Dowshridge

The smell of rain fills the air as it begins to pour over the highway. A rusty blue Volvo sedan pulls into a nearby gas station, still miles from its destination.

Footsteps approach as the car comes to a halt.

"We don't see lots of newcomers around these parts," a raspy voice calls out.

The man looks to be in his sixties, His gray hair is matted with grease, oil stains blotching his jeans.

The driver's side door opens. A pale man steps out, holding an umbrella.

"Visiting relatives," he replies, his expression neutral.

The old man glances toward the backseat, noticing a kid sitting quietly.

"Why don't ya come inside for a bit? Might not seem like it, but we do have a convenience store."

The driver barely spares him a glance.

"No need. We just have to refuel."

"Nearest town's still a long way," the old man continues, unfazed. "Your son could use some snacks. I've got a grandson about his age, gets bored on highways like this real quick."

The man exhales sharply.

"He's my brother."

"Oh?" The old man leans slightly, trying to peer inside the car.

The man's jaw tightens, his hazel eyes darken darting towards the old guy

"Hey, don't put your nose where it doesn't belong."

The old man raises his hands in mock surrender, then taps the hood lightly.

"Alright, alright. Traveling by yourselves? A little brotherly bonding trip, I assume?"

From the backseat, the kid stares past them toward the convenience store window. The door creaks open.

The kid steps out into the rain, shoes splashing against the wet concrete.

"Hey-" The old man quickly moves beside him, holding his umbrella over the boy.

"Careful now," he says, voice softer this time. "You'll catch a cold standing out here in the rain."

The man watches the boy step out into the rain.

Then something in his expression shifts.

"...Alright," he mutters, quieter now. "Let's see what you've got in store."

The old man pauses, clearly surprised, before breaking into a grin.

"That's more like it."

He leads them inside.

A faint bell chimes as the door swings open, the smell of stale snacks and damp air filling the space.

"So, kid," the old man says, glancing back with a smile, "see anything you like?"

The boy wanders the aisles slowly. His blue eyes scan the shelves then linger.

For a moment, Something changes across his face, gone before it can be named.

Subtle.

Unreadable.

"...I'll just get some chips and soda," he says with a small sigh.

"Good choice, kid. Chips and soda coming right up."

The old man ruffles his hair.

The boy immediately pulls away, frowning.

"Stop calling me 'kid'. I'm not a child, I'm in high school."

The old man chuckles under his breath.

"So, what's your name, kid?" the old man asks, scanning the items.

"His name is Roan. I'm Victor."

Victor is already pulling out his wallet, movements quick, almost impatient.

"What's the damage?"

The old man hums softly. Instead of answering, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a piece of candy, handing it to Roan.

"You seem in a hurry, Mr. Victor. Nice to meet you both... I'm Earl Dawson."

He finally glances at the register.

"That'll be $5.98. Candy's on the house."

Roan doesn't wait. He grabs the snacks and heads straight out, the bell above the door jingling as he disappears into the rain.

Earl watches him go.

"Ah... it's nice to see kids running around," he murmurs. "Reminds me of my grandson."

His smile lingers but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Victor notices.

"Did Something happen?"

Earl shakes his head quickly. "It's nothing."

Victor slides his card out anyway.

Earl raises a hand, stopping him.

"Ah. can't take that. card reader's been broken for a while now."

He pauses.

Then, with a small chuckle

"You know what? Don't worry about it. It's all on the house. Guess you're a lucky fella."

He smiles again.

This time, it looks... heavier.

Victor studies him for a moment, he looks at his expression, glances outside. Then reaches into his pocket.

When his hand comes out, he's holding something small a rectangular charm, woven from rope, its pattern tight and intricate.

He places it gently on the counter and slides it toward Earl.

"Something for the trouble."

Earl turns the charm over in his hands.

His fingers press lightly against the woven rope.

His thumb pauses mid-motion.

There's something inside it.

He can feel it.

Something small... hidden.

Earl smiles.

"Thank you."

This time, his expression feels different. Lighter. His eyes softer somehow.

He turns away, opening a drawer behind the counter. After a bit of rummaging, he pulls out a small slip of paper and a pen.

"I'm from a town called Dowshridge," he says as he writes. "Been staying out here at the station mostly, but..."

He tears the paper cleanly and slides it across the counter.

"If you ever need anything, feel free to reach out."

Victor picks it up, glancing at the number.

"Dowshridge?"

He pauses.

"That's where we're headed."

Earl freezes.

Victor continues, almost casually

"Actually... we're moving back there."

For the first time, the warmth drains from Earl's face.

Something else takes its place.

Worry.

Real, unmistakable worry.

"You're moving there?" he says quietly.

His grip tightens slightly on the counter.

"That's no place for a kid to grow up in."

A brief pause.

"You should've stayed in the city."

His voice almost a whisper

Not like advice.

Like regret.

Earl exhales slowly, as if steadying himself, his fingers still curled tight against the counter.

"Well..." he mutters, forcing a small smile. "It's your decision."

He looks at Victor again, something uncertain flickers in his eyes.

"If anything happens... I'll believe you."

Victor studies him, staying silent.

For a moment, neither of them speaks.

Then Victor gives a firm nod.

"Thank you."

They step back out into the open.

The rain has begun to fade, now reduced to a soft drizzle. Droplets slide slowly down the car windows, catching the dim light from the station.

Victor moves toward the pump.

"Gas isn't free, though," Earl calls out with a short laugh.

Victor glances back, just slightly.

"Fine by me."

Earl joins him, helping with the refueling. The sound of fuel pumping fills the quiet space between them.

Inside the car, Roan sits still.

Watching.

His gaze remains fixed on the convenience store window.

Unmoving.

Earl and Victor finish refueling.

"Well... it was nice seeing ya," Earl says, tapping lightly on the car window.

"Take care, kid."

He reaches out, shaking Victor's hand firmly before stepping back.

With that, they part ways.

The car pulls back onto the road, tires humming softly against the wet asphalt.

For a while, no one says anything

Then

"You gave him the amulet?" Roan asks from the backseat.

Victor nods, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"He needed it."

A pause.

"You sensed it too, didn't you?"

Roan doesn't answer immediately.

He stares out the window, watching the fading outline of the gas station disappear behind them.

"...Yeah," he finally says.

Another pause.

"But he...."

He trails off.

"Never mind."

Roan reaches into his bag, rummaging through it.

"We've got what we need, right?" he mutters.

"She can make another one for us."

They reach Dowshridge just as the sky begins to clear.

The town is small nothing like the city.

People move about their day, shops half-open, conversations drifting through the air.

At the center stands an old clock tower, its hands ticking steadily, its structure worn with age.

A few blocks away, a playground buzzes with life children running, laughing, their voices carrying through the streets.

Eventually, the car slows to a stop in front of an old wooden house.

Victor cuts the engine.

"We're here."

Roan leans forward slightly, staring at the house.

"Did we really have to come back here?"

Victor doesn't look at him.

"It's only for a year."

He opens the door.

"Let's unpack quickly."

As they step out, a woman from next door approaches, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Oh dear... are you moving into that old house?" she asks, glancing up at it.

Her eyes shift to Roan.

"Is it just you and your father? Where's your mom?"

Victor's expression tightens.

"He's my brother."

The woman blinks, clearly surprised.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, it's just... you look older for your age."

Victor mutters under his breath,

"I don't look that old"

Roan lets out a quiet chuckle.

"I'm Lisa," the woman says, smiling warmly. "I live next door."

"Victor. This is Roan," he replies shortly. "If you don't mind, we still have some unpacking to do."

He gives her a brief look, polite but clearly wanting the conversation to end.

"Oh, of course!" she says quickly.

Then, turning back to Roan

"You'll be attending school here, right? My son goes to Dowshridge Central High. He's a senior."

Roan hesitates.

The name slips his mind for a second.

He frowns slightly, trying to recall if that's where he'll be going

Victor, already unloading luggage, speaks without looking up.

"There's only one high school here. Just say yes and move on."

Roan sighs.

"Yeah... that's the one..."

Lisa smiles

"You can come over to play whenever you feel like it"

Roan nods and turns around to go help his brother

The front door groans as Victor pushes it open, the wood dragging slightly against the floor like it hasn't been moved in years.

A stale smell spills out-dust, old wood, something faintly damp.

Roan lingers just behind him, nose wrinkling slightly. "...It smells weird."

"It's been empty for a while," Victor replies, stepping inside. "That's normal."

Roan doesn't answer. He follows anyway, dropping his bag near the entrance.

The house is dim, curtains half-drawn. Furniture sits under white sheets, shapes softened by dust and time.

He looks around slowly.

Taking it in.

There's no recognition. No familiarity.

Just a strange, quiet feeling sitting in his chest.

"...You really lived here?" he asks.

Victor is already moving,pulling sheets off furniture, shaking dust into the air. "WE lived here....Yeah."

Roan watches him for a second. "I don't remember any of this."

Victor pauses briefly at that. Just a second.

"...You wouldn't," he says, a little quieter. "You were a baby."

Roan hums under his breath, like that answers something but not everything.

He walks further in, footsteps slow and careful. The wooden floor creaks beneath him.

His fingers trail lightly along the wall.

He stops.

There are faint marks in the paint. Small scratches. Indents. Like something used to hang there.

"...Did you take everything when you left?" he asks.

Victor doesn't look up. "Not really"

Roan glances at him, then back at the wall.

He pulls his hand back.

Victor drags a chair across the floor with a low scrape. "We'll clean tomorrow," he says. "Just pick a room." dusting off the chair he sits down leaning back,

brushing his brown hair back with his hand,He takes a deep breath and sighs.

He's calm but not relaxed, he can't be..

Roan glances towards the stairs, his hand brushing against the dusty railings, the wooden steps creaking beneath his feet.

He makes his way up and there are four doors , and another stairs leading to the attic

There's a wooden carved door with a cherub handle.

Roan reaches for it.

It doesn't budge.

Locked.

The other three are plain wooden doors, more ordinary in design.

He opens the door next to the stairs,

it's a study room or an office space, there's a big wooden desk in the middle, shelves against the wall and books scattered everywhere

Roan steps into the study, eyes briefly scanning the shelves before drifting away. Too many books. Too much dust.

He pulls one out halfway, flips it open skims a page, then pushes it back in with a quiet sigh. "Better leave these for Victor"

Eyes wandering everywhere, opening every drawer but there's only pages and books everywhere

"There's nothing good here.... ugh"

He steps back, already losing interest, and pulls the door shut behind him.

He steps towards the next door, pushing open the door.

It looks like the master bedroom and the furniture is covered, dusty but not messy like the study.

He stands there for a moment thinking..

Was this their parents' room?

He moves past the covered furniture and heads toward the closet. The door creaks softly as he pulls it open.

Inside, clothes hang stiff and untouched, fabric dulled with dust.

His gaze drops to a stack of boxes at the bottom.

He crouches down, pulling one closer, searching through it like a cat, trying to find something

The wooden floor creaks behind him, footsteps approaching

Roan glances back.

Victor stands in the doorway, eyes moving over the mess of opened boxes.

He sort of understands what's he looking for

"You won't find it there"

Victor goes to the nightstand by the Bed, removing the dust cover. Crouching down his fingertip tracing the drawer reminiscing.

He pulls the bottom drawer, Roan looks over Victor's shoulder

Victor pulls something from the drawer.. a worn book and holds it out.

Roan takes it, frowning slightly.

"This is-"

He flips it open.

His movements change immediately. Faster.

Sharper.

Page after page, he scans them, eyes darting across the images.

It's a photo album

Roan flips through the pages, slower now.

Something in his expression softens-just a little. Not quite a smile. Not quite sadness either.

"Are you gonna cry?" Victor asks, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"No," Roan shoots back.

Victor leans over, pointing at one of the photos with a smirk. "See this ugly lil crying baby? It's you"

Roan immediately swats his arm.

"The only ugly one here is you-"

Victor chuckles, reaching over to ruffle his hair, fingers lingering just a second longer than usual, caressing his little brother's head

They sit side by side, the album open between them.

Page after page turns until Roan suddenly slows.

"...Wait."

Victor's gaze shifts to him.

Roan leans in closer, eyes narrowing at one of the photos.

It's taken in front of a high school.

Victor stands there, younger, holding a baby in his arms little Roan. Their parents stand beside them, smiling at the camera.

But

Roan's focus drifts past them.

To the background.

There's something there.

He squints slightly, trying to make sense of it. A shape... maybe. Something out of place.

But the longer he looks, the harder it is to define.

Victor doesn't say anything.

He just watches Roan carefully.

Waiting.

"There's something there... In the background" Roan says quietly

Victor squints trying hard to see what his brother is pointing out

Victor leans in, trying to follow his gaze. His eyes scan the photo carefully but whatever Roan is seeing, he can't quite catch it.

Roan squints, focusing harder.

"There's... a crack in the wall," he murmurs. "And something's coming out of it. Like..."

He hesitates.

"...like liquid. It's oozing down."

Victor goes still.

"And near the entrance..." Roan continues, quieter now,

"...there's a shadow."

Victor's jaw tightens.

Before Roan can say anything else, he reaches over and shuts the album.

"That's enough."

Roan blinks, caught off guard.

"Go get some rest," Victor says, already standing. "You've got school tomorrow."

Roan hesitates. "...But we don't have an amulet."

Victor states " There's something in my room."

Roan gets up quickly, following after him.

Victor pushes his door open. It creaks, louder than the others.

The room looks like any ordinary kids room, Victor should have been around Roan's age when he left

He pauses looking at his childhood room and memories....

they steps inside.

"It's not as effective as hers," he says, glancing back at Roan,

"but it's better than nothing."