The late afternoon sun, usually a welcome guest, cast long, distorted shadows across the linoleum floors of Haven Ridge Group Home. It was Monday, and the air still hummed with the leftover energy of a school day. In Room 2B, the room shared by the eight-year-olds Tiffany and Ava, a familiar, comfortable chaos reigned. Backpacks were dropped with satisfying thuds near the door, shoes kicked off like they'd caught fire.
"Finally!" Ava groaned, stretching her arms above her head until her joints popped. "That weather quiz nearly melted my brain. Why would anyone do a surprise quiz on cloud types?"
Tiffany giggled as she tugged open her dresser drawer. "Ms. Davis must've confused Monday with a thunderstorm." She pulled out a soft, worn t-shirt with a faded unicorn on the front and tossed it on her bed. "You hungry? We could grab a snack before we do that rainforest worksheet and... ugh, times tables."
"Definitely," Ava said, already walking toward her desk to grab her science folder. "My brain is too tired to even count by twos right now."
As she passed her bed, Ava suddenly stopped.
Her head tilted. "Huh?"
"What?" Tiffany asked, halfway through removing her school sweater.
Ava reached down and picked something up from her pillow. "Was this yours?" she asked, brow furrowed. She held up a photograph, an actual printed photo, with muted colors and worn edges. A woman, probably in her mid-twenties, stared back with a wide, joyful smile. Her eyes were dark and expressive, her curls spilling wildly over her shoulders.
Tiffany glanced over, expecting some silly magazine clipping or maybe one of the photo booth strips they used to sneak from the community center. Her eyes met the photo, and froze.
She knew that face.
She knew it in the way you know a nightmare long buried. Her stomach clenched. Her heart slammed against her ribs. It was her.
And then she saw it, scrawled below the smiling face, in red ink, just crooked enough to feel wrong:
"Guess who's back, Tiffy-Bear."
Tiffany's lungs collapsed in on themselves. The room blurred. The buzzing fluorescent light above them seemed to flicker. The warmth of the room drained away, leaving a hollow chill.
Then, the scream.
It erupted from her chest without thought or warning, raw, unfiltered terror, sharp enough to split the air in two.
Ava screamed too, startled and afraid. The photo slipped from her fingers and floated like a dead leaf to the floor.
Downstairs, the sound sliced through the normal post-school buzz like a fire alarm. In the staff lounge, Ms. Collins and Ms. Tilda jerked their heads toward the staircase.
"That's from the girls' hall," Ms. Collins said sharply.
Without another word, both bolted for the stairs, their footsteps thunderous on the hardwood.
Just down the hall from the commotion, Ms. Douglas had been finishing a quiet session with Mia. The young girl was curled into a cushioned armchair, nursing a half-empty mug of lukewarm tea. They'd been talking about progress reports and next steps for Mia's court date.
The scream stopped everything. Mia flinched so hard she spilled tea on her jeans.
Ms. Douglas stood immediately, all warmth gone from her face. "Stay here…" she started, but the second scream made her pivot. "No. Come with me. Let's go."
She ushered Mia briskly down the hallway, guiding her away from the screams and into the common room, where younger girls were beginning to peek out of their rooms like frightened deer.
"Everyone in the common room now," Ms. Tilda instructed as she passed, her voice louder than usual, firm but calm. "Let's go, quickly and quietly."
Ms. Collins reached Room 2B and pushed open the door.
The scene inside made her chest tighten.
Tiffany was on the floor, curled tightly against the base of her bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, her body shaking in sobs. Ava stood like a statue, her hands balled into fists at her sides, her lip trembling.
The photograph lay face-down between them like something cursed.
"Ava, Tiffany," Ms. Collins said gently, moving into the room. "It's okay. You're safe now."
Tiffany didn't respond, just kept shaking, her breathing shallow and erratic. Ava looked at Ms. Collins with wide, frightened eyes. "It was a picture," she said. "It was just on my bed. And it had writing on it. She started screaming. I didn't know why."
"It's okay, sweetheart. Thank you," Ms. Collins said softly. "Let's get you both to the quiet room."
She motioned for backup. Ms. Tilda appeared moments later and placed a steady hand on Ava's shoulder, guiding her out. Ms. Collins helped Tiffany up, supporting her weight as they made their way slowly down the hall.
Once the girls were safe in the quiet room, a softly lit space with two small couches and pastel walls, Ms. Collins stayed by Tiffany's side, gently rubbing her back.
For 30 minutes, the air was filled with whispers and sobs. Ava explained what she saw. Ms. Collins listened carefully, her expression darkening.
Downstairs, in the boys' dorm, Trevor had heard the scream. Panic bloomed in his chest.
He cornered Mr. Anderson by the hallway. "Was that Tiffany? Please, I need to see her. Please."
Mr. Anderson relayed the situation. After a call to Ms. Collins, Trevor was allowed in.
The moment Tiffany saw her brother, the tears came back. She flew into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Trevor held her tightly, whispering that she was safe now, that he was here. That he'd never let anything happen to her.
By 6:00 PM, Haven Ridge had entered a tense quiet. The other residents ate dinner in near silence. Rumors flickered like candlelight, but no one had answers.
Trevor, Tiffany, and Ava were brought dinner in the quiet room, where Ms. Tilda stayed with them. Tiffany barely touched her plate. Ava picked at hers. Trevor ate quietly, every movement deliberate.
Later, Ms. Tilda tucked the girls into bed, leaving the nightlight on. She set up a cot in the hallway, keeping vigil outside their room. Tiffany woke thrice that night, gasping and calling out, and each time, Ms. Tilda was there, murmuring gentle reassurances, holding her hand until sleep returned.
Trevor didn't sleep much either. The image of that woman and the sick message was etched into his mind. He lay awake, fists clenched under his blanket, thinking of what he'd do if the person who left it ever came near his sister again.
At 8:20 AM, Mr. Anderson knocked lightly on Trevor's door. "You're excused from school today," he said. "Ms. Collins wants to see you when you're ready."
Trevor nodded, eyes bloodshot. "Thanks."
At 8:40, Tiffany jolted upright. "Ms. Tilda! We're late!"
Ms. Tilda reached for her hand. "No school today, sweetheart. You're staying home."
Tiffany blinked, disoriented. Ava stirred next to her, still half-asleep. "Really?" she asked groggily.
Ms. Tilda smiled gently. "Yes. Just rest, okay?"
By 10:00 AM, the trio sat in Ms. Collins' office, each with their own mug of cocoa. The lights were dim, the atmosphere heavy but safe.
Ms. Collins sat across from them, hands folded.
"We are taking this very seriously," she said. "The security footage is being reviewed. We're examining the photo, the message, and everything found in your room. Whoever did this, we will find them."
Tiffany leaned into Trevor's side. Ava sat stiffly, nodding.
"You are safe here," Ms. Collins continued. "Staff members will be available to each of you for support. You don't have to carry this alone."
Mia sat at an empty lunch table, her food untouched. The cafeteria buzzed with its usual chaos, but she felt removed, as if underwater.
Trevor wasn't at breakfast. Tiffany wasn't in the van. Something had happened.
She remembered the screams. The way Ms. Douglas had pulled her away. She didn't know what was going on, not exactly but her chest hurt with the weight of it.
She could reach out. Ask. Push for answers.
But no.
Not yet.
They needed space. And when they were ready, she'd be there. Not with questions but with presence. With quiet understanding.
Because sometimes, what a person needed wasn't someone to fix it, just someone to sit with them in the dark.