The Forest

And Now She's Missing

I text Logan, knowing Juliette's not going to wake up for shit. We talk for a while before I decide to send him the story I'm currently working on. He's been begging me, so I guess I should let him read it. He's actually the only one I let read my stories, and even then I'm still reluctant.

"It's good," he says finally. The time it took him to answer was enough to have me shaking with nerves as I choke down another pain med for my unrelenting migraine from last night.

"You think so?" I ask, relief flooding through my flaming veins.

"You know I'm not a literary critic, but yeah, I really liked it.

Just the right touch of scary."

I roll my eyes, wincing at the pain behind them. "I haven't even sent you the scary part yet."

"That wasn't the scary part?"

"You're more of an egghead than I thought, if you think it was."

"Damn. You're kind of right, though."

I roll my eyes again at his sarcasm, clenching my jaw against the ache. "I know. Anyway, you really liked it?"

"You know I wouldn't say so if I didn't. You really should show someone."

"I showed you," I point out with a half-hearted smirk I know he can't see. I just can't miss the opportunity to be a smart-ass.

"Smart ass," he retorts, knowing me all too well. "I'm being serious, you should. Maybe your parents for a start?"

I frown lopsidedly at my phone screen and lift a questioning eyebrow. "Why?"

"Uhm, I don't know. Maybe because they might like it, too?"

"They might. Or they might tell me it's a piece of shit. Either way, I don't see why it matters."

"What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever met my parents?"

"Once or twice," he says with an obvious eye roll. He practically lives with us during the summer.

"Do you know how much authors make?"

"Depends on the author."

"Now, look who's being the smart ass."

"You started it. Why does it matter how much authors make?"

"Because me telling my father I don't actually want to be a lawyer, that I actually wanna be a starving artist living pay check to pay check writing pointless stories; Then asking if he would mind financially supporting me for the rest of his life is not by any means going to end well."

Once again, I can hear his eyes roll.

"That's total bull shit. Even if you're right, you enjoy writing. Better yet, you need it."

"Was that a question or. . . ?"

"Nope. I know it for a fact."

"Okay?"

"So. . . If you're not going to show your parents, show your stories to someone who knows what they're talking about. Like our English Professor. He gives you advice, you finish the story, the next one is better. No problemo, right?"

"I wish I hadn't let you sucker me into sending it to you."

"Tough shit, I'm afraid. So, what's the title?"

"Haunted Outsider," I announce proudly. Even I get goosebumps.

"Ooh. That's good."

Suddenly, something dawns on me. I think I know what's so familiar about my book. I pull up my saved "edgy pages" as Julie calls them and select Slenderman's. That's it. But I haven't read that in, like, two years.

As I debate with myself on whether I should change my book for fear of someone thinking it's just some cheap Slender Man Fic or something, my phone starts blowing up.

Increasingly annoyed with this constant pain residing in the crevices of my brain, I originally plan to ignore it. I know it's just the school group chat Julie added me to, and I do not have the energy for the drama. At least, until Logan says:

"Holy shit. You need to check the group chat," Logan says. So, with a piqued interest, I do.

"Holy shit. Holy fuck. You guys seriously aren't going to believe this. My mom just woke me up. Juliette's missing." — Sam Anderson.

"What?!" — Lauren Miller

"What the hell?!" — Jackson Miller.

Everyone starts freaking out simultaneously. And, admittedly, so do I, the sudden stress only enraging my fire in my eye sockets.

"What are you talking about, Sam?" I cut in. "What do you mean she's missing?"

"I don't know. She's just not there." — Sam Anderson.

"She's not home?" The alarm bells in my head start going off as my heart begins to pick up its pace. At this rate, I'll end up with a heart attack.

"No. Her mom called mine." — Sam Anderson.

"Why?" — Logan Williams.

"How the fuck should I know? Maybe she thought Juliette was here or something." — Sam Anderson.

"But she's not?" — Lauren Miller.

"Why the fuck would I say she's missing if she was with me?" — Sam Anderson.

"Jesus, Calm down! Did you see her yesterday?" — Noah Davis.

"Not since Study Hall." — Sam Anderson.

"Anyone else see her?" — Logan Williams.

"I saw her after school coming out of the store." — Sophia Roberts.

"What time was that?" — Jackson Miller.

"Not long after school. Four maybe?" — Sophia Roberts.

"Was she on her own?" — Sam Anderson.

"Yeah, I think." — Sophia Roberts.

She wasn't alone. She was with me. I don't know why I don't say anything, but I just can't bring myself to. My fingers hover over the keypad, trembling as burning, panicked tears sting my eyes.

"Jesus. This is so fucked up." — Lauren Miller.

"I saw her about nine," I finally say. Not the full truth, but the truth none-the-less.

"Where?" — Sam Anderson.

"You saw her?" — Logan Williams. I'm confused by his surprise considering, but I shrug it off, too focused on the current situation at hand.

"She was smoking outside her building," I say, feeling a growing emptiness spread through my chest and into my throat as I remember how she looked. Smiling. Laughing. The girl I've known my whole life.

"She looked fine?" — Sam Anderson.

"At nine? You sure?" — Jackson Miller.

"Pretty sure."

There's a knock on my door. "Salem, sweetie, we need to talk."

I'm opening the door before she can finish, wrapping my arms around her as tears stream down my face. She hugs me back, petting my hair like she used to when I was younger.

At first, she's taken aback by my reaction, but she soon snaps out of it and embraces me back.

"Honey, are you feeling alright? Your skin is really warm, and you look a bit feverish."

I don't answer her. I can't. To be honest, I'm not even sure if I actually heard her. Wait. . . Did she even say anything in the first place? I can't even remember. All I can think about is Juliette.

Jesus fuck.

We don't know anything yet, I tell myself. We don't know when she went out, if she had a fight with her parents, or- or anything really. Sam's just jumping to conclusions that'll make him the center of attention. Just like always. . . Right?

I mean, I know Juliette better than he does. I know how smart and capable she is. There's nothing to worry about. She'll be fine. I'm sure of it. She'll be fine. . .

Wait. . . Who are we talking about?