Chapter 1 : The Meteor and the Disappearances
The night sky stretched endlessly above the dense canopy of pine and oak, a vast canvas of stars that had witnessed the rise and fall of countless civilizations.
Eddie Sykes adjusted his backpack and checked his watch—11:34 PM. Perfect timing. The meteor shower was supposed to peak around midnight, and he'd found the perfect clearing about two miles up the hiking trail.
Eddie had always been drawn to the cosmos. While his coworkers at the Conwood mill talked about fishing and football, he spent his evenings reading astronomy magazines and tracking celestial events. Tonight's meteor shower had been months in the making according to the astronomical society newsletter, and he wasn't about to miss it because of some overtime shift.
The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness as he navigated the familiar trail. He'd hiked these woods countless times, he knew every root and rock that could trip up an unwary walker. The autumn air was crisp, carrying the earthy scent of decomposing leaves and the distant promise of winter. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl called to its mate, the haunting sound echoing through the trees.
As Eddie climbed higher up the ridge, the canopy began to thin. Stars became visible through the gaps in the branches, pinpricks of ancient light that had traveled unimaginable distances to reach his eyes. He quickened his pace, eager to reach the clearing before the show began.
The meadow opened before him like nature's own amphitheater, a circular expanse of grass surrounded by towering evergreens. Eddie had discovered this place three summers ago during a solo camping trip, and it had become his private sanctuary.
He spread out his sleeping bag in the center of the clearing and lay back, hands behind his head, staring up at the infinite dome of night.
For twenty minutes, he waited in silence, watching the steady progression of satellites and aircraft crossing the sky. Then, at exactly 11:57 PM, the first meteor streaked across the darkness—a brilliant silver thread that appeared and vanished in the span of a eyeblink.
"There we go," Eddie whispered to himself, grinning like a child on Christmas morning.
The shower began in earnest, dozens of meteors streaked across the sky, some vanishing in a blink, others leaving glowing trails that hung in the air. Eddie lost himself in the display, feeling small yet lucky to witness the beauty above.
Then he saw it.
One meteor seemed different from the others. Instead of the typical white or yellow streak, this one glowed with an unsettling greenish light. And unlike its companions, which followed predictable trajectories, this one seemed to wobble, to pulse, almost as if it were... alive.
Eddie sat up, peering into the dark. The green light was getting bigger and brighter—not racing across the sky, but dropping toward the forest as if aiming for it. The air began to vibrate with a deep hum he could feel in his bones.
"What the hell?" he breathed, scrambling to his feet.
The object—he could no longer think of it as a meteor—struck the earth somewhere beyond the tree line to his north. The impact was surprisingly gentle, no explosion, no forest fire, just a soft thud followed by an eerie silence. Even the owl had stopped calling.
Common sense told Eddie to leave well enough alone, to pack up his gear and head back to town. But curiosity had always been his weakness, and the strange green glow that now emanated from the impact site pulled at him like a magnet.
He shouldered his backpack and struck out through the underbrush, following the alien light deeper into the woods.
The trees pressed in as he forced his way through branches and thorns. The green glow grew stronger, casting everything in a sickly, phosphorescent hue. His flashlight seemed almost useless now, but he kept it on for the small comfort it gave.
After ten minutes of difficult hiking, Eddie emerged into another clearing—this one much smaller than his stargazing spot, barely twenty feet across.
In the center sat the source of the light: a perfectly spherical object about the size of a basketball, but slightly bigger, its surface covered in what looked like organic growths or tumors. The thing pulsed rhythmically, like a giant heart, and the green glow ebbed and flowed with each pulse.
Eddie approached cautiously, every instinct screaming at him to run. The object was clearly not of this world—its geometry was too perfect and its surface looks too alien. Strange protrusions jutted from its sides like some frozen tentacles, and he could swear he saw movement beneath its translucent skin.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered, raising his flashlight to get a better look.
As if responding to his voice, the sphere's pulsing quickened. The green light flared brighter, and Eddie heard something that made his blood run cold—a sound like wet breathing, like something drowning in its own fluids. The protrusions on the sphere's surface began to twitch and writhe.
Eddie stumbled backward, his rational mind finally overriding his curiosity. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't meant for human eyes. He need to get back to town and call the authorities, he need to—
Pain exploded through his skull as something struck him from behind. He pitched forward, consciousness fading, his last sight the alien sphere pulsing hungrily in the darkness.
* * * * * * *
×Nine months later...×
Sheriff Nate Craven stood in the cramped office of the county courthouse, staring at the bulletin board that had become a record of all his failures.
Twelve missing person reports, each one represented by a photograph and a brief description that told him nothing useful. Twelve people who had simply vanished from the face of the earth, leaving behind confused families and a sheriff who was beginning to question his own competence.
The latest addition to the board was Ronald Hanley, a mill worker and family man who had disappeared three days ago while walking his dog. His wife had called the department insisting that Ron would never abandon his family and something terrible must have happened. Nate had nodded sympathetically and launched the same futile search that had yielded nothing for the previous eleven cases.
"Sheriff?" Deputy Davis knocked on the open door. "Mrs. Patson is here about her missing laundromat lady."
Nate sighed heavily. "Send her in."
Mrs. Patson was a thin, nervous woman who ran the only laundromat in Bailey. She twisted her hands anxiously as she took the seat across from Nate's desk.
"It's been a week now, Sheriff. Martha wouldn't just up and leave without telling nobody. She's got responsibilities and bills to pay. Something's happened to her, I just know it."
"When did you last see Martha?" Nate asked, though he already knew the answer from their previous conversations.
"Last Tuesday evening, when she was closing up. She said she was gonna walk home like always. But she never made it. Her landlord says her bed wasn't slept in."
Nate made notes he didn't need to make, asked questions that led nowhere, and promised Mrs. Patson that he would do everything in his power to find Martha. The woman left looking marginally reassured, though they both knew the promises were empty.
Six people in just over a month. All of them were ordinary citizens with ordinary lives with no enemies and no reason to disappear. No bodies, no ransom demands, no signs of struggle. They had simply ceased to exist, as if the earth had opened up and swallowed them whole.
Nate walked to the window and stared out at the quiet main street of Bailey. It was the kind of small town where everybody knew everybody, where crime consisted mainly of drunk and disorderly charges and the occasional domestic dispute. Mass disappearances were the stuff of urban legends and sensationalist newspapers, not sleepy mining communities in the mountains.
But the evidence was undeniable. Someone was hunting in his territory, someone that left no trace of its crimes. And despite weeks of investigation, countless interviews, and coordination with state authorities, Nate was no closer to answers than he had been when Ronald Hanley first went missing.
The phone rang, jarring him from his brooding. "Sheriff's Department, Craven speaking."
"Sheriff, it's Doc Morslow over at the clinic. I think you better get down here. We got a... situation."
"What kind of situation?"
"The kind that's gonna make your missing persons case a whole lot more interesting. And probably a whole lot worse."
Nate grabbed his hat and headed for the door, a sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. In a town where multiple people had vanished without explanation, any situation involving Doc Morslow was unlikely to be good news.
As he drove through the quiet streets of Bailey, Nate couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was coming would change everything. The disappearances had been troubling enough, but they were abstract and theoretical. Bodies, on the other hand, would make it all terrifyingly real.