u/3045664_2_0

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
A few weeks later, more newcomers began to appear, filling the spaces where families and couples used to live. Every few days, another moving truck rolled in. It got to the point where they felt more like tourists than residents — smiling, taking pictures, asking about local landmarks — but they were here to stay.

One of them… his name was Tyler. Or maybe Kyler. Either way, he was an outgoing guy — energetic, maybe a little too much for his age. Thirty‑two, with a laugh that carried across the street. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him. He seemed respectful, so I walked up and sparked some small talk.

He told me he’d come all the way from Texas. Said he wanted to move away from his parents — controlling, always watching, always in his business. Moving out gave him a chance to restart.

I dropped him a hint about what goes on in this town. He looked at me like I was joking. He chuckled, then his expression shifted — serious, almost offended, like I’d said something cruel.

Kyler: Alright, this has gotta be a joke. There’s no way you’re being serious.
Me: I am being serious. I have no reason to joke with you.

Kyler: Yeah, sure. Next thing you’ll tell me is the sky turns yellow like some cheesy horror movie.

I flinched when he said that. Then I just told him the truth.

Me: Look, you have to believe me. I’ve been here seven years — I know what I’m talking about. You can ask damn near anyone and they’ll tell you the same thing. When the sky turns yellow, they appear. They mimic those you love, those you miss, those you care about more than anything. But you can’t go outside when that happens. No one knows what happens if you do, but getting caught is probably worse than death.

He stared at me like I’d spoken another language, his face flat and unreadable.

Kyler: What a load of bullshit.
Me: What’s bullshit about it, huh?
Kyler: Everything you just said is complete shit.
Me: Even if you think so, can you at least acknowledge it?
Kyler: Maybe. But it’s hard to even humor it.

Me: Whatever you say.

I went back home frustrated. I know it sounds crazy, but when you move to a different town, you have to learn the rules — and these are this town’s rules. But I’m the insane one, I guess.

I also met the Laymon couple. Nothing unusual about them — that’s all I can say.

About a month later, a Yellow Event occurred. I prepared as usual. While I was setting up, I saw Kyler sitting on a lawn chair, sipping a drink, looking confused about the commotion — or the lack of it. Just a few frantic people hurrying to get inside. I opened the door and yelled, “HEY! GET IN YOUR HOUSE! THIS IS WHAT I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT!” He hesitated but eventually went inside.

Whether or not he lit his candles was up to him.

About two hours later, I heard screaming. I’ve stopped being a heavy sleeper after all these years, so I looked out the window and saw Kyler running from his house, sprinting into the brush a few blocks down. The screams grew distant until they suddenly stopped. He couldn’t say I didn’t warn him.

Then I saw my youngest sister — or something that looked like her — barely visible through the window. I shut the blinds and went back to bed.

Morning arrived, and surprise, surprise — Kyler was gone. His house was emptied the next day. Oh, I should’ve mentioned this earlier: the town has a system. When someone gets taken by the Yellow Outsiders, the town takes custody of all their belongings — everything they bought or owned — and cycles it back into the markets and shops. Which means most of what I own once belonged to someone else.

The Laymons didn’t handle it well. It was too much for them. They tried to move out three days later, but the weather turned violent. What should’ve been an eight‑hour drive stretched into eleven. Their car was found the next day, abandoned thirty‑five miles away — not on the shoulder, but deep off the road. The wind must’ve caught it and thrown it off the highway. They weren’t found. And I can tell you, they didn’t walk all the way there. It would’ve been too risky.

I was putting the two younger boys to bed when I heard her voice outside. It was a Yellow Event. My stomach dropped. I ran downstairs and saw her walking toward one of Them — it had taken the form of Charrie.

I rushed out and pulled her back into the light, slamming the door behind us. At first, I was angry, but that anger broke into tears. I almost lost my oldest daughter, my firstborn, to something that looked like her mother.

I brought her upstairs and asked what happened. She said she saw Mom outside and got confused. Then she told me what Mom said.

Not Charrie: Hey, sweetie.
Kaylene: Mommy? Why are you out here?
Not Charrie: I just wanted to show you a surprise.
Kaylene: A surprise?
Not Charrie: Yes, just for you. It’s almost your eighth birthday, right?
Kaylene: But Daddy says I’m not allowed outside after dark.
Not Charrie: And your daddy’s right, but I’m your mother. You can trust me. It’ll be a good early birthday gift for you.

Kaylene: Umm… okay.

That’s when I ran out and grabbed her. She slept in our room that night. it was difficult to sleep but a few hours later my closed and the night flew by.

I woke up to the sound of rain hitting our window.
Charrie was downstairs with all the kids, eating cereal.

On the other side of the house, Marcus and Laura were playing a board game with their kids, while Fawna and Hans sat talking. Charrie had invited them to spend the morning with us.

When I sat down at the table, a hot cup of coffee was waiting for me. I looked outside as cars passed by, and for a moment, I started thinking.

Why warn people to stay away? That’s what the old me would’ve done.

Newcomers are important — even if some don’t make it through the first night.

That’s better than this town failing to hold back The Yellow and letting its horrors spill into other towns and cities where hundreds of thousands or even millions reside in. Almost no one knows about this place, and even fewer care. But, we’re still important.

I can’t leave. And to be honest, I don’t really want to — or even care to. My roots are too deep here. The risks are too great anyway.

I’ll keep living for as long as I can, for as long as I can protect the people I love.

Yes, I’m accepting this life.

But I want you to think about the choices you make. The problems you face might be bigger than you realize. And even if you want to bring others with you — loved ones, friends — make sure you understand what that means.

Only when you’re sure you can live with that — only then — is it fine to commit to it.

But as of now…

As for me — I look around my house, with everyone I love nearby, talking and laughing — and I know this’ll be the last you hear of me. Life keeps moving, and I have to think about what comes next: the choices of a father, a husband, and a friend.

Goodbye.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
I got pulled into other things and forgot that I had written this.7 years had passed afterwards. Anyway—where was I? Oh, right..

A lot has happened. Too many Yellow Events to count. Too many Newcomers who either stayed or… didn’t. I’m ashamed to admit it, but half the time I didn’t warn them. First impressions matter here, and most of them were rude anyway. I felt bad for their kids, but honestly, the kids weren’t much better.

Anyway, here are the updates.

Fawna found someone. His name’s Hans — quiet guy, a little timid, but good for her. They’ve been married about four years now.

Kaylene is seven. I still can’t believe that much time has passed. Some days it feels like we moved here last week. We also have two sons now, Kethan and Mark, who is 2 and 5 years old. And Marcus and Laura are doing great — they’ve got two kids of their own, Austin and Lina.

I send letters to my family outside the town pretty regularly, and they send some back. My dad’s doing fine, living comfortably. My siblings are too. There isn’t much else to say about them.

Charrie works as a candle maker now. We can never have enough candles. Three years ago we had the infamous Candle Shortage — shipments slowed to almost nothing, and we barely had enough wax to keep the town lit. People had to ration what they had. We lost a lot of good people that year. Long‑timers, too. That’s why you stock up. You don’t wait until you need them.

Well, I guess I should catch you up. No point skipping the details.

After that blackout, it took a couple days before the power came back. By then I’d forgotten I even wrote that last part. Life just kept moving. I watched my family grow. A few months later, Charrie was able to work again, but nothing around here really interested her. So she stayed home for a while, just taking care of the kids and the house

Four years later, we had another kid — Kethan. Things were good for a while. But about five months after he was born, I was at work finishing up when I walked past the candle aisle. It was almost empty. No stock in the back either. That… bothered me. I brush things off too easily most days, but this wasn’t one of them. Something felt wrong. I called my higher‑ups to report it, and I could hear the panic they were trying to hide. Apparently this was the first they’d heard of it.

What confused me was that we make our own candles — almost half our stock comes from the factory here. I asked my coworker about it since his sister works there, but he didn’t know anything. So I called the factory myself. Not my job, not my business, but I needed answers.

The phone rang and rang. Too long. Long enough that my stomach started to twist.

Then someone finally picked up — and I could hear the panic before they even spoke.

Factory Worker: “H‑Hello?”
Me: “Hey, what’s going on? Our candle aisle is almost empty. We need more. Please tell me you’ve got something.”
Factory Worker: “We… we can’t make any more. We’re out of wax. All of it.”
Me: “All… gone?”
Factory Worker: “Yes. And the next wax shipment isn’t for months. Same with the outside candle shipments.”
Me: “So you’re saying we have no wax and no shipments coming anytime soon.”

Factory Worker: “YES! What are you not getting? We can’t make anything. And we won’t have anything for a while.”

It felt like falling into a nightmare.

The next morning, it was everywhere in the papers:
“CANDLE INVENTORY DROPS TO ZERO AS FACTORY SHUTS DOWN PRODUCTION.”  

“OFFICIALS SAY IT MAY BE MONTHS BEFORE SUPPLY RETURNS.”

People lost their minds. They tore through every store, every market, every little convenience shop looking for anything that could burn. It was like Black Friday and the pandemic rolled into one — panic, crowds, shouting, fights.

I didn’t join them. I had a stash. My parents taught me to keep reserves for when things went bad.

And they always said, ‘When shit hits the fan — and it will — at least you’ll be ready while everyone else is scrambling.’

Turns out they were right.

After a few days, the panic finally settled. Everyone was just… waiting. It felt like living in a coastal town bracing for a hurricane — that heavy, awful silence before something hits. If that’s what an apocalypse movie feels like, then damn. I’ve never hated anticipation more in my life.

Whether it was a blessing or a curse, my close friend knew about my stash. I wouldn’t call it a “secret,” exactly — more like “kept away from prying eyes.”

Marcus and his family came over, and so did Fawna and Hans. They wanted to talk about how we were going to get through the shortage, and the next Yellow Events.

I had about thirty‑eight candles total: eleven special candles, nine bright ones, five multi‑wick, and thirteen regular candles in different sizes — not counting the ones already set up around the house.

It turned into one of the most serious, no‑nonsense conversations I’ve ever had. But I want to protect my family… and if I can, my friends’ families too.

After hours of talking and planning, we finally landed on a choice: we’d gather every candle from our houses, combine them, and stay together under one roof.

My place was big enough — I could fit two families without much trouble — and everyone would still have their own room.

Was it the best plan? Not really. But it was easier than trying to divide the candles evenly. Would it work? I hoped so.

For a few weeks, life went back to something close to normal. People relaxed. They let their guard down.

And that’s the worst thing you can do in a crisis.

Because that familiar shade of Yellow started creeping back into the sky.

The moment everyone dreaded… had finally arrived

As we finished setting everything up, lighting the candles and trying to drift into sleep, we could hear the distant cries of the people who hadn’t prepared. Those sounds… they were the price of their final mistake.

Sleep didn’t come easy. It was one of the worst Yellow Event nights I’ve ever lived through.

When the sun finally crept over the horizon, painting everything in soft yellows and oranges, we got up. Ate breakfast. Drank coffee. None of us said a word about the night before.

When I went back to work, I learned four coworkers had been taken. One of them was a good friend of mine — Nathaniel. And it wasn’t just them. Seventeen families were gone. Seven couples. Three newcomers who arrived at the worst possible time.

We held on for two and a half months before resupply finally came. The factory went straight into overdrive, and truck after truck rolled in loaded with candles.

The aisle had to be restocked four times before the shelves stayed full for more than thirty seconds. It was one of the busiest days I’ve had in a long time — the only thing that compared was the time everyone’s batteries died at once and every fire alarm in town started beeping nonstop. People got real bitter then, too.

Anyway… that happened.

That was around the time Charrie decided to get into candle work. Not because she loved it or anything — honestly, I don’t think she ever cared much about candles beyond the basic “don’t die during a Yellow Event” level. But sometimes you take the job that keeps the town running, not the one you’re excited about.

She doesn’t make the candles herself. She handles the scheduling — wax deliveries, wick shipments, production dates — all the behind‑the‑scenes stuff that nobody notices until it goes wrong. And when she’s not doing that, she manages inventory and distributes candles to the stores. Even the tiny mom‑and‑pop skincare shop has to keep a candle section now. It’s just part of life here.

And ever since then, we haven’t had a single shortage. Not one. Things finally stabilized, and honestly… that alone feels like a small miracle.

There’s one thing that’s changed about me over the years: I’ve grown to dislike newcomers. Most who show up are rude, obnoxious, or just straight‑up vinegar. After a while, I stopped hinting to them about the Event.

I guess I became like Phil — bitter, tired, and done wasting breath on people who thought they knew better than the town that kept them alive. You can only watch so many folks ignore warnings before something in you just… shuts off.

But I do regret not warning one family. The Orion family. They didn’t act like the others. And that’s what makes it sit heavier on me now.

A few years ago, a new family moved in, and I assumed they’d be like the last few — loud, rude, or just vinegar. Their family had the usual two parents, but also three sons and one daughter. The daughter was older, maybe fifteen to seventeen, while her brothers were somewhere between six and eleven.

Kaylene was five at the time, and she could talk surprisingly well for her age — something I credit entirely to my amazing wife. She wanted to go play with them.

Kaylene: “Can I go play with them?”
Me: “Ehh… I don’t know.”
Kaylene: “Please?”
Me: “Uhhhh… sure. I don’t see much harm in that. But be back before 6:50, alright?”
Kaylene: “Okay! Thanks, Daddy.”
Me: “And you are not allowed in their house.”

Kaylene: “Alrighty.”

It was around 3:49 when I let her go over. I watched her talk to one of the younger boys while the rest went inside. They ran around, played with the toys left out in the yard, and after about an hour they sat down and talked for nearly fifty minutes. Then they went back to playing.

Time slipped by — 5:42… 6:12… 6:38… 6:46.

That’s when Kaylene came back. She looked happy. Happier than I’d seen her in a while. Like she finally had someone her age to share the world with.

Then I asked—

Me: “So what did you and that boy talk about?”
Kaylene: “He told me all kinds of things! His favorite foods, colors… a bunch of stuff.”
Me: “Sounds like fun.”
Kaylene: “Yeah! But he also told me how hard his family’s life was.”
Me: “Oh? What did he say?”

Kaylene: “I can tell you!”

In her best five‑year‑old words, she explained that he came from the same area my family did. And the more she talked, the more something clicked.

It was Kelter Orion.

He’d changed so much I didn’t recognize him at first. But once I realized… everything came rushing back. Kelter had been one of the best people to be around — funny, thoughtful, caring, always helping someone. He was the reason I met Charrie in the first place. He practically orchestrated the whole thing. He only admitted it after graduation, laughing about how he’d nudged us together.

And now he was here. In my town. On my street.

I needed to warn him. Immediately.

But when I yanked the door open, the first thing I saw was the Yellow — already bleeding across the sky, staining everything with that sick, decaying color.

“Out of all the nights… it had to be tonight?”

They had no idea what was coming. No idea what they were about to face.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night. Every so often I’d look out my window toward their house — no lights, no movement, nothing. The pit in my stomach grew heavier with every hour that passed, all the way until the first hint of sunrise.

As soon as I saw even half the sun crest the horizon, I rushed outside and burst through their front door. Of course, no one was there.

I still can’t believe it was him — Kelter — and that he had a family now. He’d grown up, built a life, made something of himself… only for it all to be thrown away because I couldn’t even bring myself to say hello. Not even a simple greeting. Not even a wave.

If I had just walked over. If I had just warned him. If I had been the neighbor I used to be… things might have gone differently.

But it’s far too late now. I’ll carry them with me for the rest of my life. My cold shoulder cost them everything.

I’m sorry, Kelter Orion.

If only I had known.

A year passed without anything worth remembering — a few Yellow Events, the usual stress at work, the usual tension at home. Same routines, same problems. But about a week after Halloween, the Yellow rolled in again.

Only this time, something was wrong.

I stayed up late that night, half-watching a movie, already expecting “company.” But when I glanced toward the sliding glass doors, I froze.

My older sister was standing there.

And beside her… was me.

Not them, of course. But the first few seconds played out and I knew exactly what they were imitating — or replaying.

It was a memory.

One I’d buried deep.

The night I said something cruel to my sister. Something I still don’t like talking about. She’d been sneaking out with boys, and I said something I never should’ve said. She ran to her room and cried quietly for an hour. I hated myself for it then, and seeing it now — seeing them reenact it — made the guilt feel fresh and sharp again, like it had only happened yesterday instead of seven years ago.

Sixteen minutes later, their shapes shifted.

Now it was my mom and me.

I already knew which memory they were pulling from.

We’d argued about school, grades, chores — the usual things. I was frustrated and angry, and I said something I wish I could erase from existence. Something that hurt her deeply. I regretted it the moment it left my mouth, and even more when my dad found out. I apologized to her for everything, but the memory still stings.

And now the Yellow was replaying it in perfect detail.

They kept dragging up moments I’d shoved into the farthest corners of my mind — things I’d almost forgotten until they forced me to watch them again.

At some point, Charrie came downstairs. She found me curled up on the couch, hands in my hair, shaking. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close.

Charrie: Everything’s going to be okay.
Me: No it’s not.
Charrie: Yes it will.
Me: They keep showing me things I don’t want to remember.

Charrie: You can’t change the past. Don’t let them use it against you. You’re not that person anymore.

A soft tapping sound interrupted us.

We both looked toward the door.

An infant stood outside.

Our baby.

The one we lost.

She’d been born too early, with breathing problems. We named her Rina. She lived only a short time. Kaylene never knew she had a sister.

And now the Yellow had taken her shape — tiny, fragile, crying with those same raspy inhales I remembered too well. It was using her to hurt us. To break us.

Tears blurred my vision. Charrie’s too.

Using the people you love as weapons… there’s nothing crueler.

By the time the Yellow faded, I felt hollow. I slept, but only after crying myself into exhaustion. The next morning, even coffee couldn’t shake the heaviness. I kept replaying everything — the memories I’d buried, the image of my newborn daughter crying outside the glass.

At work, I kept zoning out until coworkers snapped me back. Sleep became difficult. I started reading before bed just to keep my mind from drifting back to that night.

But no matter what I did, the memories lingered — sharper than they’d been in years.

And like always, days kept merging together. Work was the same, and so was household life. Halloween passed — a very terrifying one at that. A haunted house had opened up there. I wasn’t disappointed by it, and there was a hay maze as well. I’ve not been a fan of them since I got lost in one as a kid. Mazes creep me out — the atmosphere is disturbing, and the fact that anyone or anything could be in there with you is a whole other level of creepy. Then Thanksgiving passed, uneventful. Everyone came over. Charrie was stressed for the first half, but Fawna and Laura visited to help her. Two turkeys and many dishes later, it was finished, and everyone loved their cooking. Sorry, I’m getting off track.

It was January when it happened. Strange — it felt like Christmas was yesterday. You know, I wondered what happened to the Blood Moons in the town. I looked it up, and two had already passed while we lived here, and I didn’t see one.

That was until just a week ago.

At first, it was a generic Thursday. I got off work and collected the kids from school, but as I closed in on home, I heard sirens sounding off — and not your typical police, ambulance, or firetruck sirens. It was a deep, almost whale‑like call that pitched low, and at the very end of it was a deep foghorn that echoed. It was some scary stuff. The kids were scared and confused about what was going on. Then an announcement could be heard from the alarms saying, “Alert, Blood‑Red Moon is approaching. Alert, a Blood‑Red Moon is approaching. Stay indoors and let absolutely nothing inside. Don’t even look out your windows. Alert, Blood‑Red Moon warning.” Then the siren kept playing.
“Blood‑Red Moon? What could this mean? Why was it an alert? What’s going to happen?”

I drove home quicker.

Whatever this could mean, it must’ve been very dangerous for them to put an alarm system in place. As I walked into my house, Charrie ran toward me to ask what was happening. I didn’t know what she wanted from me — I knew just as much as she did.

A few knocks came at the front door. I opened it to find Marcus and his family, and Fawna and Hans. Again they asked what was going on. I didn’t know what else they expected — I’m not a high authority. I knew just as much as any of them.

Then a sheriff’s car pulled up. Sheriff Lock ran to the front door and told me this was a very rare event — as rare as a blue moon. He said it was imperative that I put my family in one room. This was the one night when they could force themselves into people’s homes. As the sun went down, it looked like he wanted to say more, but nothing came out. He ran back to his car and sped down the road.

Only one room was big enough to fit everyone. Now, it sounded like candles did almost nothing, but he didn’t say they were useless — we just needed a condensed amount.

Me: Hey, Marcus and Hans.
Marcus and Hans: Yeah?
Me: I need you two to grab whatever candles you have available. There’s only one room that can fit you all, and that’s my bedroom.
Hans: Why? Didn’t the sheriff say—
Me: He didn’t say anything about them, but I’d imagine candles are less effective now. Still, we need a large amount to keep them back.
Marcus: But are you sure? Are you really going to gamble on this theory?
Me: What other choice do we have? This is the best solution I’ve come up with, and I need you to trust me, alright?

Marcus: I—okay.

It was five minutes till night, and the moon was already peeking over the horizon with an orange hue. As everyone started going upstairs, I looked outside and saw my older brother. Of course, it wasn’t him — but as the moon rose higher, I saw the shape contorted, corrupted, and twisted into an abomination that didn’t come close to looking human. The voice sounded broken, distorted into noises only a child could dream up. I couldn’t make out a single comprehensible word.

I can’t even put into words its appearance — the best I can describe is one of those SMF entities: stretched, twisted, cursed. The voices, too, were impossible to describe — dark‑toned and demonic, like they came from the deepest corners of hell.

More figures appeared — some faces I recognized, others I didn’t. I assumed they were family members of the others inside the house.

They bloated toward the glass doors, and I ran upstairs. I slammed the door shut, and Marcus and I started lighting the candles as fast as we could, burning our fingers in the process. The crashing and thumping grew closer, then began to slow. As we finished the last candle, they backed away — just far enough that the stairs creaked under their weight.

I dared not look out.

One person had to stay awake to monitor the candles and make sure nothing tried to get in. As little as that helped, it eased everyone’s nerves just a bit. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hear the screams outside the walls. They didn’t sound human. Some were in tongues I couldn’t recognize, layered with the cries and pleas of real people who hadn’t made it inside in time. Listening to them, I felt survivor’s guilt settling into my bones.

Every time a candle flickered out, I relit it, and even then I could hear the creatures breathing — slow, ragged, like they were trying to breathe for the first time in centuries. The air felt heavier with each breath they took, like the house itself was suffocating.

The shuffling across the skyway and around the house was bad enough, but sometimes the footsteps would stop completely… only for a soft tapping to start on the windows. Not banging — tapping. Like they were testing the glass with a single finger.

Other times, something dragged across the roof, slow and deliberate, like claws tracing the shingles. The whole house groaned under the pressure, as if the Red Moon itself was pushing down on it.

I almost dozed off a couple of times, but each time I snapped awake with my heart pounding. I had to drink energy drinks just to keep myself upright. The caffeine made my hands shake, but it was better than falling asleep.

But they’d inch closer.

The candles would bend toward the door, flames leaning like they were being pulled by something outside. A few flames turned blue for a second before snapping back to normal. That’s when the banging started — slow at first, then harder. It woke the younger kids and a few of the adults. Everyone backed away from the door.

The bangs grew louder and more continuous. The door creaked and bent inward, the wood warping like it was softening under heat. Something slammed against it hard enough to rattle the frame. I was honestly surprised it held up as long as it did.

We added more candles until the creatures backed up again. A few candles had burned through all their wax and wick, so we replaced them. The new ones flared to life with a strange hiss, and the creatures retreated — but only a little. Just enough that the stairs creaked under their weight as they paced back and forth.

Slowly, everyone drifted back to sleep. Marcus offered to take my place, but I was too anxious to even think about lying down. Every time I blinked, I saw movement in the corner of my eye — shadows stretching too far, shapes that didn’t belong.

After five more hours and several close calls, the sky finally began to lighten. But the creatures lingered, their silhouettes pressed against the windows like frost patterns. Only when the first real rays of sunlight hit the house did they finally retreat.

I cautiously looked outside. Our house was in a terrible state. Furniture knocked over and torn, pictures shattered on the floor, tables flipped, glass everywhere. If I hadn’t lived through the night, I would’ve thought a tornado had come through.

The town was worse. Cars were damaged or completely totaled, some crushed like they’d been stepped on. Light posts were bent into the ground at impossible angles. Houses were torn apart inside and out. And the worst part — we lost 351 people. Entire families gone. Couples who would never grow old together. Children who would never see another morning.

Everyone had to rebuild.

It’s hard to imagine that we, out of so many, came out alive. But now we have to gather more people… to bring them into our little corner of Hell.

Part 1 Part 2
Two weeks passed, and there was nothing worth writing about. Life blurred together — work, sleep, taking care of Kaylene. Somewhere in that stretch, a question started nagging at me:

“They must’ve asked for help at some point. There’s no way the outside world doesn’t know.”

So I went looking for Sheriff Tucker. As usual, his old Oldsmobile Delta 88 was parked near the town entrance. I walked up to him.

Me: “Hey, do you know if help was ever sent to this town?”

Sheriff Tucker: “Umm… no, I don’t know exactly. I’ve only been here twenty‑eight years. If you really want that question answered, go to the Chief.”

Me: “The Chief?”

Sheriff Tucker: “Yeah. Chief Stone. He’s been here longer than I have. He oughta know.”

Me: “Alright then. See you later.”

Sheriff Tucker: “Sure. You too.”

So that was a bust. Now I had to talk to their Chief — Chief Stone, apparently. I jogged to the station to see if he was in.

At the front desk, the receptionist pointed me toward an office.

Front Desk: “If you’re looking for Chief Stone, he’s over there.”

Alright then.

Knock knock knock.

Chief Stone: “Come in.”

I stepped inside.

Me: “Hey, Chief Stone.”

Chief Stone: “Just call me Lawston. What do you want? There’s no reason you’d come to me without something important.”

Me: “I was wondering if…”

Chief Stone: “If what?”

Me: “If help was ever sent here.”

He paused. Only five seconds — but the room felt completely silent, like the air itself stopped moving.

His expression shifted from mild annoyance to something heavier. He stared down at his half‑finished cup of coffee before looking back up at me.

Chief Stone: “We did request help. But it’s a long story.”

Me: “I have all day.”

Chief Stone: “If you say so.”

And wow. This town has been through a lot.

He told me he was born here sixty‑four years ago. When he was ten, the town sent a letter asking for help. The military responded — tanks, troops, helicopters, night after night. It looked like they were hunting a serial terrorist.

But when The Yellow came, hundreds of soldiers vanished. Gunfire echoed in the distance, only to stop abruptly. Tanks were found empty. Helicopters fell out of the sky. After a few more companies were lost, the military stopped coming.

Then they erased the town.

They wiped it off maps. The missing soldiers were written off as accidents or encounters with dangerous individuals. The town was treated like it never existed — until, eventually, people really did forget.

Lawston was twelve when the support ended.

Chief Stone:  “My folks used to talk about the old town they lived in,” he said. “Smaller than this one — just a few streets, a diner, a church, a school. Around ’37 they left almost everything behind when The Yellow came. Thought they could outrun it.”

He gave a slow shake of his head.
“But The Yellow followed. It always does. It moves where there’s life — where people laugh, build, start over. That’s what it feeds on.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up.
“If we ever left, if this place went dark, it’d go looking again. And if it ever found a city…” He let the silence hang. “Millions. Gone. Just like that.”

He sighed, voice rough from years of smoke and worry.
“So we stay. We keep the candles burning, we keep the rules, we keep quiet. This town’s the line between The Yellow and the rest of the world. Without us, it wouldn’t stop. It’d spread. And nobody out there would even know what hit ’em.”

Me: “So you’re saying this town’s a sacrificial lamb?”

He gave a dry laugh, no humor in it.

Chief Stone: “Yeah… guess you could call it that. We’re the fence holding the wolf back. If we go, it gets out. And once it’s loose, there’s no stopping it.”

He looked down, thumb tracing the edge of his badge. “I don’t like it. None of us do. But somebody’s gotta stand between The Yellow and the rest of the world. If that means we burn so others don’t, then that’s the job.”

The room went quiet after that — the kind of silence that feels like it’s listening.

Chief Stone: “That’s the whole story, essentially. Is that all you wanted?”

Me: “Yeah. That’s all. I’m… sorry you had to go through all that.”

Chief Stone: “No need to apologize. There’s nothing you could’ve done. Now I need to get back to work.”

Me: “Of course, Lawston. Talk to you later, I guess.”

Chief Stone: “Yeah. Sure.”

So not only did they suffer through The Yellow — they were abandoned and erased by their own country. I doubt anyone would help even today. Even with all their advancements, they’d be just as helpless as us.

A couple months passed after that. Naturally, everything blurred together except for the moments that actually caught my attention. I bought a car — a 1970 Ford Galaxie 500 — definitely an improvement. Marcus is getting married soon to a woman named Laura, which should be interesting. I hadn’t seen Fawna around much, so I figured I’d check on her tomorrow. Oh, and Charrie finally got Kaylene to laugh. That was a good moment.

As night fell, that familiar unsettling Yellow glow crept in. I followed the usual routine: light every candle, cover the windows — the curtains are just a personal preference — and then we went to bed.

Something woke me up later. I tried to fall back asleep, but it wasn’t happening. I got out of bed and headed downstairs… and saw my mom.

Which was strange. They hadn’t mimicked my mom since I first got here.

When it noticed me, it spoke in her voice.

Not‑Mom: “C’mere, sweetheart. I’d like to see your face up close one last time before I go.”

Go? I thought. That wasn’t something they said. They always came back.

I almost asked what it meant, but stopped myself. Apparently that didn’t matter, because it answered anyway.

Not‑Mom: “Oh, you don’t know, do you? You’ll know soon enough.”

Then it turned and walked back into the darkness.

What do I not know? What is it talking about? What does “soon enough” mean?

After that, it went back to the usual routine — trying to lure me into the dark while pretending to be my sister. I checked every candle again, then went upstairs and eventually fell asleep.

When I woke up, Charrie and Kaylene were already downstairs watching TV. I drank my coffee and, like I promised myself, went to check on Fawna. I knocked on her door, but no answer. It was early — 5:20 in the morning — so that was on me. Not everyone wakes up at the crack of dawn.

I went back home and watched old cartoons with Kaylene for a few hours before trying again. I walked over and knocked.

“Fawna? Are you home? Are you awake?”

Nothing.

An hour passed. Still nothing.

Then a thought hit me: Could she have fallen victim? She lived alone. Years of loneliness can wear you down. Maybe she finally listened to one of the voices.

I checked around her house for any sign of her, but found nothing. Eventually I gave up — there wasn’t much else I could do.

The next day, a car pulled into her driveway and Fawna stepped out. I rushed over to ask what happened. Turns out she’d been struggling with some depression and stayed with a friend for a while. That explained why I hadn’t seen her.

I was just glad she was safe.

Nearly a week later, the mail finally came in. It only arrives once a month here, and on those days the post office turns into the equivalent of Black Friday. It reminded me of when we lived in that cheap apartment — bills that don’t matter anymore, piles of advertisements, the usual junk.

And then… a letter.

From my dad.

I hesitated. I hadn’t talked to him in a long time, but maybe it was an update, or something normal for once. I opened it, and this is what it said:

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dear Josh — 6/8/2018

Hello Josh, I hope you’re doing well. I also hope I’m not inconveniencing you. But just some news.

Your mom has passed from her heart problems. She was hoping to see you one last time, but I guess the fact that you’re getting this later means it’s too late to say goodbye. We’ve already held her funeral and buried her.

Sorry you had to hear it from a piece of paper, but I thought I should let you know what happened.

I hope everything is okay there, and I’m proud that you were able to better yourself.

Hope I’m able to talk to you soon.

Love,

Dad”**

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

My heart sank as I read it.

And then it hit me.

That’s what the Yellow Outsider meant — when it took the form of my mother and said it wanted to see my face “one last time before I go.” But how did it know? The letter was dated the day before the Yellow Event. A day before she died.

Does it know things from hundreds of miles away?

That… that shouldn’t be possible.

I showed the letter to Charrie, and she broke down. My mom had helped her become a better person when she was struggling with her own parents. Seeing her cry made something twist in my stomach.

Not only was I not there for my mom…

They knew beforehand.

And now I can’t stop wondering — and dreading — what else they know. Or what they could know.

Part 1
The next morning, over a pot of coffee, I told Charrie everything — the voice, the paralysis, the door. The more I explained, the more uneasy she looked. She kept rubbing her arms like she was cold, even though the house was warm.

About ten minutes later, someone knocked on the front door.

I jogged over and opened it. Sheriff Tucker and Sheriff Lock stood on the porch.

Sheriff Tucker: “Good morning, Josh. Morning, Charrie.”

Me: “Morning, Sheriff Tucker. Sheriff Lock.”

Sheriff Lock: “I see you survived last night.”

Charrie spoke before I could.

Charrie: “Yeah — what the hell was that?”

Sheriff Tucker: “That’s what we’re here to talk about. All your questions will be answered, so just bear with us.”

Me: “Alright.”

We let them in. Charrie offered coffee. Lock accepted immediately; Tucker declined.

Charrie: “Who wants coffee?”

Sheriff Lock: “Oh, yes please. Black, one teaspoon of sugar.”

Charrie: “Coming right up. And you, Sheriff Tucker?”

Sheriff Tucker: “No thanks, I’m good. Appreciate it, though.”

Once everyone settled, I leaned forward.

Me: “So… what is it you wanted to tell us?”

Sheriff Tucker: “I’m sure you experienced what happened last night. And I know you’ve heard people talk about it — especially Fawna. Don’t worry, she’s not in trouble. If she hadn’t warned you, you probably wouldn’t have made it.”

Sheriff Lock: “Yeah. Folks around here think warning newcomers gets you thrown in the prison block. That’s not how it works.”

Sheriff Tucker: “If it was, this town wouldn’t grow at all.”

Me: “I see. But please — explain everything about ‘The Yellow.’”

Sheriff Tucker: “Alright. Here’s the full story.”

He told us the town was built in the 1940s after WWII, during the Baby Boom. They built it far from any city, expecting it to grow into one someday. It never did.

Then, in the mid‑50s, the first Yellow Event hit. The sky turned a shade of yellow no one had ever seen. And then They came — the Yellow Outsiders.

People heard loved ones’ voices. Saw familiar faces. And on that first night alone, 936 people vanished. The town went from nearly two thousand residents to barely a thousand. Entire families gone. Children. Even pets.

The next year, more disappeared.

The town was dying — until someone noticed a single house that hadn’t been touched. No missing people. No voices. They kept candles lit everywhere, just because they liked the look of it.

Turns out, it protected them.

The town bought and made so many candles that from miles above, it looked like a tiny star system. They tried campfires too, but the dry brush caught fire and burned acres before they got it under control.

People tried to leave, but their cars were always found abandoned or flipped on the roadside.

The town modernized into the 60s and 70s, but after that, it froze in time. A few bits of tech here and there, but nothing major.

Then Tucker asked:

Sheriff Tucker: “While we’re here — do you have any electronics?”

Me: “Huh?”

Sheriff Tucker: “Let me rephrase. Do you have anything that lets you interact with the outside world?”

Charrie: “Why?”

Me: “Yeah — why do you want to know?”

Sheriff Lock: “It’s part of our checklist.”

Sheriff Tucker: “Just tell us. I don’t want to rummage through your things. Make this easier on all of us.”

Me: “I… don’t know if I should.”

Sheriff Tucker: “If you’re worried we’ll confiscate anything, we won’t. We just need to keep track of it. You can use it — just… sigh… we’ll explain why if you tell us what you’ve got.”

Me: “Alright… yeah. We both have phones. And I’ve got a full computer.”

Sheriff Tucker: “Is it 90s tech?”

Me: “No.”

Sheriff Lock: “Okay. That’s all we needed.”

Sheriff Tucker: “See, we have a rule about outside tech. You can’t talk about this town. At all. It wouldn’t be so bad if The Yellow didn’t break 99% of people’s resolve. We let the brochures do most of the work — like how they drew you here.”

Me: “I see.”

Sheriff Lock: “Look, I know it sounds scummy. It is technically lying. But there’s a reason.”

Charrie: “And that is…?”

Sheriff Tucker: “We want this town to grow. We need it to grow. It’s not about the money — though we get some. This town hasn’t advanced in decades. It’s one of the last places stuck in time. You’ve seen it — the buildings, the cars, the prices. It’s a nostalgia dream. But with this damn Event happening multiple times a year, people disappear. They don’t stay.”

Sheriff Lock: “That’s why newcomers are exciting. That’s why we were excited to see you. And yeah, The Yellow complicates things, but it doesn’t stop us from celebrating holidays.”

Charrie: “Oh… that’s nice, I guess.”

Me: “This all sounds nice, but… what about leaving? I don’t think I can handle years of this.”

Sheriff Lock: “I’d advise against it. We won’t stop you, but the weather out there is unpredictable and extreme. And The Yellow extends far beyond the town. Being caught out there is a death sentence. Especially with the weather slowing you down — you might get hit by an Event on the road.”

Me: “But when we first came here, the weather was clear. Even on the way back.”

Sheriff Lock: “That’s the strange part. The weather let you pass. It’s rare. Very rare.”

Sheriff Tucker: “Look, I know this is a lot. And you’re expecting a child. You wanted a fresh start. And… well, you’re here now. But this town isn’t all bad. Just follow three rules:

1. Don’t talk about the town.
2. Don’t cause trouble.
3. Don’t get caught by The Yellow.

Do that, and this place can be everything you hoped for.”

Me: “I guess…”

Sheriff Lock: “Hey, don’t look so down. On Sundays, it’s Discount Donut Sunday. Every donut is half off.”

Charrie: “That… actually sounds cool.”

Sheriff Lock: “Right? *whispers* That’s where I spend most of my break.”

They said their goodbyes and left.

I sat there for a long moment, staring into my coffee. I didn’t like the answers I got — but Tucker was right. I shouldn’t let this crush me.

Nearly a week later, work had settled into a dull rhythm. I spent most of the morning managing stock in the back room, trying to pretend the shelves and paperwork were enough to keep my mind off yellow skies and candlelight. By lunch, the walls felt too close, so I stepped outside for a walk around the block.

I wasn’t watching where I was going when I rounded the corner and slammed straight into someone. Hard.

Me: “Oh—sorry, I wasn’t—”

???: “Dude, watch where you’re—wait. Josh?”

I froze. The guy rubbing his shoulder looked familiar in a way that hit me like a memory from another life.

Me: “…Marcus? Marcus Hale?”

His face lit up.

Marcus: “No way. No freaking way. Josh Miller? Since when are you here?”

We both laughed in that stunned, disbelieving way old friends do when the universe throws them together.

Me: “I could ask you the same thing. Last I heard, you moved out of state after graduation.”

Marcus: “Yeah, well… turns out I moved here instead. Long story. Been in this town for, what—five years now?”

Five years. That number sat heavy in my chest.

Me: “Five years? And you never said anything?”

Marcus: “Man, I didn’t think you’d even remember me. Plus, this place is… complicated.”

He said it lightly, but there was something behind his eyes. Something tired.

Me: “Yeah. I’m starting to figure that out.”

Marcus huffed a laugh.

Marcus: “So what dragged you out here? Job? Cheap rent? The world’s most misleading brochure?”

Me: “Pretty much all of the above. And my wife liked the idea of a quiet town.”

Marcus: “Quiet, huh? Yeah… that’s one word for it.”

We stood there for a moment, letting the weight of that hang between us. Then he nudged my arm.

Marcus: “Hey, seriously — it’s good to see a familiar face. Makes this place feel a little less… weird.”

Me: “Trust me, I’m relieved too. I thought I’d have to start from scratch with everyone here. Well… except Fawna.”

Marcus snorted.

Marcus: “Oh, Fawna. Yeah, she’s… something. You’ll get used to her.”

For the first time since arriving, I felt something loosen in my chest. A friend. A real one. Someone who knew me before all of this.

Someone who might actually understand.

The days blurred together until something finally broke the pattern.

The baby came early.

It was overwhelming in the best way — messy, exhausting, beautiful. Charrie cried, I cried, and we named her Kaylene. For a little while, the world felt soft again. But even in that joy, a new fear settled in the back of my mind: someday we’d have to teach our daughter not to trust the voices outside.

That lesson would come sooner than I wanted.

The first sign appeared a few nights later. The Yellow rolled in without warning, staining the sky in that sick, unnatural shade. I still didn’t understand its rhythm — everyone said it was random, sometimes even happening back‑to‑back, though that was rare. We lit every candle in the house and tried to sleep.

Kaylene’s crying woke me sometime after midnight. I sat up, ready to get her, but the space beside me was empty.

Charrie was gone.

My stomach dropped. I moved through the house quickly but quietly, checking the upstairs rooms, then the hallway, then the stairs. I found her in the living room, standing perfectly still, staring out the window.

“Charrie? What are you doing?”

No answer.

I stepped beside her to see what she was looking at — and my breath caught.

Her grandmother stood in the yard.

That made no sense. She’d passed seven years ago. I thought the Outsiders could only imitate the living. I was wrong.

“I… I don’t believe it,” Charrie whispered.

“And you shouldn’t,” I said gently.

“I know but…”

“But?”

Her voice cracked. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen her…”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. Her grandmother had raised her when her mother couldn’t. Losing her had carved a hole nothing ever filled. And now the Yellow was using that hole against her.

The mimic lifted a hand in a slow, familiar wave.

“Charrie, sweetie,” it called softly. “Come here. I’ve missed you.”

The voice was perfect. Too perfect.

“Listen to me,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “That isn’t her. Don’t let it pull you in.”

Before she could answer, barking erupted from a few houses down. Our place sits on a small hill, so I could see into the yards below. A dog was in one of them, pacing and barking at something I couldn’t see.

The porch light flickered. Once. Twice. Then went out.

The barking grew frantic, echoing up the hill. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Then — silence.

Half a minute later, the porch light blinked back on.

The yard was empty.

A cold thought slid through me: It goes after pets too. But why?

I turned back to Charrie. She had sunk into the corner of the room, knees pulled to her chest, sobbing as the mimic outside kept speaking in her grandmother’s voice.

“Please stop,” she whispered to herself. “Please stop pretending to be her… please stop using her voice…”

I knelt beside her and held her until her breathing steadied. Then I guided her upstairs. Before lying down, I walked the house again, checking every candle, making sure each flame was steady and bright.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of my mother — scattered memories, moments I hadn’t thought about in years. I hadn’t seen her since she was taken to the hospital for her heart problems. I didn’t know why she was in my dreams now.

The next thing I knew, morning light was spilling across the room

I grabbed a cup of coffee and savored it. Today was my day off, and I wanted to actually enjoy it for once. After finishing, I told Charrie I was heading over to Marcus’s place to finally catch up properly.

I’d woken up earlier than most people. The sky was still dusky, but the air felt warmer than dusk usually does. A few joggers were out, people walking their dogs, the kind of peaceful morning that almost makes you forget where you live. It reminded me of what happened last night, but I pushed the thought away. Maybe they shouldn’t have left the dog outside during a Yellow event, I told myself. Harsh, maybe, but it wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

Marcus lived only a few streets over. When I reached his house, I walked up the steps and raised my hand to knock. Marcus was an early bird — always had been — unless he’d completely wrecked his sleep schedule.

Before my knuckles touched the wood, the door creaked open on its own.

That wasn’t right.

I stepped inside. The air felt stale, undisturbed. No lights on. No movement. It didn’t look like anyone had been in the house for hours — maybe longer.

A cold thought hit me.

No. He couldn’t have been taken. There’s no way.

I rushed back outside and scanned the ground. That’s when I saw them — boot prints. Heavy ones. Marcus always wore boots; said they made him feel tough. The kind he bought were so solid they left deep impressions in the dirt.

I followed the trail across a field until I saw something that made my stomach drop.

One of his boots. Just sitting there.

I broke into a run, following the direction the prints had been heading.

“Marcus!”
“Marcus!”

“Where are you?!”

My foot caught on something, and I went down hard. When I looked back, I realized I’d tripped over his second boot.

It was lying near the edge of a patch of forest.

I forced myself to look into the trees, hoping — praying — that he’d just fallen asleep somewhere stupid or wandered off drunk.

And then I saw him.

Marcus was crumpled under a tree, slumped like he’d collapsed mid‑step. Beside him were two candles and a matchbox. Matches were scattered everywhere. One candle had burned all the way down. The other was only halfway gone.

I knelt beside him and shook his shoulder. He jolted awake with a panicked gasp and kicked out instinctively, catching me square in the chest and knocking me backward.

When he realized it was me — and that it was daylight — he froze, then apologized over and over. His hands were shaking.

Whatever he’d gone through last night had terrified him in a way I’d never seen before.

When we got back to my place, I finally asked Marcus what had happened. I still didn’t know much about The Yellow, but from the way he looked — pale, shaking, exhausted — I could tell he’d learned something the hard way.

Me: “So… Marcus. What happened?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just stared at the floor.

Me: “Marcus?”

He swallowed hard.

Marcus: “I was home. About to go to bed. And then I heard someone. It was my brother.”

My stomach tightened. Marcus’s brother had died three years ago — beaten nearly to death by criminals, then shot in the head. He’d told me that story once, and it had broken him to say it.

Me: “Marcus… I’m so sorry.”

Marcus: “Yeah. He was a jerk sometimes, sure. But he was my jerk. He taught me things my dad never did.”

I nodded, letting him take his time.

Me: “What happened next?”

He exhaled shakily.

He said the voice sounded exactly like his brother — a voice he hadn’t heard in years. A voice he’d forgotten the details of. He wanted to go toward it. Instinct. Grief. But he remembered it was a Yellow Event.

Then the voice became a shape.

That was what broke him.

He grabbed whatever candles he could find and a matchbox, and — against every rule the town drilled into us — he stepped outside. He lit a candle and walked toward the sound.

I wanted to tell him how unbelievably stupid that was, but I stopped myself. I’d almost fallen for the imitation of my dad once. I had no room to judge.

He must’ve seen the look on my face anyway.

Marcus: “Yeah, I know. It was stupid. Suicidal. But after all these years here… I needed to know. And when they took my brother’s form? That was enough.”

He went on.

He said he walked for what felt like miles. Voices circled him — his mom, his dad, his sisters, his brothers, his closest friends. They overlapped, echoed, blended together until he couldn’t tell where any of them were coming from.

At one point he thought he saw someone and threw his boot at it. He didn’t even know which direction he’d thrown it. Panic had taken over.

He ran blindly until he almost slammed into a tree. He curled up at the base of it, clutching the candle, fighting the urge to answer any of the voices calling his name.

Then the shapes came.

Just outside the candlelight — right where the glow faded — silhouettes appeared. Then faded forms. Then full, perfect imitations of everyone he’d ever known.

They begged him to blow out the candle.
They pleaded with him to walk toward them.
Each one had a different reason.

Each one sounded real.

He threw his other boot at one of them. It dodged — not like a person, but too smoothly, like its joints weren’t quite right.

They were convincing. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a cruel prank. But this wasn’t a prank. This was a hunt.

The candle flickered dangerously more than once. Every time it almost went out, his heart stopped. He knew what would happen if it did.

He told me he forgot to light a second candle until the first was almost out of wick. I remembered how fast The Yellow takes its victims.

Me: “How long did it take you to light the next one?”

Marcus: “Maybe ten seconds.”

Ten seconds. That was nothing.

But he said it felt like the entire night he was out there. The darkness was so complete it felt like a void. His eyelids grew heavy, but he knew falling asleep would be the last mistake he ever made.

Somewhere in that darkness, he did fall asleep.

And somehow, he woke up again.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. He just said, “I guess I was allowed to live another day,” and wiped at his eyes.

I offered to make coffee. He accepted. We sat together for a while, drinking in silence, then talking — really talking — like I’d planned before everything went wrong.

Three hours later, we drove out to his favorite restaurant. Ate. Tried to pretend the world was normal. When we got back, we spent most of the day playing video games.

Eventually I went home and ended the night watching movies with Charrie and Kaylene, grateful for the quiet, grateful for the light, and grateful that Marcus was still here.

I’m not really sure how to start this. I’ve rewritten this first line about ten times already, but nothing sounds right. So I guess I’ll just talk the way I normally would.

My name’s Josh. I’m twenty‑six, born and raised on the outskirts of Montana. I had a decent childhood — loving parents, good siblings — even if we were always living paycheck to paycheck. Maybe that’s why I ended up struggling the way I did.

Me and my wife, Charrie — she was twenty‑four and pregnant at the time — were stuck in a crappy apartment with even crappier neighbors. I couldn’t hold down a job. Half the places weren’t hiring, and the ones that were never called me back. My dad offered to help with rent until we got on our feet, but I hated taking his money. He’d already done enough for me. He shouldn’t have had to keep bailing us out.

I didn’t want that life for my kid. I didn’t want them growing up the way I did, counting every dollar, listening to arguments through thin walls, wondering if the power would stay on another month.

Then one day we got the mail. Nothing special — bills, junk, ads. But tucked in the stack was a brochure. And for some reason… this one caught my eye.

In big bold letters it said, “WELCOME TO YOUR NEW BEGINNING.” I started reading, and honestly, it seemed too good to be true. Affordable housing? Plenty of jobs? Low crime? Friendly neighbors? I kept telling myself it had to be a scam, but something in me wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it.

I checked the location. It wasn’t that far — maybe a five or six hour drive. Close enough to try, far enough to feel like a real change.

I showed my wife. At first she was skeptical, and I don’t blame her. But the more she read, the more that skepticism softened. Hope does that to people.

Still, we weren’t going to pack up our whole lives just to chase something fake. So we made a plan: in the morning, we’d drive out there, look around, and see for ourselves if it was worth it.

And so it began: me and my wife on a road trip, something we didn’t get to do often. It felt like a breath of fresh air. We were in my dad’s 1989 Ford Tempo, which already made the whole thing feel like stepping back in time.

The drive itself wasn’t anything special. We left early—early enough that the only place open was a little roadside restaurant serving breakfast. For a cheap meal, it was some of the best damn pancakes and coffee I’ve ever had. It put us both in a good mood, like maybe this was a sign things were finally turning around.

It was about 11:36 when we finally saw a town. Strange thing was, there was no name anywhere. No welcome sign, nothing. What really threw me off, though, were the cars. Old ones. A lot of them. Some were pulled off to the side of the road, others looked like they’d crashed a little ways off into the brush. I remember hoping everyone was okay, but the cars themselves were from the 60s and 70s, and from the look of them, whatever happened had been a while ago—months, maybe.

Then we actually pulled into the town, and man… it was like a blast from the past. It felt like time never moved on here. Vintage cars from the 60s and 70s lined the streets. The buildings were colorful, all these stylized little mom‑and‑pop shops. The houses were a decent size too—those bigger ones had to belong to the richer folks, I figured.

It looked amazing. My dad always talked about how colorful and stylized buildings used to be, and standing there, seeing it with my own eyes, I realized he wasn’t kidding.

After about an hour of looking around, we got pulled over by the cops—well, the sheriffs. They walked up to the car and asked what we were doing out there.

Sheriff 1: Afternoon, sir.

Me: Oh—hi, Sheriff. Did we do something wrong?

Sheriff 1: No, nothing like that. We just didn’t recognize this car. Figured we’d stop by and see what your deal was.

Charrie: We were just looking around. We saw the brochure and thought we’d come check it out.

Sheriff 2: Oh really?

Me: Yeah.

Sheriff 2: And what do you think of our little town?

Me: It’s a pretty nice place. I honestly thought that brochure was too good to be true, but… looks like it wasn’t.

Sheriff 1: Oh, it’s all true. Trust me, I was just as skeptical as you when I first read it.

Charrie: I think it’s settled. You’ll be seeing us soon.

Sheriff 2: How soon?

Me: Probably a week.

Sheriff 1: Sounds good. Aaand… I don’t think I caught your names.

Me: Right—my name’s Josh, and—

Charrie: —and I’m Charrie.

Sheriff 1: I’m Sheriff Tucker. Pleasure to meet you both.

Sheriff 2: And I’m Sheriff Lock.

Me: Nice to meet you too. If you don’t mind, we’ll get going so we can start packing.

Sheriff 1: Alright then. I’ll let you two get on your way. You don’t want to be out here after seven.

Me: Why?

Sheriff 2: Coyotes. More than you’d believe.

Sheriff 1: And plenty of bears.

Charrie: Oh—then I guess we really should get going.

Me: Yup, we sure will. See you guys next time.

Sheriff 1 & 2: You too.

On the way back, we saw a big truck coming down the road, towing the old cars — the crashed ones and the ones just sitting on the shoulder. We pulled over and asked what they were doing, even though it was pretty obvious.

One of the guys called back, “Well, you see, we get teens who think it’s funny to sneak out and trash our cars. When we find out who’s been doing it, they’ll be in a world of trouble.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that except, “Oh… well, good luck with that. Have a nice afternoon.”

“Yeah, you too,” he said, but his tone was annoyed. To be fair, if teens really were trashing cars, I’d be annoyed too. A perfectly good car going to waste is a damn shame. I just hoped they wouldn’t be too hard on whoever did it.

After we drove off, Charrie looked at me.

“Are you sure teens are really doing that? The brochure said low crime.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but it’s not like they’re robbing a store. Still sucks to ruin a good car.”

She nodded. “Alright then.”

We got home later that day and slept for a while. When I woke up, I called my dad and asked if he could come over to help us pack.

Me: “Hey Dad, could you help me and Charrie pack up?”

Dad: “Why? What’s going on?”

Me: “We found a better place to live. And you’re better at packing than I am.”

Dad: “Heh… sure, why not. Be nice to spend some time with my son.”

Me: “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

He showed up with some boxes and even offered to pay for the moving truck, but I told him no. He’d already done enough for us. He didn’t need to keep carrying us. He looked a little sad when I said that, but then his expression shifted — like he was proud of me. Like he could finally see me climbing toward real independence. And honestly, that felt good to say out loud.

Me and my wife scraped together enough money to buy a small truck. It wasn’t much, but it had just enough space for everything we owned. Packing took four days — faster than we expected, but that’s my dad for you. I gave him his car back, said a final goodbye, and then we headed out.

The drive was just as boring as the last one. But this time we had enough sunlight to see that they really had cleaned up all the cars on the side of the road. Every single one.

We pulled into town at 5:21 p.m., exhausted… but honestly? It felt worth it.

Conveniently, we ran into Sheriff Tucker as soon as we pulled in. He told us how glad he was that we came back, then said we could sleep in one of the parking lots for the night — that tomorrow would be a big day. We didn’t argue. We were exhausted.

The next day really was big. We woke up to someone knocking on the window.

knock knock knock  
me and my wife snoring  
knock knock knock  
more snoring  

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Me: “Oh—wha? What’s going on?”

It was a house salesman.

Salesman: “Morning. I was told you’re new in town, so I’m here to help get you settled.”

Me: “Oh. Okay. When?”

Salesman: “Soon, preferably. We don’t have all day.”

Me: “Understood.”

After I woke Charrie up, he took us around the neighborhoods. The houses we assumed were for the rich were actually cheap enough for us to afford. Then we saw the house — the one that caught both our eyes. Two stories, four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a finished basement, a wide kitchen, a big living room, and a decent master bedroom. All for $10,600. Way better than the $400,000+ we were used to seeing.

But something felt off. Every windowsill had a small candle sitting on it. I finally asked.

Me: “Hey, why are there candles on the window sills?”

Salesman: “They’re for future use. I wouldn’t worry about them yet.”

Me: “Okay then.”

The house was perfect, but we had a problem — we only had a couple hundred dollars. When we told him, he frowned for a moment, then said:

Salesman: “No worries. As long as you can pay for the house by the end of the year, it’s yours. Just promise me you’ll keep up your end of the bargain, alright?”

Me: “Uh… yeah. Sure.”

It was strange that he let us have it without the money upfront, but I didn’t question it too hard. As long as we could pay by the end of the year, like he said, everything would be fine.

The next thing I knew, a moving crew was already unloading all our things into the new house. While they worked, I stepped outside to get some air. That’s when I noticed a man across the street — my soon‑to‑be neighbor — staring at me with a look I could only describe as concerned annoyance.

I walked toward him to ask if something was wrong, but he spoke first.

Neighbor: “You made a mistake coming here. A big one.”

I froze.

Me: “Wh‑what do you mean?”

Neighbor: “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Before I could say anything else, he turned and went back inside. No explanation. No context. Just that.

I stood there, confused, until another neighbor came hurrying out of her house, practically jogging toward me.

She introduced herself between breaths. Her name was Fawna.

Fawna: gasp “Oh—hello—” wheeze, cough “How’s it going?”

Me: “It’s going fine… um, what’s up with that neighbor over there?”

Fawna: small cough “Oh, that’s Phil. He’s always been cryptic. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Me: “But why? And why did he say I made a big mistake coming here?”

She glanced around, then lowered her voice.

Fawna: “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I moved here almost a year ago. Phil’s been here… nine years, maybe? He’s seen things.”

Me: “Okay… so what did you want to tell me?”

Fawna: “You’re new here, right?”

Me: “Yeah?”

She leaned in, whispering now.

Fawna: “Well… you’ve been tricked.”

Me: “What? How?”

Fawna: “We get this Event we call The Yellow. And to put it simply… it’s dangerous.”

still whispering “I can’t tell you too much without getting in trouble, but listen — don’t trust the voices outside in the dark. And those candles you saw on the windowsills? Light them. They’ll help you survive.”

Me: whispering back “What the hell are you talking about?”

Fawna: “I can’t give details. Just… promise me you’ll make it through your first night.”

Me: “Uh… okay?”

Fawna: “Good. Thank you.”

She hurried back to her house, leaving me standing there replaying everything she’d said. The Yellow? Voices in the dark? Candles? None of it made sense.

When I went back inside, the moving crew had already finished unloading the truck. I said I should return it, but one of the workers waved me off, saying they’d handle it.

“Okay… sure. Here are the keys.”

He didn’t seem suspicious — just helpful. Almost too helpful.

We set up a bed in the master bedroom and tried to get comfortable, but my mind kept circling back to Phil’s warning… and Fawna’s whisper.

The next few days were… alright. Better than alright, honestly. I managed to land a job as a store manager. I’d never been one before, but I’ve always been good at keeping things organized, so it felt natural enough. What surprised me was how many open jobs there were. Dozens. It was almost hard to choose.

The pay was only $3.55 an hour, but after looking at the prices around town, it made sense. Most things were dirt cheap — two cents here, a dollar there, maybe three dollars if you were splurging. The only exception was the candle aisle.

There was an entire section dedicated to candles: plain ones, scented ones, tall, short, wide, thick — every shape you could imagine. And unlike everything else, those were expensive. Fifteen to twenty‑eight dollars depending on how long they burned, how many wicks they had, or how bright they were.

Strange, if you ask me. But I didn’t think too hard about it.

We also needed a car, since the one I’d been using belonged to my dad. Every vehicle for sale was a classic — nothing newer than the 70s. I didn’t need a station wagon, and I wasn’t a farmer, so a truck felt unnecessary. A coupe or sedan would do.

I had my eye on an early‑70s Ford Galaxie 500, or maybe a late‑60s Cadillac Coupe DeVille. But in the end, I settled on an early‑70s Cadillac Fleetwood. When I asked the salesman if he could hold it for me, he just shrugged.

“No promises. If someone else wants it, they can take it. If you want it, get the money fast. Otherwise it’s up for grabs.”

Fair enough. I figured I’d bike for now. I needed the exercise anyway.

Back at the house, we finished unpacking. The days were peaceful — mostly peaceful. Fawna kept stopping by, knocking on the door to introduce herself to Charrie. She was almost too enthusiastic about it, but Charrie didn’t mind. She liked the company.

Honestly, it felt like the fresh start I’d been hoping for. Sure, I was getting paid less, but the prices were so low it didn’t matter. Charrie checked in at the local hospital — a medium‑sized place, maybe two stories tall, fifty to seventy rooms. The baby was due in two months. We were excited. Nervous, but excited.

For the first time in a long time, I thought I’d made the right decision.

It was the best decision I’d made.

Until four days later.

The next three days were nothing special, but I kept overhearing people talk about some kind of event that was “due any day now.” They said they hadn’t seen it in two months, so it had to happen soon. I remember feeling a little disturbed by that, but for some reason it didn’t stick with me. I couldn’t tell you what was going through my head at the time.

Then came the fourth day.

Me and my wife were sitting in the living room — Charrie reading a book, me watching TV — when someone knocked on the front door. I stood up, already guessing who it might be. One of the sheriffs, maybe. Or Fawna. Or someone else from the neighborhood.

It was Fawna.

But she looked… worried. Really worried. She didn’t even say hello. She just pointed up at the sky.

The whole horizon was yellow.

“Huh… yellow,” I said. “The sun’s setting, but something feels off about the color. There’s no blue anywhere. And the sun’s barely touching the mountain.”

I asked her what it meant, and her face changed instantly — like she was trying not to panic. She checked the time, swallowed hard, and said only one thing:

“Do not exit your house after 7:00.”

Then she ran back to her place without another word.

It was weird. Really weird. But the longer I stared at that sick shade of yellow, the more uncomfortable I felt. Like someone far away was watching me. Like the sky itself was looking back.

Then I noticed the lights.

Tiny flickers in people’s windows. Not bulbs — candles. Every house I could see had them. Dozens of them.

And suddenly everything clicked.

A strange event.  
Fawna’s whispering.  
The entire aisle of candles.  

This sky.

“Wait… no. No, this can’t mean—”

I didn’t want to believe it.

I slammed the door shut.

Charrie looked up from the couch, confused.

Me: “Quick — light the candles. Now.”

Charrie: “Wh‑what? What’s going on?”

Me: “I’ll explain everything soon. Just light them. Please.”

Charrie: “…okay.”

It took maybe three minutes to light every candle in the house. As soon as the last wick caught, Charrie turned to me.

Charrie: “Now are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Me: “Yeah. Fawna hinted that something was coming. I’ve overheard people talking about an event… they call it The Yellow.”

Charrie: “The what?”

Me: “The Yellow. I don’t know much, but everyone says it’s dangerous. I’m seeing candles lit in every house, and Fawna ran inside the second she checked the time. Speaking of—what time is it?”

Charrie: “It looks like… 6:57.”

Me: “She told me not to leave the house after seven. I don’t know why.”

Charrie: “Isn’t that just Fawna being… Fawna?”

Me: “No. She wasn’t her usual self. She was scared. And I don’t think you’ve seen the sky yet, have you?”

Charrie: “Not recently. Why?”

Me: “Take a look.”

There was a long pause.

Charrie: “…yeah, it’s a little yellow. A bit off, but that could just be the sunset.”

Me: “The sky shouldn’t be that shade of yellow. At all.”

Charrie: “I get your point, but… could you be overreacting?”

Me: “I’m not. I’m connecting the pieces as I go. Everyone in town talks about this like it’s a horrible event. I don’t know the details, but just trust me for now. Okay?”

Charrie: “…okay.”

For the next few hours, we tried to sleep. Or at least pretend to. But sometime in the night, I woke up to a familiar voice calling from outside.

Charrie was fast asleep beside me.

I checked the candles — a few had burned out. I relit them quickly, noticing they only had a few hours left in them.

Then, moving carefully, I went downstairs and looked out the back window.

And I saw my dad.

Me: “Dad? What are you doing out here?”

Dad?: “I’m here to see my son grapple the bearings. So far, I’m impressed.”

Me: “Dad, you’re old, you wouldn’t norm—”

And then it hit me.

Fawna’s whisper from last week echoed in my head:

“Do not trust the voices outside in the dark.”

That wasn’t my dad.

I stopped responding, but whatever was out there didn’t stop. It kept calling my name. It kept trying to be him — the tone, the cadence, the little phrases only he used.

Finally, I snapped.

Me: “Please stop using his voice. STOP USING HIS APPEAR—”

My body froze.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink. Panic surged through me as I stood there, locked in place.

Not‑Dad: “Please come over here so I can see how grown up you’ve gotten.”

I tried to say no, but nothing came out. The words formed in my mind, but my mouth wouldn’t move. It was like my thoughts weren’t translating into speech anymore.

My legs moved on their own.

Slowly, step by step, I walked toward the back door. My hand lifted toward the knob. I fought it — every muscle screaming — but I couldn’t stop myself. I was inches away from opening it when a hand grabbed my shoulder.

I could move again.

Charrie: “What are you doing down here? Why were you about to open the door?”

Me: “I—I couldn’t move. My body wasn’t mine anymore. I couldn’t speak. And… wait, why are you awake?”

Charrie: “I heard yelling. You weren’t in bed, so I checked upstairs, and when I couldn’t find you, I came down here and saw you reaching for the door. What were you doing?”

Me: “I heard my dad. I saw him. Out there. Whatever it was… it tried to imitate him. And I believed it. At first. But then I remembered what Fawna said. If I’d remembered sooner, I wouldn’t be standing here. And if you hadn’t grabbed me, I’d be out there with… whatever that thing is.”

Charrie: “Really? umm, i'm sure that you just imagined it. it is late at night and you probably just woke up. so let’s just go back to bed, alright?”

Me: “I’ll try.”

We went upstairs. It wasn’t easy — I kept hearing my dad’s voice drifting through the walls, soft and patient, like he was waiting for me to slip up. But eventually, exhaustion won. I closed my eyes.

I woke to sunlight.

That was one of the most terrifying nights of my life. And that’s what everyone here deals with? No wonder Phil acted the way he did. No wonder Fawna was so scared.

That was horrifying.

I just hope I won’t have to face it again anytime soon.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
A few weeks later, more newcomers began to appear, filling the spaces where families and couples used to live. Every few days, another moving truck rolled in. It got to the point where they felt more like tourists than residents — smiling, taking pictures, asking about local landmarks — but they were here to stay.

One of them… his name was Tyler. Or maybe Kyler. Either way, he was an outgoing guy — energetic, maybe a little too much for his age. Thirty‑two, with a laugh that carried across the street. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him. He seemed respectful, so I walked up and sparked some small talk.

He told me he’d come all the way from Texas. Said he wanted to move away from his parents — controlling, always watching, always in his business. Moving out gave him a chance to restart.

I dropped him a hint about what goes on in this town. He looked at me like I was joking. He chuckled, then his expression shifted — serious, almost offended, like I’d said something cruel.

Kyler: Alright, this has gotta be a joke. There’s no way you’re being serious.
Me: I am being serious. I have no reason to joke with you.

Kyler: Yeah, sure. Next thing you’ll tell me is the sky turns yellow like some cheesy horror movie.

I flinched when he said that. Then I just told him the truth.

Me: Look, you have to believe me. I’ve been here seven years — I know what I’m talking about. You can ask damn near anyone and they’ll tell you the same thing. When the sky turns yellow, they appear. They mimic those you love, those you miss, those you care about more than anything. But you can’t go outside when that happens. No one knows what happens if you do, but getting caught is probably worse than death.

He stared at me like I’d spoken another language, his face flat and unreadable.

Kyler: What a load of bullshit.
Me: What’s bullshit about it, huh?
Kyler: Everything you just said is complete shit.
Me: Even if you think so, can you at least acknowledge it?
Kyler: Maybe. But it’s hard to even humor it.

Me: Whatever you say.

I went back home frustrated. I know it sounds crazy, but when you move to a different town, you have to learn the rules — and these are this town’s rules. But I’m the insane one, I guess.

I also met the Laymon couple. Nothing unusual about them — that’s all I can say.

About a month later, a Yellow Event occurred. I prepared as usual. While I was setting up, I saw Kyler sitting on a lawn chair, sipping a drink, looking confused about the commotion — or the lack of it. Just a few frantic people hurrying to get inside. I opened the door and yelled, “HEY! GET IN YOUR HOUSE! THIS IS WHAT I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT!” He hesitated but eventually went inside.

Whether or not he lit his candles was up to him.

About two hours later, I heard screaming. I’ve stopped being a heavy sleeper after all these years, so I looked out the window and saw Kyler running from his house, sprinting into the brush a few blocks down. The screams grew distant until they suddenly stopped. He couldn’t say I didn’t warn him.

Then I saw my youngest sister — or something that looked like her — barely visible through the window. I shut the blinds and went back to bed.

Morning arrived, and surprise, surprise — Kyler was gone. His house was emptied the next day. Oh, I should’ve mentioned this earlier: the town has a system. When someone gets taken by the Yellow Outsiders, the town takes custody of all their belongings — everything they bought or owned — and cycles it back into the markets and shops. Which means most of what I own once belonged to someone else.

The Laymons didn’t handle it well. It was too much for them. They tried to move out three days later, but the weather turned violent. What should’ve been an eight‑hour drive stretched into eleven. Their car was found the next day, abandoned thirty‑five miles away — not on the shoulder, but deep off the road. The wind must’ve caught it and thrown it off the highway. They weren’t found. And I can tell you, they didn’t walk all the way there. It would’ve been too risky.

I was putting the two younger boys to bed when I heard her voice outside. It was a Yellow Event. My stomach dropped. I ran downstairs and saw her walking toward one of Them — it had taken the form of Charrie.

I rushed out and pulled her back into the light, slamming the door behind us. At first, I was angry, but that anger broke into tears. I almost lost my oldest daughter, my firstborn, to something that looked like her mother.

I brought her upstairs and asked what happened. She said she saw Mom outside and got confused. Then she told me what Mom said.

Not Charrie: Hey, sweetie.
Kaylene: Mommy? Why are you out here?
Not Charrie: I just wanted to show you a surprise.
Kaylene: A surprise?
Not Charrie: Yes, just for you. It’s almost your eighth birthday, right?
Kaylene: But Daddy says I’m not allowed outside after dark.
Not Charrie: And your daddy’s right, but I’m your mother. You can trust me. It’ll be a good early birthday gift for you.

Kaylene: Umm… okay.

That’s when I ran out and grabbed her. She slept in our room that night. I didn’t sleep at all.

I’ve tolerated this town’s rules for years — kept quiet, followed orders, tried to live normally. But no more.

I know what you’re thinking: “Only after you almost lost your daughter do you now want to do something about it? “ 

And you’re right to think that. I’ve asked myself the same thing every hour since that night.

But listen — when you live here long enough, silence becomes survival. You stop asking questions because questions get people noticed. You stop warning others because warnings get people taken. I thought keeping my head down would protect my family. I thought if I followed every rule, we’d be safe.

I was wrong.

Seeing Kaylene almost walk into the dark changed everything. It wasn’t just fear — it was clarity. I realized the rules don’t protect us; they protect them. The town’s silence feeds the Yellow. Every newcomer who arrives, every family that replaces the last — it’s all part of the same cycle.

So yes, I’m speaking now. but its probably too late. But if breaking Rule One means someone out there hears this and decides not to come here, then it’s worth it.

I’ll be in serious trouble for this, but if it stops more people from gambling their lives on this cursed town, then fine. Let them come for me.

Whatever you do, don’t come here.  

You’ll lose more than peace or sanity. You’ll lose your life — and maybe the lives of the people you love.

This town is a trap. It always has been. I fell for it, just like so many others. Don’t make the same mistake.

This is my final warning.