floor, Laura felt eyes on her back. She turned to look, but saw only her own reflection in the bar mirror, distorted by a crack running diagonally across the glass. For a disorienting moment, her reflection seemed to move differently, its mouth forming words she couldn't hear.

  Then she blinked, and it was just her again, standing alone while her friends danced a few feet away.

  "Laura?" Daniel called, extending his hand again. "Everything okay?"

  She forced a smile and took his hand. "Fine. Just thought I saw someone I knew."

  As they swayed to the music, Laura noticed Annie slipping away from the group, fishing a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

  "Back in a minute," Annie mouthed, gesturing toward the side door that led to the alley where smokers gathered.

  Laura nodded, watching as Annie's copper hair caught the red exit sign's glow before disappearing through the door.

  Something twisted in Laura's stomach—a presentiment, a warning.

  "What's wrong?" Daniel asked, his breath warm against her ear.

  "Nothing," Laura said, leaning into his familiar embrace. "Just a chill."

  Outside, the fog rolled in from the harbor, wrapping Seacliff Cove in a damp, impenetrable blanket that muffled sound and distorted light.

  And somewhere in that fog, a whisper began.