Last Moments

The professor vanished first. Aiden too. Abigail never came out of her room. The van sat crooked at the edge of the lot one minute, gone the next—keys still in the ignition, radio still humming static. Whatever made that low guttural whine beneath the floorboards grew louder every hour, like something chewing through the dark itself. Cecilia wasn’t sticking around. She packed in silence and bolted without looking back. Aidra stayed. Ten years earlier her sister walked into these same trees and never walked out. Tonight she swore she heard her sister’s laugh caught inside the wind. Charlotte caught her arm, eyes hard but steady. If Aidra meant to keep going, Charlotte wasn’t letting her go alone. They crossed the tree line together, flashlights slicing through hanging mist. Their final frames show the two of them pushing forward, shadows swallowing their backs. Then the lens cuts to black.