JUDY

JUDY

A Prequel to CLASS OF ’68

By Ekona Del Rey Monroe

-

PROLOGUE: THE YEAR SHE ARRIVED

There was nothing unusual about the day Judy Harmon came to Bellweather.

That was the first thing she would have remembered if she had lived long enough to remember it.

The sky was pale blue.

The sidewalks were still damp from a brief morning rain.

The grass along the school entrance had been cut recently enough that the smell of it followed the students through the open doors.

Cars filled the parking lot.

A bus sighed at the curb.

Somebody was laughing near the football field.

Somebody else was smoking behind the gymnasium.

The principal's secretary was arguing with a telephone company representative through the open office door.

A teacher carried a stack of papers down the hallway and dropped half of them.

Two boys ran past Judy and nearly knocked her over.

One turned around.

“Sorry.”

Judy nodded.

“It's okay.”

It was an ordinary beginning.

She was seventeen years old.

Her father had taken a job at the plant outside town, and that was why the Harmons had moved to Bellweather.

There was no tragedy behind it.

No secret.

No dramatic reason.

Her father had simply found better work.

The family had packed their things.

Her mother had complained about the kitchen.

Her father had complained about the driveway.

Judy had complained about everything.

She had not wanted to come.

Not because Bellweather was ugly.

It wasn't.

That almost made it worse.

Bellweather was pleasant.

It was the kind of town people described as nice when they couldn't think of anything else to say.

There were broad lawns.

Brick houses.

White churches.

A drugstore with a red-and-white sign.

A diner that stayed open late.

A small movie theater.

A grocery store.

A high school.

A football field.

A plant at the edge of town that gave the horizon a permanent industrial haze.

There was nothing for Judy to hate.

Nothing dramatic enough to justify hating it.

So she simply missed the place she had left.

She missed her old bedroom.

She missed the girl who used to sit beside her in English.

She missed knowing which teachers were strict and which weren't.

She missed being able to walk into a store without somebody asking where she was from.

In Bellweather, everyone already belonged to something.

Families.

Churches.

Football teams.

Clubs.

Friend groups.

Judy had none of those.

She had arrived alone.

And because she was seventeen, she knew enough about people to understand that loneliness was visible.

So she tried not to look lonely.

That was how she met the six girls.

Not because they came looking for her.

Not because they were interested in her.

Not because some hidden instinct told them she mattered.

They simply noticed that she was sitting alone.

Donna waved.

“You can sit with us.”

Judy looked over.

Six girls.

Six faces.

Six ordinary teenagers.

She hesitated.

Then she smiled.

“Okay.”

She didn't know it yet, but she had just sat down beside something that had been learning how to be human for longer than her family had been a family.

And the most frightening thing about it was that, at first, they were very good at it.

-

Chapter One: THE NEW GIRL

Judy's first week in Bellweather was mostly made up of doors.

Doors she didn't know.

Classroom doors.

Bathroom doors.

The principal's office.

The library.

The gymnasium.

The cafeteria.

The side entrance.

The door beside the auditorium that apparently went nowhere except into a storage room.

Every morning she looked at the folded schedule in her hand and tried to convince herself she wasn't lost.

She usually was.

Her father dropped her off on Monday.

On Tuesday she took the bus.

Wednesday she walked because she had missed the bus.

Thursday she took the bus again.

Friday her father dropped her off because he had started work early enough that his route took him past the school.

“See?” he said as she climbed out.

“See what?”

“You're getting used to it.”

“I still don't know where anything is.”

“You know where the school is.”

“That's not the same thing.”

He smiled.

“You'll make friends.”

Judy shut the door.

“That's what everybody keeps saying.”

Her father leaned across the passenger seat.

“Because it's true.”

She didn't answer.

He waited.

“Judy.”

“What?”

“Give it a chance.”

She looked at him.

“I am.”

He nodded.

“Good.”

She closed the door.

The Chevrolet pulled away.

Judy watched it disappear.

Then she turned toward the school.

The bell rang.

She started running.

She met Raven on Tuesday.

Raven was standing outside Room 214 with a textbook balanced against one hip.

“You're Judy.”

Judy stopped.

“How do you know?”

“Everybody knows.”

“That makes me feel better.”

Raven laughed.

“I'm Raven.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“Everybody knows.”

Raven smiled.

“You're going to be okay.”

“Is that the official Bellweather greeting?”

“Pretty much.”

They walked upstairs together.

Raven talked about teachers.

The football team.

A girl named Melissa who had supposedly stolen somebody's boyfriend.

The principal's terrible ties.

The cafeteria's meatloaf.

Judy listened.

She liked listening.

It was easier than talking.

At lunch Raven found her again.

“Come on.”

“Where?”

“You're sitting with me.”

“I am?”

“You are now.”

Raven led her across the cafeteria.

Judy noticed the six girls.

They were already sitting together.

She had seen them before.

They seemed to occupy the same table every day.

Nobody else sat with them unless invited.

Raven sat.

Judy sat beside her.

The six looked up.

Donna smiled first.

“You're new.”

Judy nodded.

“Judy.”

“Donna.”

Donna introduced the others.

“Claire.”

Claire smiled.

“Vivian.”

Vivian looked at Judy.

There was a pause.

A little too long.

Then:

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Gloria.”

“Hey.”

“Nancy.”

Nancy smiled warmly.

“Hello.”

“And Carol.”

Carol nodded.

“Welcome.”

It was completely normal.

Judy remembered thinking that.

Completely normal.

She didn't know why Vivian stared so long.

She didn't know why Claire's hands never seemed to move when everyone else's did.

She didn't know why Donna kept touching the people around her.

She didn't know why Gloria had chosen the seat directly beneath the brightest light.

She didn't know why Nancy seemed unusually warm.

She didn't know why Carol looked at Judy as though she were taking inventory.

She only knew that six girls had made room for her.

And after a week of feeling invisible, that mattered.

-

Chapter Two: RAVEN

Judy and Raven became friends slowly.

Not dramatically.

There was no moment where either of them said, *We're best friends now.*

It happened through repetition.

Raven saved Judy a seat.

Judy waited for Raven after English.

They walked home together.

They shared fries at Carter's.

They borrowed each other's books.

They called one another when homework became confusing.

Sometimes they didn't talk at all.

Those were Judy's favorite afternoons.

They could walk side by side down Bellweather's streets without filling every silence.

One October afternoon, they sat on Raven's front porch.

A transistor radio played softly inside the house.

Somebody was mowing a lawn across the street.

The air smelled like cut grass and cigarettes.

Raven was painting her fingernails.

“You're terrible at this,” Judy said.

“I know.”

“You got it on your skin.”

“That's part of it.”

“No, it isn't.”

Raven looked at her.

“You're very judgmental for somebody who can't paint her own nails.”

“I can.”

“Prove it.”

Judy took the bottle.

She painted one nail.

It looked worse.

Raven laughed so hard she nearly dropped the bottle.

“Okay.”

“Don't.”

“I'm sorry.”

“You're not.”

“No.”

Judy laughed too.

For a few minutes they were just girls.

That mattered.

Because later, when Judy was afraid, Raven was the person she thought about.

Not her father.

Not the police.

Not the six girls.

Raven.

They talked about the future.

“What do you want to do?” Raven asked.

“I don't know.”

“You have to know something.”

“I want to leave.”

“Bellweather?”

“Bellweather.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

“That's not a place.”

“It is if you live here.”

Raven smiled.

“I want to go to college.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere with palm trees.”

“Why?”

“Because I've never seen them.”

Judy laughed.

“That is the dumbest reason I've ever heard.”

“I know.”

They sat quietly.

Then Raven said:

“You'll come with me.”

Judy looked at her.

“Maybe.”

“Promise?”

Judy smiled.

“Promise.”

It was an ordinary promise.

Neither girl knew that Judy would never leave Bellweather.

-

Chapter Three: THE SIX

The six girls were easier to understand when Judy stopped watching them.

That was what she discovered.

When she simply talked to them, they were pleasant.

Claire was kind.

Donna was helpful.

Vivian listened.

Gloria laughed easily.

Nancy was affectionate.

Carol was confident.

They had inside jokes.

They teased one another.

They shared food.

They borrowed clothes.

They complained about school.

They seemed, in fact, almost unusually close.

One Friday Judy went to the diner with them.

The six squeezed into one booth.

Judy sat between Raven and Nancy.

Someone fed a quarter into the jukebox.

A song began playing.

Gloria started singing.

Donna joined her.

Nancy laughed.

Claire tapped one finger against the table.

Vivian watched everyone.

Carol smiled.

Judy laughed.

She had never felt so included.

She went home that night thinking:

*Maybe I was wrong about them.*

That thought stayed with her.

For several weeks.

The first strange thing was so small Judy nearly forgot it.

Claire didn't understand a joke.

They were in English class.

The teacher had made a mistake writing something on the board.

Everyone laughed.

Claire didn't.

She looked around.

Then laughed two seconds later.

Not because she understood.

Because everyone else had.

Judy noticed.

She didn't think much of it.

Another time, Donna used an expression incorrectly.

She said:

“That's the bee's knees.”

Judy laughed.

Donna looked confused.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What does it mean?”

“You don't know?”

“No.”

Judy explained.

Donna nodded.

“Oh.”

Then she repeated the expression perfectly later that afternoon.

It was nothing.

Almost nothing.

But Judy remembered it.

Vivian was different.

She learned people by watching them.

Judy began noticing that Vivian didn't always look at what people said.

She looked at their mouths.

Their hands.

Their shoulders.

Their eyes.

She studied the movements that came before an expression.

One day Judy asked:

“Why do you do that?”

Vivian looked at her.

“Do what?”

“Watch people.”

Vivian considered the question.

“To understand them.”

“Can't you just talk to them?”

“Yes.”

“But?”

Vivian smiled.

“I like watching.”

Judy smiled back.

She thought it was strange.

But harmless.

Gloria left something behind.

A pale residue on Judy's cardigan.

“What is this?”

Gloria looked.

“Oh.”

She brushed it away.

“Lotion.”

Judy rubbed the material between two fingers.

It was dry.

Almost metallic.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Judy nodded.

“Okay.”

Gloria smiled.

But her smile looked slightly strained.

That was the first time Judy wondered whether Gloria was afraid of her.

-

Chapter Four: CLAIRE

The weather changed.

The first cold front came through Bellweather in late September.

Students complained.

Teachers complained.

The school heating system had not yet been turned on.

Claire sat beside the window.

Judy sat two desks away.

The teacher was explaining something about the Civil War.

Judy wasn't listening.

She was watching Claire.

Claire's pen stopped.

Her hand relaxed.

Her shoulders dropped.

Her head tilted slightly downward.

Judy waited for her to move.

She didn't.

The teacher continued.

The class continued.

A boy coughed.

Someone dropped a pencil.

Claire didn't react.

Judy looked at her chest.

Nothing.

No movement.

She stared.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Judy's heart began pounding.

She leaned over.

“Claire?”

Nothing.

Judy touched her shoulder.

The skin was cold.

Not cold from the window.

Cold like something that had been sitting outside.

Judy pulled her hand away.

“Claire?”

Claire's eyes remained open.

Then the bell rang.

Claire inhaled.

Judy flinched.

Claire turned toward her.

“What?”

“You…”

Judy couldn't finish.

Claire smiled.

“What?”

“You weren't breathing.”

Claire looked confused.

Then:

“I forget sometimes.”

“What?”

Claire's smile disappeared.

“I forget.”

“Forget what?”

Claire looked toward the hallway.

Donna was already there.

She entered the room.

“Come on.”

Claire stood.

The other girls followed.

Carol spoke quietly with the teacher.

Judy watched.

Nobody panicked.

Nobody asked questions.

Everyone already seemed to know what to do.

That afternoon Judy found Claire outside.

“Can I ask you something?”

Claire nodded.

“Were you sick this morning?”

“No.”

“You stopped breathing.”

Claire looked at her.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“Then why?”

Claire was quiet.

Finally she said:

“I don't always remember.”

Judy felt a chill.

“Remember what?”

Claire smiled.

“Being human.”

Judy laughed nervously.

Claire laughed too.

But Judy wasn't sure Claire had understood the joke.

-

Chapter Five: THE THINGS THEY DIDN'T SAY

After Claire, Judy began noticing everything.

Nancy's attention toward blood.

Gloria's fascination with light.

Donna's distress when one of the girls disappeared.

Vivian's unnatural patience.

Carol's ability to make explanations appear before questions.

None of it was enough by itself.

Together, it became something else.

A boy cut his hand in shop class.

The smell of blood reached Nancy before Judy even saw the injury.

Nancy stopped talking.

Her eyes fixed on the boy.

Judy watched her.

Nancy swallowed.

Then she smiled.

“Are you okay?”

The boy nodded.

“Yeah.”

Nancy's eyes remained on his hand.

Carol touched her wrist.

Nancy looked at Carol.

Then looked away.

Judy saw the entire exchange.

Nobody else did.

Donna became upset when Claire stayed late.

She kept asking where Claire was.

“She'll be back,” Carol said.

Donna shook her head.

“She should be back.”

“She'll come.”

Donna touched Vivian's shoulder.

Then Gloria's.

Then Nancy's.

She seemed to be counting them.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

She stopped.

“Claire.”

Judy watched.

Donna looked frightened.

Not emotionally frightened.

Something deeper.

As if being separated from Claire created a physical discomfort.

When Claire finally returned, Donna immediately touched her.

Her forehead rested against Claire's.

Donna closed her eyes.

Then relaxed.

Judy wrote about it later.

They need one another.

She crossed it out.

Then wrote:

They depend on one another.

She crossed that out too.

Finally:

I don't know what they are to each other.

-

Chapter Six: THE PHOTOGRAPH

Judy found the photograph in November.

She had been searching through old newspapers for a history assignment.

The Bellweather Chronicle had preserved its archives in a basement room beneath the public library.

The room smelled like dust.

Old paper.

Mildew.

Glue.

Judy liked it.

Nobody bothered her there.

She was turning pages when she found it.

Six girls.

1931.

Bellweather High.

Judy stopped breathing.

She leaned closer.

The photograph was poor.

Black and white.

Soft around the edges.

But the faces were clear.

Claire.

Donna.

Vivian.

Gloria.

Nancy.

Carol.

Judy knew them.

She knew them so well that she could have identified them from shadows.

She looked at the caption.

The names were different.

She checked again.

Different names.

Different clothes.

Same faces.

She turned the page.

Nothing.

She went through another newspaper.

Nothing.

Then another.

She found no explanation.

She returned to the photograph.

And then she noticed something.

All six girls were looking away from the camera.

Not randomly.

All six were looking toward the same point.

Off to the left.

Judy held the photograph at an angle.

She moved it closer to the lamp.

The image didn't change.

Six faces.

Six expressions.

One direction.

She whispered:

“What are you looking at?”

A voice answered behind her.

“Something interesting?”

Judy spun around.

Carol stood in the doorway.

Judy's hand tightened around the photograph.

Carol looked at it.

Then at Judy.

“How did you find that?”

“The newspaper.”

Carol stepped into the room.

“You shouldn't be down here.”

“Why?”

“Old floors.”

Judy stared.

“Who are they?”

Carol smiled.

“I don't know.”

“You do.”

Carol's expression didn't change.

Judy held up the photograph.

“They're you.”

“No.”

“They have your face.”

Carol took another step.

“Faces are common.”

“Not like this.”

Carol stared at her.

Then she said:

“You're very observant.”

Judy felt cold.

“Why are their names different?”

Carol didn't answer.

“Why don't they look older?”

Still nothing.

“Why are you in a photograph from 1931?”

Carol finally smiled.

“Maybe you're mistaken.”

Then she walked away.

Judy waited until she couldn't hear Carol's footsteps.

She looked back at the photograph.

Six girls.

1931.

Same faces.

Judy put the photograph inside her notebook.

For the first time, she was afraid of the notebook itself.

Because she knew that if Carol discovered it, Judy might not get another chance to write.

-

Chapter: Seven: RAVEN BELIEVES HER

Judy told Raven.

Not everything at once.

She started with the photograph.

Raven stared at it.

“That's impossible.”

“I know.”

“Maybe it's damaged.”

“Look.”

Judy placed a modern photograph beside it.

Raven compared the faces.

She became quiet.

“They look exactly the same.”

“I know.”

“Could it be relatives?”

“Six girls?”

“Twins?”

“Six?”

Raven looked uncomfortable.

“Okay.”

Judy lowered her voice.

“I don't think they're human.”

Raven looked at her.

“Don't say that.”

“Why?”

“Because once you say something like that, you can't unsay it.”

Judy looked at the photograph.

“I think I've already passed that point.”

Raven wanted proof.

So Judy showed her the powder.

The notes.

The dates.

The observations.

Raven read everything.

She looked up.

“Claire doesn't breathe?”

“Sometimes.”

“Nancy can smell blood?”

“Yes.”

“Gloria sheds this?”

“Yes.”

“Vivian moves without making noise?”

“Yes.”

“Donna knows when somebody's missing?”

“Yes.”

“And Carol…”

Judy stopped.

“Carol what?”

“She knows.”

Raven waited.

“She always knows what to say.”

“That isn't proof.”

“I know.”

Raven handed the notebook back.

Then she said:

“Show me.”

They watched the six after school.

For an hour.

Nothing happened.

The girls laughed.

They walked together.

They bought sodas.

They argued over something.

Raven looked at Judy.

“You might be wrong.”

Judy nodded.

“I hope I am.”

Then Claire stopped walking.

The other five stopped too.

At exactly the same moment.

Nobody spoke.

Claire looked toward the street.

Donna touched her wrist.

Carol looked at Judy.

Judy's stomach dropped.

Raven saw it.

“Did she just”

“Yes.”

Carol smiled.

The six continued walking.

Raven whispered:

“Okay.”

Judy looked at her.

“Okay what?”

“I believe you.”

That night they sat in Raven's bedroom.

Neither spoke for several minutes.

Finally Raven said:

“What do we do?”

Judy looked at her notebook.

“I don't know.”

“We could tell someone.”

“Who?”

“The police.”

“They'd think we're crazy.”

“The newspaper.”

“They'd laugh.”

“A teacher.”

“Which one?”

Raven sighed.

“Then what?”

Judy looked at her.

“We keep watching.”

Raven stared.

“You really are going to get yourself killed.”

Judy tried to laugh.

She couldn't.

-

Chapter Eight: ALMOST HUMAN

After Raven believed her, Judy became more careful.

But the six became more interesting.

Their mistakes were small.

Almost invisible.

A wrong expression.

A delayed reaction.

A word used slightly incorrectly.

A smile that arrived half a second too late.

They were learning.

Judy could see it.

That was what frightened her most.

They were improving.

One morning Gloria spilled coffee on her skirt.

Everyone reacted.

“Oh!”

“Are you okay?”

Gloria looked down.

Then looked at the others.

Only after they reacted did she say:

“Oh.”

Judy stared.

Gloria smiled.

“I'm fine.”

But Judy had seen the delay.

She wrote:

She watches us before reacting.

Vivian learned jokes quickly.

Too quickly.

Judy made a sarcastic comment.

Everyone laughed.

Vivian laughed too.

Then, later, Judy heard Vivian repeat the exact joke to another student.

The student didn't laugh.

Vivian looked confused.

She glanced around.

Then laughed again.

Judy understood.

She wasn't learning humor.

She was learning the conditions under which humor occurred.

Carol was different.

Carol understood.

Not because she was more emotional.

Because she studied people.

She knew when to interrupt.

When to apologize.

When to smile.

When to stop.

One afternoon Judy deliberately said something rude.

Carol immediately looked offended.

The expression was perfect.

Judy apologized.

Carol accepted.

Then, when Judy turned away, Carol's face became completely blank.

Judy saw it.

Carol knew she saw it.

Neither said anything.

-

Chapter Nine: THE GAME

The homecoming football game changed everything.

The entire town came.

The stadium lights turned the field white.

The band played.

The cheerleaders shouted.

Parents smoked in the stands.

Children ran between rows.

Judy sat with Raven.

The six girls were three rows ahead.

For the first half, nothing happened.

Then a player was injured.

Hard.

He fell.

The crowd reacted.

Judy saw blood.

Nancy turned immediately.

Gloria stared at the lights.

Claire became still.

Vivian watched the injured player.

Donna grabbed Carol's arm.

Carol stood.

“We're getting drinks.”

The six walked beneath the stands.

Judy watched them disappear.

Raven grabbed her arm.

“Don't.”

“I have to know.”

“Judy.”

“I'll be back.”

She followed.

The sound beneath the stadium was different.

The crowd above became muffled.

Metal.

Concrete.

Darkness.

Judy heard something.

A scream.

She froze.

Another.

Then silence.

She moved forward.

A white shoe lay on the ground.

Something dark dripped from the bleachers.

Judy covered her mouth.

She saw Gloria.

The girl's face was wet.

Nancy followed.

Vivian moved behind her.

Then Claire.

Donna.

Carol.

Carol saw Judy.

She stopped.

For several seconds they stared at one another.

Then Carol smiled.

The ordinary smile.

The yearbook smile.

The smile Judy had trusted.

“Go back upstairs.”

Judy couldn't move.

Carol tilted her head.

“Judy.”

Raven's voice echoed faintly from above.

“Judy?”

Judy ran.

She didn't sleep that night.

Neither did Raven.

By morning, the town had already invented explanations.

A fight.

A mugging.

A pack of wild dogs.

Something else.

Anything except the truth.

The six girls returned to school.

They smiled.

They sat together.

They answered questions.

They looked normal.

Judy understood then.

They weren't hiding because they were afraid.

They were hiding because hiding worked.

-

Chapter Ten: THE NOTEBOOK

Judy's notebook became larger.

Pages.

Envelopes.

Photographs.

Dates.

Maps.

Names.

She stopped keeping it under her mattress.

She hid it behind a loose board.

She wrote every night.

She wrote about the game.

About the photograph.

About the six.

About Carol.

She wrote:

They aren't six.

Then:

They act like six.

Then:

Why?

She couldn't answer.

Raven wanted Judy to leave.

“Your father can take you.”

“I can't.”

“Why?”

“Because if I leave, they'll still be here.”

“That's not your responsibility.”

“I know.”

“Then go.”

Judy looked at her.

“What if they follow?”

Raven didn't answer.

Judy whispered:

“What if they've already followed?”

The six continued behaving normally.

That was almost cruel.

They invited Judy to lunch.

They asked about homework.

Donna offered her a pencil.

Claire asked if she was feeling better.

Nancy said:

“You look tired.”

Judy stared at her.

Nancy smiled.

“Are you okay?”

Judy nodded.

“Yes.”

Nancy leaned closer.

“You're afraid.”

Judy pulled away.

Carol appeared beside them.

“Everything all right?”

Judy looked at Carol.

“Yes.”

Carol smiled.

“Good.”

She walked away.

Judy watched her.

She knew then that Carol was giving her time.

Not mercy.

Time.

There was a difference.

-

Chapter Eleven: THE WOODS

Judy followed them in February.

It was raining lightly.

The woods behind the plant were muddy.

The six walked through the trees.

They didn't speak.

Judy stayed far behind.

Donna moved first.

Carol stayed at the rear.

Judy noticed that immediately.

They reached a clearing.

Claire knelt.

She began digging.

Judy couldn't see what was in the ground.

Nancy lifted her head.

She smelled the air.

Gloria looked toward the distant lights.

Vivian turned.

Judy froze.

She had been seen.

Six heads turned.

The human faces remained for a moment.

Then something changed.

Claire's body stiffened.

Donna began trembling.

Vivian's limbs moved incorrectly.

Gloria's skin shed in pale layers.

Nancy's jaw widened.

Carol's face opened along the jawline.

Judy couldn't breathe.

There were too many joints.

Too many articulated structures.

No human skeleton.

No human organs.

No person underneath.

The six bodies changed differently.

But the changes were coordinated.

That was the worst part.

One moved.

The others responded.

One turned.

The others adjusted.

One sensed.

The others repositioned.

Judy realized that she wasn't looking at six creatures.

She was looking at one organism distributed across six bodies.

She stumbled backward.

Carol's voice came out wrong.

Layered.

Vibrating.

“You weren't supposed to see that.”

Judy ran.

-

Chapter Twelve: THE COLONY HUNT

Judy ran until her lungs burned.

She didn't know where she was going.

The woods became a blur.

Branches struck her face.

Mud pulled at her shoes.

She fell.

Scrambled up.

Kept running.

She looked behind her.

Nothing.

That was worse.

There should have been noise.

Branches breaking.

Footsteps.

Something.

Instead, there was silence.

Then Carol's voice came from somewhere behind her.

“Judy.”

She ran faster.

Nancy's voice came from another direction.

“You're getting warmer.”

Judy turned.

Nothing.

Gloria spoke from above.

“The lights are on.”

Judy saw the road.

She ran toward it.

Empty.

She almost laughed.

Then Vivian stepped into the road.

Perfectly still.

Waiting.

Judy turned.

Claire stood behind her.

Blocking the other direction.

Donna emerged from the trees.

Nancy followed.

Gloria stood beneath the streetlight.

Carol walked out last.

The human face was mostly gone.

But Judy could still recognize her.

That was somehow worse.

They arranged themselves around Judy.

Not like predators surrounding prey.

Like a system closing every available route.

Judy backed into the guardrail.

She was crying.

She couldn't feel her hands.

“What are you going to do?”

Carol looked at her.

“Nothing.”

Judy stared.

Carol smiled.

“You'll just disappear.”

Judy thought of Raven.

She thought of the porch.

The nail polish.

The diner.

The promise about college.

She closed her eyes.

Then the six moved.

-

Chapter Thirteen: AFTER JUDY

Raven waited for her.

That was the tragedy of it.

She waited the next morning.

Then the next.

Judy didn't come to school.

Her father called the police.

Teachers whispered.

The town created explanations.

She had run away.

She had been upset.

She had met someone.

She had gotten into a car.

Nobody knew.

Raven knew.

She knew because Judy had told her.

But there was nothing she could prove.

The notebook was gone.

The photographs were gone.

The evidence was gone.

Only memory remained.

And memory was not evidence.

The six girls came to school.

They sat together.

They answered questions.

They looked concerned.

Donna asked Raven:

“Have you heard from Judy?”

Raven stared at her.

“No.”

Nancy touched Raven's arm.

“She'll come back.”

Raven pulled away.

Carol watched.

“You should try not to worry.”

Raven looked directly at her.

“You know where she is.”

Carol said nothing.

Raven whispered:

“I know you do.”

Carol's expression remained calm.

“You should go home.”

Raven hated her.

But hatred wasn't proof.

So Raven went home.

-

EPILOGUE: THE PHOTOGRAPH REMAINS

Judy Harmon disappeared in 1968.

The official explanation never settled.

The police searched the woods.

They searched the roads.

They questioned her father.

They questioned Raven.

They questioned classmates.

They questioned the six girls.

The six gave identical answers.

They had seen Judy at school.

They had spoken to her.

They hadn't seen her after the game.

They didn't know where she went.

The answers were calm.

Consistent.

Believable.

The investigation eventually faded.

The town moved on.

It always did.

The six girls remained at Bellweather until shortly before graduation.

Then they disappeared too.

Six seniors.

Gone.

No forwarding addresses.

No explanation.

No bodies.

No clear destination.

Their names became part of the town's forgotten stories.

But the yearbook remained.

Six girls stood together.

Claire.

Donna.

Vivian.

Gloria.

Nancy.

Carol.

Their smiles were bright.

Their clothes were neat.

Their arms rested around one another.

They looked happy.

They looked young.

They looked exactly as they had in 1931.

And that was the part nobody noticed.

Not yet.

Years later, another photograph would be taken.

Another six girls.

Another town.

Another school.

Different clothes.

Different hair.

Different decade.

Same faces.

The process would continue.

Because Judy had misunderstood one thing.

The six were not trying to remain the same.

They were trying to remain successful.

The faces changed only when they needed to.

The names changed.

The clothes changed.

The language changed.

The manners changed.

The smiles changed.

The world changed.

They changed with it.

Judy had been one of the first people in Bellweather to understand that the girls were not pretending to be six particular people.

They were pretending to be what human beings expected six girls to be.

And they had become very good at it.

Too good.

The photograph stayed on the shelf.

A thin layer of pale dust settled over its surface.

Nobody noticed.

The room grew cold.

For a moment, the photograph seemed almost to hold its breath.

Then the fluorescent light stopped flickering.

The dust settled.

The six girls smiled.

And somewhere far away, in another town, in another decade, something that had learned the shape of humanity was already deciding what shape would work next.

The colony continued.

The imitation continued.

And Judy Harmon was gone.

THE END