12:34 A.M.

one

Every sound has a source. A thud on the wall, a screech of a bird, the squeal of tires, or the tick of a clock. But the sounds at 12:34 A.M. seemed to just be sounds. Sounds Aria cannot follow. Sounds Aria cannot drown out with the sound of music or creaking wood floors or her clock on her wall.

Aria watched the clock, listening to the gentle ticks of the hands counting the seconds, minutes, and hours of the dreadful night.

9:48 P.M.

She sighed, turning away from the clock to the ceiling, listening to the sound the Midsummer Ravens made in the forest, cawing and screeching. A mother raven was calling to her babies. The way her calls seemed to whine into the night and her babies returned with a chatter of yelps made Aria wonder if anyone else in this town felt that way. Perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Blake felt that way with the death of their child a mere three days ago. It was in the Hillswood Daily printed in large, black letters: "Henry Blake Body Found in Hillswood Creek." The article featured his estimated time of death at 12:36 A.M. and some questions about how and why a thirteen year old boy was to find his life cut so short. Aria took note of the time of death.

A second call of another Midsummer Raven echoed, perhaps the father this time. The longer Aria listened to the birds, the more she could hear Mrs. Blake's scream when she saw her boy laying on the cold, wet rocks of the creek, the more she could hear Mr. Blake's husky voice comforting his wife, the more she could remember the look in Henry's eyes.

Aria used to babysit Henry. She remembered the quirky laugh and his snaggletooth. She remembered the way his dark brown eyes seemed to light up despite mirroring the image of the forest at night so perfectly. He had a light about him in this dreary town, and someone - or something - killed it. That's what this town does, kills any ray of light to keep the town gray.

Aria's eyes flicked back to the clock. The ticking now growing louder as she focused on it.

12:33 A.M.

Aria flicked her eyes back to the ceiling and let them flutter to a close as she awaited the same sounds she heard every night at 12:34 A.M.

----

6:07 A.M.

Her dad was already awake, slumping around the house between the kitchen and his office, waiting for his coffee to be finished. The creak of a cupboard door opening and a gentle ceramic plink on the granite counter quickly followed by another one. Her dad was making coffee for three. Odd, Aria thought to herself as she felt a low creak of the wooden floorboards beneath her feet. She followed her feet towards her door, opening it with gentle hands to avoid the slam against the wall as it usually did with the force of the air conditioning in the hallway. She continued her venture down the stairs, catching a glimpse of the day outside. Foggy, cloudy, and rain drops thudding against the windows. She turned into the kitchen, her father standing with his back to her and his eyes out the window. A bird cawed, the sound echoing through the trees.

"Dad," Aria muttered.

His tall figure slowly turned toward her, a gray color in his eyes that took over the bright blue a long, long time ago. He lost his bright blue when Aria's mom died. She had been found just like the Blake boy, sprawled across rocks in the creek, the rushing water pushing her hair to mimic the grass. The same report in Hillswood Daily with the same theories and same time of death, 12:36 A.M. It seemed to be a new paper every year with the same scenario, just different people. The dates never correlated, one death in January and the next in May, but the time remained the same.

"Why are there three cups?" Aria questioned, staring into her father's eyes.

"I-" Her father began to speak, but the loud clanging of a metal object against tile floors interrupted him. They both turned towards the direction of this sound. A door swung open and bare feet padded against the tile, until someone appeared from behind the wall. Aria's eyes pierced into the shadow, waiting for this person to walk into the light. She recognized a male shape, messy hair on top of his head, and hands carrying... a trash can? Anonymous walked into the light and her eyes scanned him.