There was her swim bag that needed to be cleaned out, still shoved under the passenger seat of her truck. She wasn’t part of a summer team like Jordan, so it had been abandoned. The only use it’d gotten this summer was as a trash receptacle for the dozens of crumpled-up drawings Wendy had hidden. She really needed to practice and get some laps in at the aquatic center so she’d be ready to try out for the college swim team in the fall. Maybe having a fresh towel and clean suit would give her the motivation.
Careful not to wake up her father, Wendy snuck out the front door to where her truck was parked in the driveway. She opened the passenger-side door and leaned down to pick up her purple duffel bag when the streetlight in front of her house went out soundlessly. Wendy yanked her bag out of the truck and stood up. Everything plunged into darkness. Even the streetlight from across the road didn’t seem to reach very far.
Almost immediately, her heartbeat thudded in her veins. Wendy mentally chided herself—was she really that afraid of the dark?
But it was more than just that. Something was … off.
The air felt heavy and her chest felt tight. Something sharp dragged up her spine, like a nail ghosting over her skin. A violent shudder ran through her. The air shifted, as if someone was standing right behind her. Wendy sucked in a breath and turned to rush back inside.
“Hello.”
The sudden greeting caused all the nerves in her body to jump. Wendy swung around, clutching her duffel bag.
A boy who looked about her age stood just a couple of yards away. Wendy squinted at him. In the dark, she could make out his outline and vague features, but she couldn’t see the details of his face.
“Hi?” she said warily.
“You’re Wendy Darling, right?” he asked. As Wendy inched toward the front door, he took a step closer.
There was something strange about his voice. It was pleasant and almost lazy. The low, deep timbre of someone who had just woken up. Whatever clothes he was wearing must have been black. He had his hands tucked into his pockets. His stance and tone were so casual—too casual, for the way her heart hammered in her chest, thudding out a warning in her pulse.
Wendy hesitated. “I—yes.”
Peter?
“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” he asked. She could just make out the shape of his eyebrows as they arched with curiosity. Wendy had seen Peter do that same head tilt, but no, it definitely wasn’t Peter. This guy’s hair was jet black, far darker than the rest of his face, which was still bathed in shadows.
“I live here,” she said curtly.
He laughed, and, for the first time, she could make out a distinct feature: his white teeth and sharp smile. Too white, too sharp, like a caricature.
Wendy squinted again. “Do I know you?” she asked. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, like it knew something she didn’t.
He grinned, and it stretched unnaturally across his face. “No, you don’t know me,” he told her. “I’ve seen you around, though.” Something about his eyes was unnerving. Black like a shark’s, but it must’ve been a trick of the darkness.
“I was going for a nice walk in the woods. Maybe you could join me? We could get to know each other,” he offered, extending a hand.
His fingers were long, the joints angular.
Wendy backed up. “No,” she said firmly, tilting her chin up. “I need to go back inside now. Please leave.”
The boy laughed again. “That’s probably for the best. You shouldn’t wander, not with all those kids going missing.” A far-off streetlight glinted in his eyes. “Wouldn’t want to get lost in the woods again, would you?”
For a moment, she was so scared she couldn’t breathe, but fast on the heels of fear was white-hot anger. “What did you say?” Rage-induced bravery swelled inside her. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—”
A child’s scream cut through the air. She jumped and swung around toward the wail. It sounded like it had come from her backyard.
The stranger laughed again, but when Wendy turned back to face him, he was gone.
Another cry rang out, and this time it continued without stopping. It was a child.
And it was definitely coming from behind the backyard.
Without another thought, Wendy dropped her bag and ran for the gate. She raced along the side of the house, feet pounding on the cement. She tripped over the handle of a rake and sprinted into the backyard. It stretched out before her. The old swings waved in the breeze, and standing just past that on the other side of the small fence was a little boy. He continued to cry, and Wendy slowed her pace, taking cautious steps.