Dear Ms. Alison Sloan,

News of your arrival in Sandhaven has driven our fractured community to a breaking point. By the time you read this, I’m sure you will have understood that for yourself.

We embraced more businesses; we settled for new neighbors. Nobody asked for a gimmick. The opening of The Clairborne Theater will be the final straw in a series of unwelcome additions to our town. We see it for what it is: the affluence you want to invite in, and the hardship you want to haul out. If our home continues to transform at this pace, the backlash will be uglier than you’re prepared for.

To avoid the worst of this, you will need my help.

Enclosed with this letter is the script of Banebirth, an original screenplay written by my brother, Charlie Casey. The story follows a tribe of early humans and their first encounters with an emergent prehistoric predator, a tale of tension and strife mirroring the challenges of integration with Sandhaven’s newer residents. As the celebrity ambassador of the Frontier Development Group, your endorsement of this screenplay would be a visible gesture of goodwill to those of us who’ve felt sidelined during the implementation of the commercial and residential development across our town.

Your successful film career and my lifelong experience as a local with aspirations in the entertainment industry would ensure this screenplay is properly adapted. I could shape the preparation and rollout, as my family’s name holds weight here. Our partnership would steer Sandhaven toward a more peaceful and prosperous future.

I must admit that the success of this project would also provide my family with a lifeline. Though your sponsors only see a struggling town to strip and repurpose, Sandhaven isn’t just a place where we live. For many of us, it’s part of who we are.

When you find you need my help, don’t hesitate to contact the number below. And please do not misplace this drive, as I will not be able to produce another.

Sincerely,

Ingersoll Casey

The cursor rested behind his signature. Soll fixated on the blinking static line, a panting sprinter forced to race across the page. His fingers fidgeted, tempted to send it on another course of reconstruction, but nothing else felt fit for change. Finally, it was ready.

Ready to be in the hands of someone who mattered. Someone with talent, influence, and the resources to fulfill its potential. Someone with the power to change lives. And finally, it would be out of the hands of someone with none of that.

Time to deliver it.

Within a week, she would read it—or she’d be long gone, the opportunity shuttered, and the mundane rhythm of life in Sandhaven resumed.

Not an option.

Beyond his bedroom window, the sun dipped behind the distant treeline overlooking Main Street. Crowds were probably arriving, all crossing paths for the first time, trading wary glances as they took in the new scenery. Suspicion was probably thick in the air, billowing from the old guard while they seethed. But the newer locals would mask it entirely. That was the intention: an idyllic atmosphere for the reveal of their latest investment.

Soll skimmed the message a final time as if the words might’ve changed. Days of revising, pacing, and doubting, all reduced to a few paragraphs. He sprang from his desk, weaving through piles of half-unpacked boxes strewn across the room. At the printer in the hallway, he plucked the warm paper, folded it, and slid it into an envelope. Just enough space left for a companion.

The white USB waited in the laptop. A window on the screen displayed the only file it carried, one Alison Sloan couldn’t miss, if he could only get it into her hands.

Soll returned to his desk and gently withdrew the drive like a loaded syringe. With the same tenderness, he sealed it into the envelope and tucked it into his backpack.

Pages filling the screen vanished with a few swift clicks. Search history—deleted. Recycling bin—emptied. File changes—discarded. He wiped the keys to remove the panicked, oily stamps from his fingertips. One final check confirmed any remaining evidence had been scrubbed.

He shut the laptop and cradled it in his arms. Hurrying through the disarray, he left the room and crossed the hallway to the next bedroom door. His trembling hand hovered over the knob. Ticks of the wall clock chopped the silence as he pressed his ear to the door.

All quiet.

He slowly turned the knob and pushed it forward.

Dusky sunlight splashed across sheets folded tight on the bed. A warm breeze slipped through the window cracked open an inch. The desk’s surface was bare. He crept toward it, slinking past the shelf, neatly arranged with books flanking a gallery of framed certificates and awards.

Click.

The latch of the front door snapped from down the hallway. Soll stiffened. Creaking hinges groaned into the silence, followed by two bickering voices. They were early.

“Don’t be like that, Charlie. You’re getting stronger every visit. I know it won’t be long before you’re back to normal, or at least closer. God willing, maybe you’d even be able to walk—”

“No, I won’t.”

The atmosphere soured with the squeaking of the wheels across the hardwood floor.

“Be encouraged, son! You’ll get better if you continue to work at this pace. They said it today!”

“I know what they said. I was there too, remember? I’m telling you, it’s impossible, so stop fantasizing that I’ll be crippled one day and an athlete the next.”

Soll returned the laptop to the desk and scurried back to his room under the cover of a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Disabled, Charlie. Words are powerful; that’s why I keep telling you to pray about it. But maybe it’ll mean more coming from your brother. Why don’t we tell him the good news?”

Charlie’s voice dropped to a sharp whisper that barely reached down the hall. “Stop trying to force this! Just because he’s living here again doesn’t mean I want anything to do with him.”

His mother retorted in an equally faint whisper, “If you keep being like this, you’ll drive away everyone who loves and cares about you.” Kim Casey’s voice suddenly rose. “Soll, what are you up to in there?”

Soll counted down, stretching a smile over his face before venturing from his room. His mother’s beleaguered face and his little brother’s slouch resolved as he strolled down the hall.

“I’m here, Ma. Just…reading.” He reluctantly regarded his brother. “How did it all go, Charlie?”

“Dr. Jones said there’s a potential for a total recovery with the use of both legs. He said he’s never seen a patient with the determination Charlie has. Don’t you remember how discouraged we were from believing it just a few months ago? God willing, soon enough we’ll look back on this like it was all a nightmare…”

Charlie’s low gaze didn’t acknowledge either of them, only lingering on Soll’s backpack.

Soll tucked it behind him. “I hope—I know we will. And I’m gonna do whatever I can to help you get there. Anything you need, Charlie, just say the word. We can try the exercises the doctor suggested.”

Kim hesitated. “No need to worry about that, Soll. I’ve got it handled…”

“And I’m going to help you handle it!” insisted Soll. His hand reached to affirm his intention onto Charlie’s shoulder, which jerked back as if repelled by a magnetic force.

“Your support is more than enough,” Kim reassured. “But what you both could always do is join me to visit your dad. I know he’d be happy to see more of your progress, Charlie. And maybe if he sees your face, Soll, it’d stir some old memories. That could bring him back to his right mind.”

A cold silence wedged between them. Soll glanced at the cluster of family portraits covering the walls, lingering on one. The four stood beneath a sprawl of digital billboards and fluorescent city lights. His father squeezed them together while they beamed into the camera. Despite the resemblance in their broad smile, deep cedar skin, and woolly black hair, the exuberant man in the frame was a distant, faded memory.

“Maybe we could talk about this a little later? I actually have to leave,” Soll blurted out.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “And to where would that be?”

“Into town,” Soll replied. He hesitated, gathering himself before adding, “I really gotta go or I’m gonna be late. Is there any way I could drive your—”

Kim held up a hand. “Absolutely not! You’re not about to ruin any car of mine! Buy another one of your own, and you can do what you want.”

“But it’ll only take me ten minutes versus a half-hour ride!” he pleaded. “There’s nothing to worry about! I’m going for something important, so I’ll be careful, I promise!”

“Important? I know you’re not heading there to try to meet that actress lady. I thought you were done with all that,” Kim groaned. “They’re not looking to discover anyone, honey. If it didn’t happen in New York, why would it happen in Sandhaven? It’s time to get focused, Soll. Time for you to find some proper direction, starting with keeping a car on the road.”

Soll’s jaw tightened. “Fine. I guess I’ll ride my bike like a child.”

“Seems fitting,” Charlie scoffed, gliding out of the room and down the hallway toward the door Soll had just closed. Kim shook her head as he disappeared into his room.

“You think that’s a good idea with how things have been going around town? I’ve been hearing a lot of scary stories recently, and I decided I don’t like you riding around after dark. Folks around here have gone from protesting to straight-up causing trouble. I don’t want you caught up in any of that…”

“Ma, what are you even talking about?”

“Lots of scary things! The new neighbors are trying to get the police involved. They said they’re getting stalked and harassed, talking about they’ve spotted folks going through the woods near that new neighborhood off Sycamore Road. That’s the route you take! We don’t need to give them any chance to suspect you…”

Minutes ticked by as Soll fidgeted, searching for another opportunity to slip out.

“And you should stay clear of that grand opening tonight. Those Fair Share folks will be there, and their protests have only gotten more erratic the longer they don’t get their way. No doubt they’ll be on their worst behavior tonight. I’m starting to worry someone’ll get hurt sooner or later. Other folks can get away with it, but let us get caught up in it one time...” Kim shook her head. She watched his focus swing from her face to the door as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Soll, are you listening to me?”

He groaned, imagining what other absurd gossip finally drove her to embrace the conspiracy. “I’ll be fine. Those people are only after the transplants. Anyone could tell I’m from here.”

A weary sigh escaped her lips. “You’d better hope. I’m so tired of all this nonsense. Looking out for your dad, taking care of your brother, and worrying about whatever you’re getting up to is just becoming too much for me. I told you, some of those ‘transplants’ are trying to snatch up this house too, and making some pretty good offers at that. Give me one more reason, and I’m selling this place and taking Charlie and Dad to North Carolina to live with Aunt Raina. At this point, I’ll take any help I can get.”

Soll swallowed hard. “Let’s just give it some more time. It’ll all be fine.”

“Like I said, you’d better hope. I don’t know if my sister is going to be as tolerant of an able-but-aimless twenty-three-year-old living in her house as much as I’ve been.”

The bite of her words brought them both to silence. Soll averted his gaze to blunt her piercing disappointment that soon resolved to remorse.

“If you must go, then there’s something you need to take with you. You’re not gonna like this…” she muttered, opening the adjacent coat closet and flinging jackets aside. “But you need to wear it if you’re gonna be on the road.”

She pulled out a neon vest and tossed it over to him.

“Of course, Ma. No one could miss me with this.” Soll stuffed it into his backpack and pecked her on the cheek. “See you when I get back.”

The clear orange sky met him as he dashed through the door, casting enough light to find the bike leaning against the house. Hopping over the frame, he kicked it forward, clicking on the headlight before vanishing into the evening.

Endless rows of ripening corn and soybeans flanked the cracked road, all disappearing under the coming darkness. Soll flicked his damp shirt from his chest. His stomach turned as he accelerated, envisioning the letter finally landing in Alison Sloan’s hands.           

A low hum rose behind him, drowning out his panting. Dim beams swept over his shoulders, followed by a rattling engine. The sound trailed him until he veered off the pavement. The old engine screamed as the hunter-green pickup truck sped past, spitting a cloud of exhaust. Soll choked a curse between coughs at the pair of red brake lights disappearing into the dusk ahead.

Neat fields gave way to a grove of towering white and shortleaf pines. Chattering crickets and katydids filled the resinous air, heralding the evening’s arrival. Burning aches wrapped Soll’s legs as the insect songs swelled around him. Somehow, he needed to get further, faster.

Doubt collapsed into disillusionment, dragging at Soll’s feet like an anvil. Even if he flew into town and placed the letter in Alison Sloan’s hands, it wouldn’t erase the truth. It couldn’t change that it wasn’t meant to be delivered this way, or maybe at all. It wouldn’t sharpen his ineffectual ideas beside Charlie’s cleverness. Regardless of how swiftly his bike flew over the road, he’d never outrun that.

But Charlie needed him. He needed someone to seize the opportunity he was too bitter to recognize. His talent was never meant to be relegated to a file, buried and forgotten. Someone had to be bold enough to break his rules, even if the casualty was trust. If he would never allow Soll’s yearning hands to lift him up or push his chair, then those hands would have to carry his ideas and ensure their success.

Soll clenched the handlebars and pedaled harder, spurring the groaning bike forward. He wouldn’t have to explain. Good intentions didn’t need permission.

The wild trees suddenly broke. An arm of asphalt diverted from the weathered pavement like a fresh black scar carved through the flattened forest.

Lampposts lined the crisp street bisecting the new development. A row of charming houses sat on each side, blemished by no more than a few weeks of sun and rain. They gleamed under the soft glow of the lamps like roses in a field of wilted weeds, enviable and new.

Soll freed himself from the allure and surged ahead, digging his feet into the pedals, pushing the bike to a flying speed. Humid air clung to his face as he sailed past another untamed stretch of thicket. The edge of the beam rolled over cracks and ruts of the pavement; its hypnotic pattern was only broken by a flash several yards ahead.

It faded in a blink. Soll slowed, scouring the path as far as his beam could reach until it caught the outline of a green pickup truck. Dried mud peppered the bottom of the olive coat, nearly masking a dented fender.

He choked the brakes. The truck’s nose dipped off the road, the bumper clinging to the pavement. The headlights and brake lights were out. Grass in its tire paths was freshly pressed.

He aimed the beam at the back window and peered inside. The light passed through without catching a thing. No shadow. No movement. No sign of life.

“Hello?” Soll called out. Silence. The engine had angrily roared behind him no more than twenty minutes ago; now, it sat dead in the headlight. He inched closer with the bike between his legs. “Everything okay there?”

Nothing.

He took another few steps, then jerked to a halt.

From behind the cab, a figure emerged and stepped into the beam. His hazel glare glimmered in the light, demanding something from beneath the awning of a black hood. Soll’s eyes dropped. His breath snagged, and his throat cinched. The edge of a knife glinted as it raised into the air, pointed at his throat.

“Gimme your phone and your wallet,” a voice growled from behind a red bandana. “Now.”

Blood fled from Soll’s face. Sweat matted his coily hair, streaming down his forehead and stinging his fluttering eyes. His frozen hands locked the headlight beam onto the threat.

“You heard exactly what I said,” the gruff voice rumbled. Gliding further into the light, the hulking figure eclipsed the truck.

Soll heard but couldn’t obey. Instincts misfired, ricocheting inside the numb shell of his body. A ruddy, bulging fist gripped the glinting blade too tightly to leave any hint of a bluff. As Soll grasped for words, his tongue sank like lead in his mouth.

“I-I-I…” Soll stammered. “I-I have nothing! Look, I’m from here, too, I promise! Lived down the road since forever. I’m not the one you want. Just look at me—I don’t even have a car. I work at the supermarket. Maybe you’ve seen me there?”

The knife rotated in the mugger’s hand. His exacting scowl shifted from Soll’s scuffed shoes to his baggy cargo shorts and wrinkled t-shirt.

“Or you might know of my little brother, Charlie Casey? Probably a familiar name. He was an amateur journalist who used to cover events in town, posted it all online, even had his own little outlet,” Soll rambled. “He’s in a wheelchair now. It was a nasty accident, but that’s a bit of a newer thing. He can’t really do the investigative stuff he used to—”

“Will you shut the fuck up already?!” the mugger snapped. “You heard me the first time! Hand your shit over, or I swear I’ll leave you leakin’ on the street…”

Soll flinched. The bag suddenly felt heavy against his back. Even without the fear of the blade tearing through his body, escaping unburdened might be a relief. Someone else could carry the blame for his failure. Just one small concession and he’d be clear of danger.

But not the guilt.

He sobered, scrambling for any half-baked schemes he could invent. Each vanished as he grasped for it. The mugger twitched and tensed as the seconds slipped away.

“You wouldn’t want the trouble of that,” Soll croaked, an idea unfolding. “The town council is eagerly awaiting my arrival. They want me to meet that actress lady. You know who I’m talking about, right? The washed-up one from all those '90s rom-coms. I forgot her name, but they wanted me to meet her. Yeah, me. My dad’s family has a legacy here. They need someone local to show her and the developers what Sandhaven’s all about…”

Once he started, it all poured out. His words could never dress a page in rich, flowery prose like Charlie’s, but weaving a story wasn’t a talent held only by his brother.

“I wouldn’t try anything because it might backfire for you. I don’t mean to make threats here, but you and the Fair Share group could be liable if you disrupt this operation. They’d get law enforcement involved this time. The mayor might even bring in state police...”

Soll patched the lie with all the threads he could spin. The mugger listened, his mystified stare fixed on Soll’s face. Contemplative lines sprawled across his forehead. His black-clad frame eased, and he lowered the knife. Panic loosened its hold on Soll’s throat, and the terror drained from his shoulders. The air lightened around his head. He wiped the sweat from his neck as the last lie slipped from his lips. His triumphant breaths carried over the humming from the trees. He set his foot on the pedal, ready to slip back into the night.

“Do I look like a fuckin’ idiot?”

The mugger chuckled. He rolled his sleeves to reveal a pair of corded, sunburned forearms. “Why would they want a clown to show them around? Your grown ass is on a bike, thinkin’ you’re someone important. You think you mean something to them? You’re nothing—you’re no one.”

The words plucked a nerve. Each landed like a jab, leaving Soll dazed until the knife lunged toward him.

“Okay, okay!” He shielded his face. Regret might ache, but a blade would leave scars. He shrugged the bag from his shoulders and tossed it onto the pavement. “There you go…”

The mugger snatched it from the ground and tore it open. Fishing out a thin leather wallet, he flung it into the dark without a second look. Another dig brought the fluorescent vest, which he hurled into the grass with the same disdain. Indignation smoldered in Soll’s chest, matched by a growing confusion. His clenched teeth gated the wail of protest threatening to explode from his lips as he watched the covetous fingers dip back into the bag. His muscles tightened, ready to pry back his belongings from the mugger’s hands, but his feet stayed pinned to the ground. The flash of the blade dared him to move as the mugger retrieved the phone, tapping it awake before inspecting it.

“It’s not worth anything!” Soll tried.

The mugger ran his fingers over the chipped edges. He held the phone up to the beam of the headlight, then hurled it to the ground.

It smacked against the asphalt with a loud crack. Chasing it as it skipped along the road, he snatched it and heaved it harder. Fissures webbed its lifeless display as it lay still on the ground, ruined like roadkill. He punted it into the grass in the same direction as the other items before his hand dove back into the backpack.

Soll’s breath caught. Simmering outrage percolated deep within his stomach. Regardless of the grievance, pointless, undeserved cruelty was a uniquely bitter taste.

He squirmed as the plundering hands tore through the bag, rummaging faster the deeper they went. A screech deep in the trees broke Soll’s terrified focus.

“What the hell?” the mugger murmured. Yanking his arm from deep in the bag, he clutched the envelope. He pinched the bulkier bottom and tore it open. First came the letter. He squinted, bringing the page closer to his face as he scanned the lines. Before reaching the bottom, he dug back into the envelope.

The calloused hand plucked the drive and held it up like a prize, boasting before Soll: the bystander, the passive audience, the permitting witness. The key to his plan dangled before his eyes, but he couldn’t manage to gather an ounce of grit to rescue it. His stomach knotted with a familiar frustration.

“I need that.” Tears pooled in Soll’s eyes. “Charlie’d forgive me. He’d forget everything I’ve done if I could just make this happen for him. Please.”

A muffled chuckle erupted from behind the bandana.

“Jesus, all you people know how to do around here is whine. Someone takes something from you, and you’d rather cry than do anything about it. Not that you could anyway…this thing’d cut you like butter. But at least it’d hit a backbone on the way through.”

The mugger drew his arm back and chucked the drive into the darkness. Turning to the letter, he tore it in half and tossed it onto the street with another hearty chuckle.

The laugh curdled in Soll’s ears. It joined the nocturnal calls, the eyes of the wild snickering, sneering, judging. From the branches and thicket beyond the street, the creatures of the night mocked in unison. The sound of failure echoed, finally shattering a barrier of his conscience. His mother’s voice replayed in his mind, piercing with the sting of discontent. He gritted his teeth and balled his fists.

Soll charged.

The bike slammed into the mugger, launching him backward. Glinting in the light, the blade sailed through the air, just as Soll realized what his body had done. He lunged for it. A fear-tinged thrill coursed through him when he found it beside the road.

The long, serrated edge gleamed from his palm to his fingertips. A shiver possessed him as he held it, imagining it plunged into his back or slipped into his neck. After fumbling for a grip, he pointed it like a sword and turned to defend himself.

Knuckles slammed his face like a sledgehammer. Soll reeled, his nerves a web of firing fuses across his cheek. Stars exploded behind his eyes with the barrage of punches raining down. The mugger’s sharp blows quickly dulled as metallic wetness flooded Soll’s mouth.

He fell to his knees to crawl away before a swift kick rammed his side. Another spate of punches drowned out Soll’s cries. A revelation of rage unleashed across his body.

“Did you just try to hit me, motherfucker? I’ll fuck you up so bad you’ll be the one wishing you were dead,” the mugger grunted between blows.

The thrashes rocked Soll with unwavering ferocity. Sirens sounded in his head as his body dipped toward blackout. Lingering just above consciousness, he wavered between fight and flight.

Soll reached out a desperate hand. Anything to hold, anything to stop the pain. In his flailing, his hand brushed the blade behind him. Instinct seized him, and he grabbed it and propelled the edge into the storm of thrashes without a target or restraint.

A long, sharp wail pierced the air. Soll backed further into the grass as the mugger’s cry resolved into a series of gasps. He clamped one hand over his right forearm. A dark stream of blood snaked down to his fingers.

“Goddammit!” he growled. Backlit by the beam, he picked up the knife and advanced toward Soll like a beast circling before its strike. Fiery wrath burned in his glare. Soll cowered in the grass. The mugger raised the weapon, ready to unleash a final blow, when his eyes flicked away.

His head jerked up, scanning the trees. Far in the bush, a heavy rustle erupted and surged toward them.

“The hell…?”

The mugger leapt back, his muscles locked, and his eyes straining. Rapid breaths pumped from his chest. One foot dragged behind the other, the rest of his body rigid. His eyes were locked on a point far in the trees.

“Who’s that?!” he hollered. “Take off the costume, fuckin’ freak! Don’t even think about trying something stupid! Play dumb if you want to, you’ll regret—”

A screech tore through the darkness. Soll sprang from the grass, nearly crashing into the mugger, who dashed to his truck and hopped inside. The engine roared to life, and the truck rocked back onto the street, the headlights pouring into the bush. The stark white of his eyes flashed behind the wheel. He cut the wheel to the left and stomped on the gas. Within moments, the truck vanished.

Soll struggled to catch his breath. He yanked his bike from the ground and pinned the light on the patch of grass. Long, unruly tufts stretched in every direction with pine branches overhead. Insects chattered in the gentle breeze. All else stood still.

Just ordinary sounds of the living wilderness. Nothing to warrant alarm.

He scooped up the torn letter from the street and stuffed it into his pocket, turning back to the grass. Some of the delivery might still be salvageable. The drive was probably just past the thicket. If he could find his phone, the flashlight would guide him to it. The white plastic would reflect in the brown underbrush. Time was the only constraint.

Crunch

The nocturnal calls hushed, leaving only the thumping in his chest that beat like a metronome on double time. He swept the headlight beam over the bush.

Nothing. Probably just the wind.

Or a deer. Maybe even a raccoon that had wandered off a foraging course. A loud episode like that would’ve upset anything minding itself. Soll clapped his hands and shouted to send it back on its way.

A whooping call answered.

Captured in the beam, a pair of glimmering orange rings peeked from the thicket. Unblinking, they roamed his petrified body with a ravenous shine. Soll stumbled back.

Rustling exploded from the trees, and the whooping cry escalated to ear-splitting chatter. Soll hopped over his bike and bolted.

Wind whipped against his face as he flew through the night. He glanced back. The stillness of the moonlit road broke with the outline of a head over a set of rounded shoulders, with long arms pumping hard. The silhouette sprinted in maniacal pursuit.

Soll thrashed the pedals. His bike rocketed down the road with terror surging through his veins.

The figure raced only feet behind, gaining on him with every bounding stride on its two slender legs. Against the rigid horror wrapping his body, he twisted around again before the shadow could devour him—but only empty darkness followed.

His muscles held taut. The tranquil sounds of the night resumed, and a smooth wind brushed his skin. He slowed his bike and twisted around to see more clearly.

Nothing.

He exhaled.

Sweat and blood soaked his shirt, and his skin stung with the inflamed lashes across his body. He glided over the ground toward the bridge, where a newly minted lightscape had appeared on the horizon. Behind him, the cries faded, just as tiny figures crossing the streets ahead came into focus.

SANDHAVEN WELCOMES YOU

The letters leapt from the banner crowning the entrance to Main Street.

Soll paused. With every step, the stiffness and aches climbed another degree, growing with a stinging panic that refused to subside. He twisted around to search the darkness.

Still nothing.

The lights dulled his flaring pain, pulling his gaze back to taste their glowing enchantments. Beyond the threshold, an enthralling spectacle unfolded. The sign invited, but Main Street beckoned and reeled him inside.

His body submitted before pausing again.

There were no treasures to offer; no delivery in his hands. The last valuable thing was shattered and discarded, along with his own body, now cracked, rattled, and leaking.

But gazing at the scene again dissolved any lingering fear.

The strip bathed in the radiant glow of stringed bulbs that zig-zagged above the teeming commercial mosaic.

Red brick accented the white molding of a small cafe; purple shutters dressed the cobalt stucco of a craft shop; canary yellow siding complemented the white awning of a boutique, standing parallel to the next dazzling building. A charming row of shop displays rested beneath title signs as bold and unique as their facades. Soll cut a look in one direction to capture the strange fixtures while the crisp, inky pavement tugged his admiration in another.

The bones of the past were buried deep below Sandhaven’s stunning new flesh.

Melodic chatter floated overhead as he ambled through the crowd, the air rich with the aromas of pastries and flowers. Storefront doors flung open, ringing with bell chimes as cheery groups poured out one after another.

Deep within the sea of new faces, Soll was thrust from the fantasy. The stares probed from behind and beside him, the occasional gawking among more subtly lingering eyes. His skin stretched tight with rising inflammation and insecurity. Head hung, he stared down, pushing the bike over the asphalt as the voices around him turned and quickened with exhilaration.

The electrified atmosphere moved with a current that drew the collective focus to a single point. He lifted his eyes to see what held their attention.

A marquee stretched high above the other buildings. Twinkling bulbs encircled the title, glowing like a fresh brand on dark leather. Soll’s eyes danced down the sign that sang the name into the air.

THE CLAIRBORNE

The theater perched on the corner like a treasure for all to behold. Polished bronze trim decorated the entrance. The white brick frontage glowed like pearls under the marquee lights, luring the crowds into the building’s mouth.

Soll slowed. Goosebumps rose on his skin as the initial marvel began to fade. The enchanted sea of awestruck faces suddenly turned distant and strange. They approached the doors without pause, but his inflamed body froze. The others continued forward, floating into the lobby to survey their new territory. Anyone could enter, but it was made for them.

Their finely pressed outfits complemented the velvet-covered walls and the ornate red carpet. Exclamations spilled from inside, studded with pretentious terms he’d seen in Charlie’s articles. They moved comfortably in their new space like settlers reaching land they were soon to claim.

Soll stayed rooted, the luster suddenly resolving into a repulsive tinge. Foreign and exclusive.

He searched around to regain his bearings, looking for a place to rest. Breaking from the stream of people, he ducked into the first intersection and followed the street into a silent oasis. His heart lifted at the sight of the storefront’s title.

What used to be a boxy brick exterior was now a handsome auburn facade. “DALE’S DINER” dressed the front window sign, ornamented with a painted mermaid sleeping above it. He guided his bike down the alley beside it.

The strip’s ethereal haze peeled away, and the taste of blood returned to his mouth. Gathering the bottom of his shirt, he dabbed it on the tender points of his face. Tiny red smears appeared at the touch.

He winced. The horror of the past hour returned in each of his senses. Main Street receded into the distance. Shadows trapped him with unfurling recall: the glint of the knife, the crashing fists, the prickling blades of grass wildly moving at his back—the shimmering orbs in the darkness.

A flood of white light suddenly burst from the wall beside him. From the rays walked a short, stocky silhouette.

“Woah!” her voice gasped with childlike inflection, the stuffed trash bag falling from her hand. “You’re looking pretty gnarly there, sir! We all have those days when we’re not looking our best. But you? You took all those days, rolled them into one, and face-planted right into it!”

Her narrowed eyes studied him from behind thick, black-rimmed glasses.

“Uh…yeah,” Soll uttered. “I’m fine, I think…”

The girl tilted her head as she continued her examination. She reached out a curious finger to probe the pitiful specimen before her. “I respectfully and completely disagree with that assessment. That mug of yours is looking nothing short of ghastly from this end. You need some cleaning up. Why don’t you use the bathroom inside?”

Soll hesitated, stepping backward until a tug by her hand guided him toward the light.

“Come on inside! The least I can do is make sure you’re not out on the biggest night of the year looking like leftover berry cobbler.” Before he could resist, she pulled him inside.

A voice echoed from the opposite end of the room, “Andi-girl, you better close that door before Mr. Rat finds his way in again! I don’t have the time or the patience to be chasing him around this kitchen. Not tonight!”

Fluorescent lights bathed the tiled walls and chrome countertops with a sterilizing sheen. Snaps and pops of boiling oil joined with the sharp clang of metal scraping across iron. The sizzling grill hissed with savory whiffs filling the air, a flame licking up the wall under a vented hood.

The girl gestured for Soll to follow.

“Bathroom’s through those double doors, then it’s the first door on the left.” The girl pointed. “Give me a shout if you need any help. I’m no doctor, but I can slap on a mean bandage.”

Before he could slip through the swinging doors, a voice hollered out from the other side of the kitchen.

“I know that ain’t who I think it is!”

He stopped and pivoted. An awkward grin spread across Andi’s face as her eyes shifted from the kitchen to Soll. A head popped out from around one of the metal shelves.

“Little Ingersoll?” the old woman lit up. “Is that you there?”

It didn’t take more than a moment for him to recognize her.

“Ms. Claudine, how are you doing?”

A full smile and high brows animated her almond skin. Thick gray locs fell by her side as she leaned her short body around the counter. Her smile dropped.

“My Lord! What in God’s name happened to you, Junior?!” she exclaimed, arms outstretched to hold him.

“I just had an accident riding into town,” Soll murmured. “Kind of a bad spill...”

Her hands tenderly tilted his face to the light. Every angle was met with restrained gasps.

“On your face? Poor baby, I know that must’ve hurt!” Her warm voice rested like a liniment on his bruise-marbled skin. She guided him further inside, with Andi following close behind. “I’m gettin’ you some ice. There’s some right here in the freezer.”

The bustling kitchen roared around them. Staff scurried in different directions toward a hot stove or a countertop, only sparing a passing glance as they traveled to their next station. Despite the chaos, the tension bound up in Soll’s body quickly loosened under her touch.

“Will somebody watch the steak I got grilling over there? I just need a couple of minutes,” Ms. Claudine yelled across the kitchen, then glanced at Soll. “Or…maybe more. Why don’t you just go ahead and finish that one up? And Andi-girl, keep an eye on the guests and let me know if there’s another wave. Shouldn’t be too much trouble. It’s almost eight o’clock, and the new folks are probably all heading out. Thank you, baby.”

Andi left the kitchen, and the others resumed their activity. Ms. Claudine handed over a bag of ice wrapped in a towel, and Soll gently pressed it against his forehead.

“So,” she said, resting her hand on her hip. “What’d you say happened to you?”

“I just hit a pothole on the road on the way here. Didn’t see it coming. It just came up out of nowhere, and by the time I realized, it was too late…”

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that, Junior?”

Only a few held the privilege of calling him that. Soll forced himself to meet her eyes. She didn’t need to know.

“Yeah, pothole...on Sycamore Road, after the turn-off from our street.” He hoped some truth might obscure the fiction.

“Well, I’ll have to make sure I keep an eye out for that one.”

“I will, too! I can make a map of all the spots in Sandhaven for the Frontier Group to fix up as they’re building all the new houses! Otherwise, I’ll probably hit it and end up looking like the victim of a rogue primate attack, too,” Andi interjected from behind.

“Hush, girl, this ain’t about you.” Ms. Claudine rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you make sure no one out there is missing anything? That dining room is more packed than a can of sardines.”

Andi pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and backed out of the kitchen, sneaking one last look at Soll before she left.

“Does your mother know what happened? You need me to call her for you?”

“No…thanks, Ms. Claudine,” Soll replied. “She doesn’t know because I haven’t had time to call her. I just rolled into town, so once I can get myself cleaned up a little bit, I’ll do that. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. Thank you for the ice.”

“No problem at all, Junior. When I saw you through the door, I said, ‘I know that face!’ ” She pointed her finger in the air and stared off into the exact spot he had stood minutes before. “There’s no mistaking that Casey look. Always so handsome, just like your dad and your granddad. You couldn’t have any other name but theirs—it just wouldn’t be right!”

A smile edged its way across Soll’s mouth that he tried to hide. By the upswing in Ms. Claudine’s tone, she recognized that her mission had been accomplished.

“And you know it’s true, too! Your mother must tell you that all the time.”

“Sometimes,” Soll nodded. 

“And she wouldn’t be lying, that’s for sure. Let me get more towels for you, Junior, your nose is bleeding a bit,” Ms. Claudine rushed to the dispenser on the other side of the kitchen. “So, how long are you gonna be in town? Haven’t seen you at church recently, just your mother with your brother. Y’all are both in college now?”

“No, just him.”

“Oh, you already graduated?”

“Never started…” Soll battled a pang of unease. “I wanted to pursue some other stuff I was interested in, but things didn’t work out…”

In only moments of adjusting the new towel to plug his nose, it was blood-soaked.

Ms. Claudine shrugged before offering another. “Well, maybe it was for the best. Y’all young people around here always wanna take off the moment you’re old enough, but it can be nice spending more time with the family. You don’t get the time back. And I think it’ll be good for you Caseys in particular. Time to take some of the load off your mother; she’s doing double duty, taking care of your brother and your father. As the next man of the house, you gotta step in and start handling things. Your dad and grandfather were leaders; they always found a way when the chips were down. I know you got it in you.”

Soll pursed his lips, his eyes shifting past her into the distance. The activity of the kitchen faded to an ambient roar.

“How’s your father doing, by the way?” Ms. Claudine interrupted.

“I haven’t really gotten a chance to visit him much since I moved back,” he admitted.

She nodded solemnly. “That’s too bad, but I understand. It must be hard to see him like that. Oh, poor Kimmy, she sure has some strength in her. It’s one thing to lose your body and another thing to lose your mind. I pray all the time that he’ll remember everyone again, just like I’m praying that the strength returns to your brother’s legs to let him walk again. The power to unlock both is inside, I know that full well. We’re just waiting on the Lord to give the keys.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Without warning, she enveloped him, squeezing tight.

“Don’t worry too much, Junior. Just make sure you keep your faith, and your father will come back just like he was before,” Ms. Claudine reassured with a smile. “And I’m dying to see his face when he sees how they’re turning this place upside down, you hear me? He’s gonna fall right out when he finds things happening just like they were before.”

“Before when? I thought Sandhaven used to be just poultry plants, soybeans, and cornfields,” Soll said.

“When I was growing up here, that’s exactly what it was,” Ms. Claudine said. “That and a quick stopover for beach travelers to get a bite or spend the night. Folks even used to open up their homes for it—and Biggs saw an opportunity in that.”

Soll shot her a quizzical look. “Mayor Biggs?”

Ms. Claudine chuckled. “Not the Biggs you know, but his father, Carl. Your dad ever tell you about him?”

Soll shook his head.

“Well, just like the one you’re thinking of, his dad had some wild ambition and serious savvy outsized for a place like this. We knew something was different about him right when he started inviting anyone looking for work, especially more of us,” Ms. Claudine tapped the top of her chestnut-toned hand. “He started supporting all these new businesses in town, really trying to push Sandhaven into something more. That’s what got more folks to stick around for a while.”

Looking around the kitchen, Soll nodded. “That’s what brought the diner?”

“Sure did, Junior. Mr. Dale set this place up, then came the B&Bs, your grandfather’s pharmacy, and others that didn’t make it to now. Old Biggs was going for a whole new look. But a lot of people soured on that after a little while.”

Soll leaned in slightly with the ice still pushed against his puzzled face.

She laughed. “I’ll put it like this: New Biggs is an odd bird, that’s for sure, but Old Biggs was a character in himself, clever and calculated as he could be. Everything started feeling a little different after the whole crop of new folks settled in and around town. Word got around, and some of the bitter old folks tried rallying ‘like-minded’ individuals from nearby towns to try to intimidate the newcomers.”

“And what did they do?”

“Things we saw a lot in those times. Things I’m sure you’ve read in books.” A stern expression hardened her face for a moment. She shook her head and cleared the thought. “And some other real strange things started happening, too. People were disappearing, some coming back with injuries and others just leaving town altogether. Other folks swore they were being stalked and terrorized.

“And one summer, a huge storm rolled up the shore. It was raining and thundering for a few days, like the sky and the earth were splitting open. No one could go outside for fear of not returning. After it ended, folks claimed they couldn’t find their animals, or that their property was damaged or stolen. About a week later, there was a rumor going around that someone saw some…thing…floating in a creek off of the Taskika River.”

Soll’s widened eyes prompted a pause.

“Calm down, Junior, it was just a rumor. I didn’t see anything, and nobody I know saw it. I don’t think we ever even found out who started it.” Ms. Claudine touched his shoulder. “But those rumors started growing so fast that they got legs and ran up out of here. Even started scaring more people away from coming to Sandhaven. That’s what the goal was, I suppose, and that was getting under Old Biggs’ skin. What really got him were the people coming to town and poking around, trying to get details. Even some reporters sniffing for a scoop. One of them even tried to confront Old Biggs about it in front of everyone. And you wanna know what happened? He was so fed up, he had a fit and started carrying on about a mermaid who got lost running from the storm at sea. Right then and there, he said we would rename Simpsonville into Sandhaven in honor of the lost mermaid!”

Despite Soll’s attempt to diminish his concern, the story painted a vivid picture, infusing itself with the haunting silhouette on the road. Terror pinched his throat as he searched for the words to inquire further. Ms. Claudine caught his concern, her eyes widening before a cackle burst from deep within her chest. She gripped her stomach as she nearly collapsed with laughter.

“Mr. Dale loved that so much he put mermaids all over the diner.” She placed her hand over her chest and caught her breath. “I think that’s why we’re still here. So ridiculous, that one is. But if we can get the same outcome from Little Biggs, then maybe we’ll have another theme to try on so we can survive this next wave of trouble coming our way.”

Soll peered through the window into the dining room. “It looks like you got some good upgrades to help fit in for now.”

“Thank you, Junior; we’ve been trying to keep up, but it’s been hard. We had to change with everything else—bring in the renovations, look at the markets, and get with the times. ‘Adapt’ is the word. Otherwise, our days in Sandhaven would be numbered like the other places that couldn’t hang on.” She drew in a breath to explain more, but her message stalled in her throat. Her expression shifted, her eyes grew distant, and her head hung slightly. “I hope we can make it. Sometimes it feels like we’re hanging on ourselves.”

Hanging by a thread, she meant. Soll understood the feeling. For all the energy and money invested into trying to change the restaurant into something better, brighter, and different, it might still not have been enough. It survived the worst, but for how much longer? At the back corner of the kitchen, the same looming heartache neared as when Soll sat in his room, dreading the last thread to snap to unravel the family.

“Well, I’m gonna do whatever I can to help. If the diner gets pushed out, I don’t doubt the rest of us will be too far behind. We can’t let it happen.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Just like those Casey men, I tell you! Somehow, your fathers pass that nerve right down to the sons. If I’ve seen one thing stay the same in this place, it’s y’all standing up to problems a hundred times your size, trying to fix it all on your own.” She leaned in, the lines in her brow a border between intrigue and incredulity. “How do you plan on doing that?”

Soll paused. “I just need to get a hold of Mayor Biggs—or Alison Sloan. Just need to talk to them.”

She threw her head back. “Hah! Good luck with that, Junior. Little Biggs has nothing else on his mind these days except making this whole thing go off without a hitch. You can try to find him to talk, but people like him only listen to power and money. If you don’t got any, then you’re just about as important to them as a fly buzzing around their big ol’ heads. And trust me, they’d rather just swat them than keep listening to that buzzing.”

Her laugh echoed through the kitchen. But it hadn’t shaken him. His resolve moved like a brimming pool, and the last traces of pain dissipated from his face.

“I think he’d listen if I had something important enough to say.”

“I respect the passion, Junior. I admired it in your father and grandfather, too. But it’s not just Little Biggs who’s like this—that’s just the way of the world. Scream and shout all we want, but us smaller folks usually won’t get our way. I’ve been on this earth long enough to see some real craziness, and that’s something that never changes. Better to focus that energy on the problems staring us in the face, like these roads that seem to be giving you so much trouble.”

Her rub on his shoulder both soothed and patronized.

“Say, Junior, you haven’t seen anything else too out of the ordinary around town recently, have you?”

A voice suddenly shot through the racket of the kitchen. Andi charged in with a frantic expression. She waved a small stack of sheets at the edge of the kitchen.

“Last orders are rolling in!” she panted. “Come on, folks, make sure you’re working your strongest mixing arms, smoothest chopping hands, and deftest seasoning fingers. We’re in the home stretch.”

Ms. Claudine snapped to attention, snatching the order slips from Andi and passing them out to the others in the kitchen. Instantly, they buzzed around the countertops to the refrigerators and stoves. The room erupted with the sounds of the hissing stove and clanging of pans.

“All right, Junior, I gotta get back to work now. Why don’t you let me give you a ride home after this is all done?”

Soll softened at the offer that he didn’t even know he needed. “Absolutely will. Thanks, Ms. Claudine.”

“And I hope to see you back at church one of these days!”

He grinned and slipped out of the kitchen. Andi trailed him, placing a hand on Soll’s shoulder as he headed through the door to the outside.

“Are you gonna be okay?” Andi asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Well, you might wanna just take one more last look in the mirror if you’re planning for anyone else to see that tragic face of yours. The bathroom’s still open, and our water and towels are free. I wish I had some makeup to give you, but I don’t know if I have enough blending skills to hide all that.”

“I’ll be fine,” Soll said. The stains speckling his clothes were as distant from his mind as the aching and swelling that had, momentarily, dulled to a tolerable throb.

Light at the end of the alley coaxed him back toward the herd on Main Street. His pocket bulged with the crumpled letter. He fished it out and smoothed it against the brick wall, kneading furiously as the seconds ticked by. But even with all his strength, it still wasn’t right.

Anything delivered without the script was as good as garbage. As wrinkles in the letter stared back in chaotic lines, he fought the compulsion to throw it to the ground. Pressing it again, he waited until it passed and then gently folded it.

A scrape along the pavement bounced along the alley’s walls, followed by a long screech. Soll whipped around to face the darkness at his back.

“My bad! The dumpster’s a little loud sometimes…” Andi snickered from the shadows, tossing a trash bag into the metal container before heading back into the diner.

Her eyes disappeared behind the glare of the streetlight on her glasses. Nothing strange. This stare was human, fully identified.

Soll gathered himself. The faster he could finish his journey, the faster he could forget it all. Against the last screaming urges in his aching muscles, he stepped forward to rejoin the procession to the theater.