Watcher in the Dark

Chapter 4: The Watcher in the Fog

Ethan sat at his small kitchen table, staring at the half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of him. The early afternoon light streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow over the room, but it did little to chase away the cold weight that had settled in his chest. His thoughts kept drifting back to the night before-back to the house on the cliff, the strange light, and the figure he had seen lying on the rocks.

Had he really seen someone? Or had the fog played tricks on his tired mind?

He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He had gone over the events a hundred times in his head, trying to find a rational explanation. Maybe the light had come from a passing ship, reflecting off the rocks below the cliff. And the figure-well, that could have been anything. A trick of the mist, a shadow cast by the uneven terrain.

But deep down, Ethan knew it wasn't that simple. There was something wrong with this place-something that no one seemed willing to talk about. The residents were friendly enough, but they all had the same look in their eyes when the subject of the night came up-a kind of cautious, guarded hesitation, as if they were all trying to avoid saying too much.

Gregory's evasiveness bothered him too. He clearly knew more than he let on, yet he refused to elaborate on the strange occurrences Ethan had reported. And then there was Mrs. Davenport, with her warning to "stay inside after dark," and the way her eyes had darted nervously around, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

The spoon clinked against the bowl as Ethan pushed his breakfast away. He needed answers.

That afternoon, Ethan returned to Nautical Heights, determined to figure out more about the community's past. He walked through the quiet, sunlit streets, nodding at the few residents he passed. The houses looked different during the day-less foreboding, more like the perfect suburban dream. But now that Ethan had spent a few nights patrolling the streets in the dark, he couldn't see the neighborhood the same way.

As he made his way toward the house on the cliff, a voice called out behind him.

"Ethan!"

He turned to see Tom Grayson jogging up the street, his wife Sarah walking a few steps behind him. Tom was grinning, his usual confident, friendly demeanor intact, but Sarah looked more subdued, her eyes darting nervously between Ethan and the house on the cliff.

"Hey, Tom," Ethan greeted, forcing a smile. "How's it going?"

Tom clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, good! You settling into the job alright?"

Ethan hesitated. "Yeah, it's been quiet." Too quiet, he wanted to say, but held back.

Tom glanced over his shoulder at Sarah, who stood a few feet away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You should stop by sometime, have a beer. It's gotta be lonely working out here at night."

"Sure, I'll take you up on that," Ethan replied, but his attention was on Sarah. There was something off about the way she was watching him, like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

Before Ethan could ask, Tom continued, "So, any excitement on your shifts? Or is it all as boring as we promised?"

Ethan chuckled lightly, though his mind raced. "Nothing much. Just the fog rolling in, the usual quiet."

Tom nodded, but his grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, that fog can get pretty thick, huh? Makes it hard to see anything."

Ethan caught the undercurrent in his words-Tom wasn't just talking about the weather. Sarah shifted uncomfortably, her fingers gripping the straps of her handbag as if to ground herself.