Chapter 8 — The Night They Stopped Screaming
Detroit, Michigan / A Small Deli
The last time Viola McTia showed up for her shift was Tuesday night.
Three days passed before the owner called the police.
On the first day, everyone assumed she might be sick.
On the second, they thought her phone had broken.
But on the third day, the deli owner spoke in a low voice:
“McTia has never missed a shift. Not once — and never without calling. …Karen, can you go check on her?
It’d be better if a woman went. Not me.”
By early afternoon, Karen stood outside Viola’s apartment with a police officer.
They knocked. No response.
The building manager brought a spare key.
The lock clicked, the old hinges groaned — and warm, damp air drifted out.
The apartment was silent.
The TV still on.
Coffee grounds dry in the pot.
Stray cat hair scattered across the couch.
On the floor, dried blood had turned black.
The officer touched it and frowned.
“…More than three days old.”
Beside the stain were deep gouges — fingernails carved into the wood.
A fallen chair.
The window left just barely open, as if someone meant to let in a cool breeze.
“...Viola?”
Karen whispered.
No answer.
Curtains torn at the hem.
The balcony lock only half-latched.
A light draft stirred the few remaining hairs on the floor.
Cat hair, probably.
The room held no chaos.
Only the evidence of a life paused mid-breath:
Cold coffee.
A toothbrush still wet.
A towel half-dry on the rack.
But no Viola.
No Sherbet the cat.
As if they had been taken, molecule by molecule.
A whisper from the officer:
“Missing persons’ rooms should look…messy.”
“If this were a kidnapping, there’d be a struggle. But here…”
The door had been locked from inside.
So were the windows.
She hadn’t left.
She hadn’t been dragged out.
She had simply — stopped existing.
---
— Another One Gone
No one really reacted anymore.
News stations gave it thirty seconds between election coverage and weather.
A bot updated the missing-persons feed on social media.
“An adult female reported missing in Detroit today.”
A voice from a café TV.
Nobody looked up.
“Again?”
A young man muttered, bored rather than afraid.
More than twenty disappearances in the past month.
Police called it a serial kidnapper.
The media named him The Detroit Shadow.
But no shadow had ever been seen.
Only the quiet, crawling sound somewhere in the city after dark.
---
— Lakeshore Suburbs, East Detroit
“Jamie!”
Toast popped from the toaster.
Ada Lovely buttered it quickly.
Coffee machine hissed.
Footsteps upstairs.
Early sunlight through the kitchen window.
“Jamie, we’re leaving in five!”
“I knooow!”
Same as always.
Except the TV:
“Fifth disappearance this month…Detroit police advise—”
Jamie came down the stairs rubbing his eyes.
He looked up at his mother.
“Mom? Someone went missing again?”
“…Grown-up talk. Don’t worry.”
Ada downed her coffee in one swallow.
Bitterness burned her throat.
Jamie ate his sandwich, drank his milk, kissed his mom’s cheek.
They left the house together.
Outside felt wrong — wet, metallic.
A faint smell of blood on the breeze.
Something flickered in the garage shadows —
A thin blue-white ripple, like light under water.
Ada forced herself to ignore it.
She buckled Jamie in, started the car, and drove.
Get Rosalie’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about that light.
---
Evening
School pickup line was unusually long.
Parents sat locked in cars, engines running, scrolling anxiously.
Jamie ran toward the car, smiling.
Relief washed over Ada.
“How was school?”
“Good… but—”
His voice fell.
“Jasmine disappeared.
She was here this morning.
After lunch she was just… gone.”
Ada’s breath caught.
“Teachers said maybe her mom picked her up, but she didn’t.
Her mom called. She’s missing.”
The light hit the dashboard in a strange blue ripple.
Jamie whispered:
“Jasmine said she saw the light.”
Ada gripped the wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened.
She didn't speak the rest of the drive home.
---
Night
A creak in the house.
“...Jamie?”
A scream split the dark.
“Mom!!!”
Ada sprinted down the hallway, flung open the door—
Curtains blown by wind.
Window open.
And something glowing pale blue was swallowing her child whole.
“JAMIE!”
She grabbed a mop, struck the creature.
Thick membrane split — it trembled.
“LET HIM GO!”
But the boy’s legs slid in, disappearing into the creature’s throat.
Only slime and a mop remained.
The creature dragged itself clumsily through the window, hind legs kicking,
and vanished into the night.
Ada screamed her son's name again and again.
---
— Dawn
Police cars.
Neighbors whispering.
“He was here! My boy was here!”
Ada, barefoot in pajamas, shaking.
Mud and blood on her hands.
A female officer put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“You believe your son was…taken?”
“Not taken — eaten! A giant lizard—!”
The officers traded looks.
No break-in.
Windows locked from inside.
No struggle.
Shoes still by the door.
Backpack, jacket untouched.
As if the boy had just…disappeared.
“Ma’am…have you been sleeping?
Any history of medication?”
“Don’t you dare — I saw it! With my own eyes!”
But the pitying stare told her everything.
“We’ll file this as a runaway case.”
The door shut behind them.
Silence.
A single untouched breakfast plate sat on the table —
the only proof Jamie Lovely had ever existed.
