Ethan sat rigid in his desk chair, the blue glow of his dual monitors casting stark shadows across his pale face. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling from the article still glaring on the screen: 'Unexplained Disappearances and Strange Sightings in Bellingham'. The words burned into him—'red-eyed figures…'—each line tightening the dread coiling in his chest, but as he continued to read he saw the article was claimed to be fake with the journalist who covered it losing credibility.
Vampires weren't real. They couldn't be. But Frank's blood-red eyes, his fangs, and that black bottle Ryan shoved into his hands clawed at Ethan's sanity. His stomach twisted—not sickness this time, just raw, unrelenting fear.
His phone buzzed, shattering the silence like a gunshot. Ethan flinched, heart lurching as he grabbed it. The screen lit up: Jamie. Relief softened the panic. Jamie Carter—short, wiry, with a mop of sandy hair and a grin that never quit—was his best friend, the one constant in his crumbling world. He'd skipped school today, probably lost in some new game. Ethan steadied his breath and answered.
"Hi, buddy! How's it going?" Jamie's high-pitched, energetic voice crackled through.
"I'm… good. How about you?" Ethan lied, his mind racing. Should he tell Jamie about the bathroom—red eyes, blood, vampires? No, not over the phone. Jamie would think it was a prank. He'd wait until they met in person.
"Great! There's this new game out yesterday—been playing all day, ha! Wanna join me tonight?" Jamie's laughter bubbled, a lifeline pulling Ethan from the edge.
"Tomorrow, man. I've got… stuff tonight," Ethan said, forcing calm. He needed time to search, to find proof of what he'd seen. The article wasn't enough—vague rumors, no substance.
"No prob! See you tomorrow, Ethan. Bye!" Jamie hung up, leaving Ethan in the quiet, his friend's voice lingering like a balm.
He exhaled, planning his next move: eat, relax, and then dig deeper into vampire evidence. The house on Eldridge Avenue—its faded blue paint peeling, its overgrown garden a tangle of shadows—felt less like a cage now. He shuffled downstairs, the floorboards creaking underfoot, and heated a can of soup. The warmth steadied him, and after eating, he dozed off on the couch, exhaustion overtaking fear.
---
Meanwhile, Ryan had left school with purpose, his mind buzzing with today's chaos. He took Carter and Jaxson—two of his crew, both lean and quiet, loyal to a fault—and told Frank to back up Oscar at Ethan's place. They drove to Sehome Hill Arboretum, the SUV cutting through Bellingham's misty streets. Ryan's excitement simmered, barely contained, as they parked near the trailhead and hiked to a hidden grove deep in the forest. There, a circle of ten ancient stones stood, each etched with faded runes that seemed to hum with latent power.
"Clear the leaves from the stones," Ryan ordered. Carter and Jaxson set to work, brushing away the debris to reveal the full circle. Ryan returned with blood bags from the car, their contents dark and thick. He poured the blood carefully onto each stone, tracing the runes with the viscous liquid. After he finished Ryan pulled out his phone and dialed Oscar. "Hey, make your move. Knock Ethan out and bring him here—coordinates incoming. "
"No problem, Ryan," Oscar replied, voice clipped, and the call dropped.
Oscar turned to Frank, who leaned against a Hyundai Elantra parked down Eldridge. "Prep the car," he said. The night had deepened, cold rain spitting from the sky, but neither flinched—the chill didn't touch them like it did humans. Most of Bellingham was indoors, seeking warmth, leaving the streets empty for their work.
---
Hours later, Ethan jolted awake on the couch, refreshed but uneasy. The clock read 10:17 PM; mental fatigue had pulled him under. He rubbed his eyes, the day's terror flooding back, and headed upstairs to resume his search. As he settled into his chair, a sharp knock rattled the front door. His pulse spiked. 'Who's that at this hour?' Cautious, he crept to the window by the door and peeked through the blinds. Oscar stood there, his silhouette stark against the porch light, eyes glinting with menace.
Ethan's heart thundered. He'd locked everything—doors, windows—but the memory of Ryan's crew made his gut twist. "Ethan, you gonna open up, or hide like a scared little kitten?" Oscar's voice mocked, low and taunting.
Silence was Ethan's answer. He backed away, mind scrambling for options. Then Oscar spoke again: "Well, if you won't open it, I'll let myself in." A heavy kick splintered the door, hinges tearing free with a shriek. Ethan froze, terror rooting him as the frame crashed inward.
Oscar stepped inside, a predator in the dim light. "So, you coming willingly, or do I drag you?" His tone was casual, but his stance promised violence.
Ethan's eyes darted to the kitchen—his bike keys, a back exit. He lunged, but Oscar was faster, a blur behind him. A chop to the neck sent pain exploding through Ethan's skull. He crumpled, fighting to stay conscious, clawing at the floor as darkness crept in. 'No, not like this—'But it was too much. His face hit the hardwood, and the world faded.
"Weak, pathetic human," Oscar sneered, hoisting Ethan over his shoulder. Outside, Frank waited by the Elantra, popping the trunk. Oscar dumped Ethan inside, slammed it shut, and climbed into the passenger seat. Frank gunned the engine, tires crunching gravel as they sped toward Sehome Hill Arboretum.
---
They arrived at the stone circle, where Ryan, Carter, and Jaxson stood waiting, torchlight flickering over the blood-soaked stones. "Get him out and put him in the center of the circle," Ryan ordered, excitement sharpening his voice. Frank and Oscar hauled Ethan from the trunk, binding his wrists and ankles with cold, heavy chains before laying him in the middle of the stone circle. The air reeked of blood and damp earth, a light rain chilling Ethan's skin as he stirred awake.
His eyes fluttered open, blurry at first, then sharpening. The scent hit him—metallic, earthy—and the cold bit deeper, wind whistling through the trees. He jerked upright, only to find the chains biting into his flesh. Panic surged, his heart racing as he realized where he was: trapped, surrounded by Ryan's crew in a forest clearing, ancient stones encircling him. His house—door shattered, exposed—flashed in his mind, spiking his fear. He tugged at the bindings, desperate, when Ryan's voice cut through.
"Quit your useless struggling. You're about to make history," Ryan mocked, laughing wildly.
Ethan's dread deepened, his movements frantic. Frank, Jaxson, and Carter watched, confusion flickering in their eyes, but they stayed silent. Oscar, bolder, stepped forward. "What's the plan here, Ryan?"
Ryan's smile was thin, cryptic. "You'll see when it's done." Oscar nodded, trusting him despite the unease.
Ryan raised his hands and began to chant: "Vraxis thal'korr, umbra seth'varis, ignos drak'zul." The words were guttural, alien—not English, not anything Ethan knew—vibrating through the air like a living thing. The runes on the stones flared brighter, casting an eerie red glow over the clearing. The blood on the stones began to levitate, forming a swirling sphere above the circle. Ethan watched in horror as the sphere pulsed, then shot toward him, piercing his chest with a searing pain.
He screamed, his body arching as the energy coursed through him. But then, something unexpected happened. The stones of the nexus began to glow brighter, their red light shifting to a hellish purple red.
Ethan's vision blurred, and he felt a presence—ancient, malevolent—watching him from beyond the veil. The energy within him shifted, warping the ritual's intent. Instead of draining him, it empowered him, igniting something dormant in his blood.
Flames erupted from his body, purple and orange, a concentrated burst that lashed out like a whip. Frank and Oscar, standing a bit far from Ethan, were thrown back by the force, slamming into the trees with bone-crunching impact. They groaned, dazed but alive. Carter and Jaxson, were not as lucky as they were too close their bodies caught on fire burning them to death. Ryan, also a bit closer to Ethan, was lucky—only his right arm caught fire, the flames searing his skin before he could react. He screamed, batting at the flames, and staggered back, his face twisted in agony and he ran away.
The fire subsided as quickly as it had come, leaving Ethan panting in the center of the circle, his chains melted away. He didn't notice—his mind was a haze of confusion and pain. Ryan, clutching his burned arm, stared at Ethan in horror. "What… what is happening?" he whispered, before turning and fleeing into the forest, his footsteps crunching through the underbrush.
Frank and Oscar, struggling to their feet, exchanged a look of fear and confusion. Without a word and their bodies searing with pain from the fire, they followed Ryan's lead, limping away from the clearing. Leaving Ethan alone in the stone circle.