The wind rattled the branches of the old oak trees behind Alder Creek High. The town had long since gone to sleep, save for a few flickering porch lights and the distant hum of a late-night freight train. A thick fog crept in from the river, curling around the school grounds like a living thing, clinging to the windows and swallowing the parking lot in gray mist.
A shadow moved.
Tyler Grant, star basketball player and self-proclaimed king of Alder Creek High, pushed open the gym's side exit, muttering curses under his breath. Practice had run late, and Coach Mercer had made him stay behind to lock up. He pulled his hoodie tighter against the cold and fumbled for his car keys, his breath fogging in the chilled air.
From the darkness, something watched.
Tyler's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with numb fingers and smirked at the message glowing on the cracked screen.
"Party tomorrow. Don't bail, loser. — Kayla"
Typical. He started typing a reply, but a sharp clink in the fog made him freeze.
His head snapped up. The mist swallowed the far end of the parking lot, reducing everything to pale shapes and looming shadows.
"Jonas? That you, freak?" Tyler called, his voice echoing unnaturally in the heavy air. "I swear to God, you touch my car, I'll break your—"
A flicker of movement in the fog. A silhouette.
"Hey—who the hell—"
A dark figure lunged from the mist.
Tyler barely had time to react. A gloved hand clamped down over his mouth, cutting off his shout. He struggled, his phone falling to the ground with a dull thud. A flash of cold steel. The blade slipped beneath his ribcage with clinical precision. His body jerked as pain exploded through his chest.
The killer leaned in, his breath hot against Tyler's ear.
"For the animals," he whispered.
Tyler's terrified eyes widened, a single gurgled sound escaping him before his legs gave out. The figure guided him silently to the ground.
Blood seeped into the cracked asphalt. The killer crouched beside the body, pulling a small object from a pocket. A tiny, plastic rabbit — worn, its paint chipped, one ear missing. Carefully, he placed it on Tyler's chest, right over the spreading blood.
Satisfied, the figure wiped the blade clean on Tyler's hoodie and slipped into the mist.
The fog swallowed him whole.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked once, sharp and nervous.
Tyler's phone screen still glowed in the dark, the half-written message never sent.
By morning, Alder Creek would wake to horror.
And the game had begun.