Echoes of the Missing

Anastasia uncovers family secrets and strange clues with friends in a snowy town.

Chapter 1

The Quiet Girl

1963

It was a crisp autumn morning in 1963. I sat by the window, my chin on my arms, watching the leaves spin and swirl in the wind. Kids laughed down the street. I wondered what it felt like to be one of them. To run, to be noticed, to be wanted.

I traced the edges of my notebook. My pencil marks made little lines, neat and straight. I liked them that way. It felt like I could control at least something. The house was quiet. Mom was still asleep. Dad had already gone to work. Quiet sometimes felt heavy, but I liked it too. I imagined being somewhere else. Somewhere bright, full of voices and giggles. I whispered to myself, "One day... someone will see me."

On the walk to school, I kept my eyes on the cracked sidewalk. I stepped carefully around the leaves that stuck to the cracks. A stray dog sniffed near the corner store. Its ribs poked out under its patchy fur. I wondered where it came from. Did anyone feed it? Did it even have a home?

At school, I stayed at the back of the classroom. The other kids shouted and laughed and elbowed each other. I wanted to say something clever, but I didn't. I just watched. My brain made up little stories about the day--who would be friends, what secrets were hiding behind smiles. Somehow, I always stayed at the edges. Quiet. Watching.

After homework, I lingered at my desk. I traced the edges of my notebooks again, stacked neat and straight. The house was quiet. The radiator hummed. The floorboards creaked. Outside, the wind stirred the leaves. I imagined slipping through the streets, invisible. Free.

I thought about the kids at school--how they laughed so easily, how they made friends so fast. I wondered what it would be like to be like them. To not feel awkward all the time. I sighed, lining up my pencils by color. "Maybe someday someone will notice me," I whispered again.

The next day at school, the other kids shouted answers--none of them right. I glanced at the teacher. She looked like she might snap under all the noise. I tucked my head on my desk and waited for quiet. It never came. Every class was the same. Kids clamoring, teachers trying to stay in control.

Sometimes I wished I could shout too. To let the energy out. But I didn't have that voice. Instead, I watched. I noticed the small things. The patterns no one else seemed to see. The way someone tapped their pencil. The way someone's shoe squeaked on the floor. I paid attention. I learned. Quietly. Always quietly.

******

A few weeks later, a new girl came to our class. She looked quiet, like me. Maybe... maybe she could be a friend.

Her name was Annie. She said a little about herself and then moved to the desk next to mine. I held out my hand. "Hi," I said.

She paused. I didn't know why. Something about her was... different. Weird, but not in a bad way. I couldn't tell why I wanted to know her.

At lunch, I saw her sitting alone under the big elm tree. Nobody was around her. She tilted her head like she was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Our eyes met for a second, then she looked away. A tiny, crooked smile appeared on her face.

I walked over. My stomach flipped. "Hi... um, do you want to... play?"

She didn't answer right away. Just stared at me. Like she was figuring me out. Then, softly, she said, "You're the girl who sits at the back, right? I've noticed you."

"Yeah... I'm Anastasia," I said.

She smiled just a little. Not with her eyes. "Good. I like noticing things." Then she looked back at the tree, like our conversation was over.

Back in class, I kept glancing at her. She didn't talk to anyone else. She didn't whisper or giggle. Just sat there, watching, noticing, like she could see things nobody else could. It was... strange. And interesting.

At recess, I lingered near the edge of the playground, watching her swing slowly, staring at nothing. My legs itched to run over. Finally, I did.

"Hi... um, do you want to... play?" I asked again, my voice small.

She shook her head slightly. "Not really... today," she said. Almost like she was talking to herself.

I stepped back, disappointed. But I couldn't look away. There was something about her. Something I needed to know.

******

That night, after homework and dinner, I sat by my window. The street was wet from the rain. I liked listening to the sound, even if it made me feel a little lonely.

Then I saw him. A tall man in a big trench coat, standing in the middle of the road. Just... standing. Alone. Weird. I blinked. He was gone.

I turned around, shaking. Then I heard my parents whispering in the next room. "We have to do something."

"We may all be in danger."

My stomach twisted. Fear tightened inside me. I pressed my ear to the door, wanting to hear more, but the voices stopped. The lights went out.

I stayed at my window a little longer, thinking. Something was happening. Something I didn't understand. But I had to. I had to find out.

*******

My room was the only place that really felt like mine. Here, I could control everything. I pushed my bed closer to the window, just enough to watch the fog crawl across the street or see the other kids laughing outside. I lined up my pencils and books until everything looked just right, like the world made sense for a little while.

It was way past my bedtime, probably around nine. I sat by the window, staring down the street. Then I saw him--a tall man in a huge trench coat, just standing there in the rain. No one else was around. Weird. I squinted. But when I blinked... he was gone.

Shivering, I turned away and started getting ready for bed. That's when I heard them--my parents, whispering in low, fast voices.

"We have to do something."
"We may all be in danger."

My stomach twisted. Something scary, something I couldn't even name. I pressed my ear to the door, trying to hear more, but the voices stopped. Then the lights went out. Like they knew I was listening.

The next morning, breakfast was just eggs and toast. Not my favorite banana pancakes. The room felt colder, not from the windows, but from the quiet. Dad was hiding behind his newspaper. Mom was humming softly as she flipped the eggs, but it didn't sound like a song. It sounded like a shield.

I wanted to ask what they were talking about, but my throat felt tight. Maybe later. Maybe they'd tell me. They had to--they're my parents. I'm their only daughter.

I hurried to school, still thinking about last night. The day felt like it would never end. I only had one friend so far--Clara. I wanted more friends, but I didn't know how. And... What if I told someone about last night? They'd probably laugh at me. Or worse, not listening at all. My head burned with questions I didn't have answers for.

At recess, Clara spotted me sitting alone. "Hey, Anastasia! Come play with us!" she called.

I hesitated, then managed a tiny smile. "Okay... I'll come."

Clara could tell something was wrong. "What's wrong, Anastasia? You seem quieter than usual," she asked.

I swallowed hard. Could I tell her? Could I trust her? "There's something at home... something bad," I whispered.

Clara's eyes got big, but she stayed calm. "Alright... but be careful."

Silence stretched between us. Then she asked, "Do you want me to help you?"

I froze. Could I get her involved? What if this danger wasn't just at home? My heart thumped. Finally, I shook my head. "No, thanks."

Recess ended, and I walked back to class slowly, head down, my stomach twisting like the worry from home had followed me all the way there.

******

Anastasia stared at the chalkboard, but the numbers and letters didn't make any sense. Everything she had overheard last night kept running through her head, louder than anything else. She tried to shake it out, but it wouldn't go. She peeked at her classmates--some were doodling, some were fidgeting, some were just staring blankly. She looked at Clara. Clara waved and smiled big. Anastasia waved back, just a little.

The teacher barked, "Anastasia! Pay attention!"

Anastasia stared at the board. The words were there, but they didn't stick. Her stomach felt tight. Would this feeling ever go away? Would the scary stuff at home always be there, gnawing at her?

Clara leaned a little closer. "You've been staring at that board for forever. What's going on in your head?"

Anastasia shrugged, quiet. "Just... stuff at home. It's... complicated."

Clara grinned. "Complicated? That's my life too. And you know what? I kind of like complicated stuff."

Anastasia tried a small smile. She wasn't sure if she could explain.

"Come on," Clara said, nudging her shoulder. "You can tell me. I'm your only friend here."

Anastasia took a deep breath. "Okay... I'll tell you after school, on our way home. But you can't tell anyone."

Clara's eyes went huge. "I promise!" she said, bouncing a little in her seat. For the rest of the day, she couldn't stop thinking about what Anastasia might tell her--and how she could help her quiet, secretive friend.

*******

Chapter 2

Cold Clues

Anastasia told every little detail to Clara. Clara's eyes grew wide as she listened to what Anastasia had overheard from her parents. She felt scared -- scared for Anastasia, scared for what could happen next. Would they have to move away? Would something happen to her family? Her mind raced with questions, but she didn't know the answers. All she knew was that she wanted to help.

"Well," Clara finally said, her voice a little shaky, "what are you going to do next? I can help you and your family... I can talk to my--"

"Stop!" Anastasia shouted, cutting her off. "No! I'm not getting you involved. This is our problem, and I don't want you or your family to get hurt. I shouldn't have even told you." Her eyes blazed with anger as she looked at Clara.

Clara stared, unsure what to do. She knew Anastasia wasn't really mad at her, but something else was bothering her. Before Clara could say anything, Anastasia turned and ran back to her quiet, lonely home.

Anastasia slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing fast. Her chest felt tight, and she could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She didn't want to cry--not here, not now. She wasn't sure what to do next.

She paced her room, her slippers squeaking on the floor. "Okay," she whispered to herself, "first, I have to figure out what's going on... what it all means." Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, twisting it again and again.

The shadows in her room seemed bigger than usual, stretching across the walls as the light from the streetlamps outside flickered. It made her feel... watched. Maybe the house wasn't empty. Maybe it was waiting for her to figure it out.

She thought about Clara. Clara had wanted to help.

She flopped onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts tumbling over one another. What if her parents really were in trouble? What if she had to do something big and scary? And... What if she couldn't do it alone? Her stomach twisted at the thought.

Anastasia hugged her knees and whispered again, "I have to figure this out. I just... I don't know how yet."

******

Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the floor. The house was quiet for once, except for her parents in the kitchen. Then her mother called softly, "Anastasia, come here for a minute, sweetheart."

Her heart jumped. She padded quietly to the kitchen.

Her father looked up from the papers he was shuffling. "Honey, sit down. We need to talk... just a little, okay?"

Her mother knelt beside her. "We know you've been hearing things... things we didn't mean for you to hear yet."

Anastasia swallowed hard. "I... I just want to understand," she whispered.

Her father sighed. "It's complicated. Some things... some things are for grown-ups to deal with. But you're safe, Anastasia. We'll take care of you."

Her mother added, gently brushing her hair back, "We can't explain everything right now, but you have to promise to stay out of it for now. Can you do that?"

Anastasia nodded slowly, even though questions bubbled inside her. "Okay," she said softly.

Her father ruffled her hair. "Good girl. Now go get ready for bed. We'll talk more when it's safe."

Anastasia went back to her room, her mind spinning. She didn't like being left out of the secrets, but the seriousness in their voices made her feel the weight of it. Somehow, she knew this wasn't just ordinary worry--this was something bigger, something she would have to face one day.

The floors creaked under her feet. The stairs groaned. And the pictures on the walls... their eyes seemed to watch her. She shivered, even though her blanket scarf was wrapped tight around her neck.

She wandered toward the old storage door she'd never opened before. Something about tonight made her brave. Her fingers shook as she lifted the latch. The door creaked, and she peeked inside.

It was an attic! Dust everywhere. Boxes stacked high. Old trunks that looked like they could swallow her whole. She tiptoed closer, trying not to make a sound. Her heart thumped.

She opened one trunk. Inside were old photographs, letters, toys. One picture made her stop. It was her parents, but younger. And there... a figure she thought she recognized. A strange twist in her stomach told her this might be important.

She flipped through the letters. They were old, fancy writing, and some of the words were hard to read. She didn't understand all of it, but it felt... like clues. Like someone wanted her to find them.

Her fingers ached from holding the photos. She lined them up neatly, like she always did with her pencils. At least something was in order. Her eyes darted to the corners, where the shadows stretched and leaned, and she whispered to herself, "I'm going to figure this out. I have to."

The house creaked again. She jumped. But she didn't run. Not yet. Tonight, she will start looking.

The photo of the figure behind her parents made her stomach twist. It looked like someone had been there with them, but how could that be? She'd never seen him before. Or... maybe it wasn't him. Maybe it wasn't even a person at all. She squinted closer, but the more she looked, the stranger it got. The shape was tall and kind of blurry, like it didn't belong in the picture.

She dropped the photo fast, her heart thumping hard. It couldn't be real. Maybe the picture got smudged, or maybe it was just the light. But deep down, she didn't think so.

The rest of the box sat open beside her -- full of old photos and letters. She didn't know why her parents kept all of it hidden, but she felt like she wasn't supposed to see any of it. She stacked everything nice and neat again, the way she did with her pencils, and whispered, "I'll figure this out. I have to."

The following morning, a soft knock at the door made Anastasia jump. She clutched the box a little tighter.

"Hi... Anastasia?" A voice, small but steady, called from the doorway.

She looked up and saw a girl about her age, dark hair falling in messy waves, eyes sharp and curious. She was holding a notebook and a backpack that looked far too big for her small frame.

"I'm Annie," the girl said, stepping inside a little. "I... um... I wanted to see if you wanted to--" She paused, as if unsure how to finish.

Anastasia blinked at her. Nobody had come to her room before. "You... want to do what

"Play? Or... I dunno... just... hang out?" Annie's words tumbled out fast, like she was worried Anastasia would say no.

Anastasia studied her for a moment. There was something strange about Annie--like she noticed things other kids didn't. Maybe that was why she felt... interesting to watch. "Okay," Anastasia said finally, letting her voice sound braver than she felt.

Annie's face lit up, but it wasn't a big, giggly smile. It was small and careful, like she was hiding something. "Cool. Um... I brought my notebook. Maybe we can draw or write stories or... I dunno."

Anastasia nodded, still holding the box. "I... I was just looking at some old things." She shifted it closer. "Letters... pictures... things my parents left me."

Annie's eyes widened just a little, and she leaned closer, whispering, "Can I see?"

Anastasia hesitated. Part of her wanted to hide it all, but another part... another part wanted someone to see. "Okay," she said softly, opening the box a little. "But... you can't tell anyone. Ever."

Annie nodded seriously, her gaze steady. "I won't. Scout's honor," she said, making Anastasia giggle.

And just like that, the two girls sat cross-legged on the floor, the box between them, starting something that could become a friendship--quiet, curious, and full of secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Annie leaned closer to the box, peeking at the edges of the letters. "Wow... are these... real?" she whispered.

Anastasia nodded, biting her lip. "Yeah... they're from my parents... and some other people I don't know. I found them a few weeks ago."

Annie picked up a photo carefully. "Whoa... who's that behind them?" She pointed to the shadowy figure in one picture.

Anastasia's hands trembled a little. "I... I don't know. I never saw them before... I thought maybe it was... just a trick of the light."

Annie's eyes went wide. "A trick? That looks... really real. Like... someone's watching."

"I don't think they're supposed to be seen," Anastasia muttered, glancing around the room. "I mean... it's probably nothing. But... maybe there's something I'm supposed to figure out."

Annie nodded seriously. "Maybe... like a secret mission! You and me... detectives!"

Anastasia's lips twitched into a small smile. "Detectives, huh? Okay... but we have to be super quiet. No one can know."

"Quiet!" Annie agreed, puffing out her cheeks. "I'm really good at keeping quiet. Like... a ninja detective."

Anastasia giggled softly. For the first time in weeks, it didn't feel so heavy, the secrets in the box. Maybe... maybe she could trust someone after all.

Anastasia flipped through the letters carefully, trying not to tear the edges. Most of them were just her parents talking about boring grown-up stuff, but then she noticed one with a strange smudge in the corner--almost like someone had tried to hide a word.

"Hey... look at this," she whispered to Annie, pointing at the paper.

Annie leaned in, squinting. "Hmm... maybe it's a secret code! Like... if we figure it out, it'll tell us something important."

Anastasia's heart beat faster. "A code? Maybe... maybe it tells me something about... what they were talking about the other night."

Annie's eyes sparkled. "Ooooh... I love codes! Let's figure it out!"

They spent what felt like hours laying the letters out on the floor, comparing smudges, handwriting, and little marks in the corners. Every time Anastasia thought she saw a pattern, her stomach flipped with hope and fear.

"This one looks like it has the same symbol as the other letter," Annie said, pointing. "Maybe it's a map!"

Anastasia's fingers trembled as she traced the symbol. "A map... oh no... what if it leads somewhere dangerous?"

Annie shrugged. "Then we'll be brave detectives! We can do it... together."

Anastasia swallowed, nodding slowly. "Together... okay."

For the first time, the box of letters and photos didn't feel scary. It felt like a puzzle, a mystery she could solve... if she was careful.

Night was falling, the sky turning dark blue and shadows stretching across the quiet street. Annie zipped up her coat and tugged her scarf snug.

"I guess I should go," she said, kicking a little pile of leaves.

Anastasia's stomach felt tight. "Yeah... I guess so."

Annie gave her a quick hug. "Tomorrow... same time?"

Anastasia nodded, trying to smile. "Yeah, same time."

"Be careful, okay?" Annie whispered, giving her one last look before she ran down the street, disappearing into the growing darkness.

Anastasia watched her go, the cold air pressing against her cheeks. She turned back toward her house, her fingers brushing the door handle as the night settled around her. Tomorrow would come soon enough--but tonight, she was still alone with her thoughts, the shadows, and the quiet of her home.

******

The next morning, Clara waited by the corner of Anastasia's street, her eyes darting back and forth. Something felt... weird. The mailbox flap was swinging even though there was no wind, and the curtains in Anastasia's living room twitched like someone had moved too fast inside.

Clara's stomach did a little flip. She knew she shouldn't sneak around, but she worried about her friend. Maybe she could help, even just a little.

She crept closer, careful to stay behind the hedges. "Anastasia?" she whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind.

No answer.

Clara's eyes caught a shadow at the side of the house. It was tall... too tall. Her heart thumped. "Uh... hello?"

Anastasia appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes, still in her pajamas. Her expression froze when she saw Clara. "Clara! What are you doing here?"

"I... I saw something," Clara said quickly. "I thought... Maybe you needed help. I didn't mean to sneak or anything."

Anastasia shook her head, taking a step back. "No! You... you can't get involved. This... it's our thing. I don't want anyone hurt."

Clara bit her lip, unsure what to do. "But... maybe if we check together--just a little--we can figure it out faster!"

Anastasia's eyes filled with worry. "No, Clara... I can't. I need to figure this out first. Please... just trust me."

Clara sighed, stepping back but keeping her eyes on the house. She didn't like it, but she didn't argue. Something about Anastasia's tone made her realize this wasn't just a game. There were secrets here--real ones--and for now, all she could do was wait.

As Clara turned to leave, she glanced back once more. The shadow moved again, this time closer to the window. She shivered and whispered, "Be careful, Ana..." before disappearing down the street.

******

After I left Anastasia's house, I walked past the old crooked house a few doors down. The windows were dark and slanted, and the gate squeaked even when I didn't touch it. I thought I saw something move behind the curtains. My stomach felt all twisty.

Then, the old lady on the porch appeared. He leaned on his cane and looked at me with eyes that were too sharp for someone so wrinkly. "You live near her, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and scratchy. I froze. "Who?" I whispered. He tilted his head. "That girl... the quiet one. You'll see. Families like that... they're not like the rest."

I nodded fast and ran a little. His eyes seemed to follow me all the way down the sidewalk, like he could see right through me.

And then the other adults, I passed a few walking down the street. They were whispering to each other and stopped talking when they saw me. "That family... strange," one said. "Always hiding," another murmured, glancing at Anastasia's house. I ducked my head and kept walking, my scarf tight around my face. It was like the whole street was full of secrets, and I didn't know which ones I was allowed to hear.

******

By the time I got home, my legs were tired and my heart felt like it was thumping out of my chest. I wanted to help Anastasia, but I didn't even know where to start. Shadows and whispers and that old man's eyes--everything made my head spin.

I lay in bed thinking about her house and the weird grown-ups. I wanted to do something, but I also wanted to hide under my blanket. Tomorrow, I told myself, I would figure it out. Somehow.

Before I fell asleep, I made a plan in my head. I would keep an eye on Anastasia's house tomorrow--quiet, like a spy. I didn't want anyone to see me, especially the old lady with the sharp eyes. I imagined sneaking behind trees, peeking from windows, writing down everything I saw.

Maybe I could even figure out what all those whispering grown-ups were talking about. Were they scared of her family? Or just nosy? I didn't know yet, but I had to find out.

I pictured myself with a notebook, scribbling down clues, and it made my stomach feel jumpy--but in a good way. I was going to help Anastasia, I promised myself. Even if it was scary. Even if the adults in the street were whispering secrets I wasn't supposed to hear.

Tomorrow, I will start my detective work. I would be brave. I would watch. And I would find out everything--just like a real spy.

******

The next morning, I woke up early, the sky still pink and sleepy. I snuck out of the house, careful not to wake anyone, and tiptoed down the street toward Anastasia's. My heart was pounding like a drum. Today was spy day. Today, I was going to see everything.

As I got closer to her house, I noticed the old neighbor sitting on his porch, knitting like he always did. But today, his eyes were sharp, twitching like she knew something. "Good morning, Clara," she said, her voice soft but kind of... sneaky? "Out early, are we?"

I stopped, trying to look casual, but my legs felt like jelly. "Uh... yes, ma'am," I said.

She tilted her head, squinting at me like I was part of a puzzle she couldn't solve. "Be careful around there," she whispered, leaning closer. "Some things are not what they seem."

My stomach twisted. Some things aren't what they seem? What did she mean? I swallowed hard and nodded, trying not to look scared.

I kept walking, and that's when I noticed the grown-ups on the street--just a few houses down from Anastasia's. They were talking in quiet, hushed voices, glancing at her house as they passed. "Such an odd family..." one said.

"Always something strange with them," another muttered.

I squinted through the window, trying to see what that shadow was doing. It moved slowly and carefully, like it didn't want anyone to notice. My heart was thumping so hard it felt like it could jump out of my chest. I wanted to run inside and tell Anastasia, but... I was scared too. What if it was dangerous?

Then I saw her. Anastasia! She was walking down the hall, looking nervous, like she knew something was wrong. The shadow stopped for a moment, like it realized she was there. And then--it disappeared. Just like that.

I wanted to yell, "Anastasia, be careful!" but I didn't. I knew if I called out, whoever--or whatever--was in that house might hear me. My stomach felt tight, and my hands were shaking, but I stayed crouched down, hidden in the bushes.

I could hear her parents talking again, voices low, urgent, almost like a warning. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone... it was serious. Too serious for anything normal. I chewed my lip and thought fast. Should I go tell Anastasia? Or should I wait? What if I got her into trouble?

I decided to stay and watch a little longer. That's when I noticed the grown-ups again, just a few houses down. They walked past slowly, heads down, whispering in hushed voices. I couldn't hear everything, but one of them said, "Always hiding something, those kids' parents..." Another nodded and kept walking. My stomach twisted. How did they all know?

I didn't move. I couldn't move. Not yet. Not until I figured out what was going on. I whispered to myself, "I've got to help her. I just... I have to."

And then, like a shadow in the night, Anastasia's front door opened, and she ran out, fast, her scarf flapping behind her. She didn't even look at me. I wanted to call her name, but my mouth went dry. She was gone before I could.

I sat there for a long moment, feeling my cheeks get hot. I didn't know what had just happened, but one thing was clear: something very strange was going on at her house, and I wasn't going to stop until I knew what it was.

******

I finally crept back to my own yard, trying not to make a sound. My legs were wobbly from standing still too long, and my hands were freezing, even under my gloves. I couldn't stop thinking about what I saw. Anastasia running out, her parents' voices low and serious, and those whispering grown-ups a few houses down... it didn't make sense. Why were they all acting like something was wrong?

I walked inside, and Mom asked if I'd had fun at school. I just shrugged and sat at the table, poking at my sandwich. "Yeah... school was fine," I mumbled. My stomach was still tight, and I couldn't stop glancing out the window at Anastasia's house. I wanted to tell Mom about it, but I didn't. I couldn't. What if she got worried? What if someone overheard?

I grabbed my notebook and tried to write down everything I saw--the shadow, Anastasia running, the whispers of the grown-ups--but the words felt too small for what was happening. I drew little sketches instead: a stick figure for the shadow, a tiny house with eyes watching, and me hiding behind a bush. It helped a little, but it didn't make the fear go away.

I decided I had to tell Anastasia tomorrow. I would find a way to warn her, or at least be ready if something happened. But for now... I just sat by my window, staring at her house, wondering what secrets it held, and trying to convince myself that maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay.

******

It was one of the biggest snowstorms of the year. Anastasia, Clara, and Annie were bundled up in scarves, mittens, and coats so puffy it was hard to move.

"Come on! We're the best detectives in the world!" Annie shouted, stomping through the snow like it was lava. I'm not scared of anything, Anastasia thought. Not snow, not ghosts, not even boring kids.

Clara slipped on a hidden patch of ice. "Ow! Annie, slow down! We don't want to break a leg before the case even starts." Why does she always run like a crazy person? Anastasia thought, hugging her arms.

"Pfft, that's what weaklings say," Annie teased, brushing snow off her coat. "Real detectives are brave--and I'm the bravest!"

Anastasia pulled her scarf over her nose. The snow made everything quiet, soft, like it was hiding secrets. I hope there's a clue today... or it'll just be another boring afternoon.

Then something white poked out from under a branch. Anastasia crouched down and picked it up. Her hands shook. Could it really be...?

"Whoa..." Clara's eyes went huge. "That's... that's a real clue! What if it's... from the murder person?" Oh no, what if it's dangerous? she thought, hugging herself.

Annie snatched the note and read it over Anastasia's shoulder. Her mouth twisted in excitement. "Uh-uh. We are not telling anyone. Top secret. Got it?" They have to trust me. I'm the best at this, Anastasia thought.

"I... I don't know," Anastasia said, looking at the smudged words. "Maybe we should just leave it and look for more clues?" I don't want anyone to get hurt... but I have to know.

Clara chewed her lip, cheeks pink from the cold. "It could be dangerous!" Maybe we should run... no, we have to solve it.

"Pshh," Annie waved her hand like it was nothing. "Danger is what makes a detective's life exciting! You're too scared to have fun." They just don't get it. I love this stuff.

Snowflakes bit at their noses as they trudged forward. Then... Anastasia froze. A tall figure stood among the trees, still like a statue. Who...?

"Um... do you guys see that?" she whispered. Please tell me I'm not imagining it.

Clara's mouth dropped open. "I... I think I do! Who is that?" My stomach feels all twisty!

Annie's grin faltered. "I... I don't know. Maybe we should--" Wait, maybe it's part of the case!

Before she could finish, the figure vanished, like it melted into the snow. The girls stared at each other, wide-eyed.

"Run?" Clara whispered, shivering. We have to get out--fast!

"Yes!" Anastasia said, tucking the note into her coat pocket. I have to keep it. I have to know what it says.

They bolted through the forest, snow sticking to boots and hair, hearts thumping. Only when they saw the glow of the main road did they slow down.

"See you tomorrow!" Annie called over her shoulder, sprinting ahead. I'm not scared. I'm a detective.

Clara waved weakly. "Yeah... see you..." I hope we're safe... but I want to know what's next.

Anastasia walked slowly the rest of the way home, snow crunching under her boots, the note warm against her chest. This is just the beginning...

That night, in her room, she put the paper under her pillow, staring at the ceiling. What does it mean? Who else knows? My tummy still feels twisty.

She hung her wet coat and gloves. The wind howled outside, like it was whispering secrets, but inside... inside she could breathe.

A quiet evening

Annie had been talking too much in the living room, telling stories about school and silly things that happened in class. Clara had laughed at everything, even when it wasn't funny. Anastasia listened, sipping her hot chocolate, feeling warm but still thinking about the poem and the stranger.

"Clara," Annie whispered suddenly, "who do you like in class?"

Clara flushed bright red. "I... I don't like anyone!"

Anastasia giggled softly. Clara's face was pinker than a candy cane.

"Your face is lying!" Annie teased. "I can see it."

"You're impossible," Clara muttered, hiding behind her blanket.

Anastasia sipped her chocolate quietly. She liked watching her friends. They were loud and funny. And a little bit brave. She wished she could be like that too.

Annie leaned closer, whispering, "I bet this house is full of secrets. Shadows probably have stories if you listen."

Clara shivered. "Stop it. You're making the fire look scary."

"Maybe," Annie said, grinning. "But maybe scary is fun too."

The wind rattled the windows. The snow pressed against the glass. And inside, for now, there were only blankets, chocolate, and three kids pretending they were detectives--solving mysteries, chasing clues, and wondering about the secrets the world was hiding.

******

Hours later, she heard her parents come home. They were laughing -- loud and silly, like they'd forgotten how quiet the house usually was. She tiptoed down the stairs and peeked around the corner. Her mom and dad were holding each other, smiling in a way she hadn't seen in a long time.

When her mom saw her, she gasped softly. "Sweetheart, what are you doing up? Did we wake you?" Her voice was gentle, sweet like honey.

Anastasia shook her head and gave them both a hug. They held her close for a long time, and for a moment, everything felt safe again.

But when she went back to her room, she kept thinking about that photo -- the one with the figure behind them. They were hiding something.

Chapter 3: to be written

Chapter 4

It was a cold night in the middle of winter in 1970, she knew something had happened to her mother and father, but didn't know exactly what happened.

The anxiety of not knowing where her parents went left a heavy heart on her and being left abandoned was unshakable.

The night crept in as Anastasia stared out her bedroom window, replaying the same question over and over: how could her parents have vanished without a trace? The unknown weighed heavily on her, gnawing at her mind, and the sleepless nights were wearing her down. Still, she knew she had to uncover every piece of the puzzle that might explain their disappearance.

Her body begged for rest, her eyelids heavy, her muscles sore. Reluctantly, she let herself collapse into bed. Tomorrow, the silence of the house would still be waiting for her. Sixteen, and now an orphan--though being alone was nothing new. Even when her parents had been alive, their endless shifts had left her raising herself. Still, this was different. This was final. Or was it? She wondered, drifting into uneasy sleep. Were they truly gone... or was she only abandoned in a different way?

At dawn, sunlight slipped into her room, pulling her reluctantly back to the world. She dragged her tired body from the sheets and pushed open her window. Cool morning air filled her lungs, and for a fleeting second, her grief loosened its grip. Then the thought hit her again with brutal force: she might never say goodbye. Shoving it aside, she dressed quickly, poured herself a mug of bitter coffee, and stepped outside. She would find answers. No matter how long it took, she would uncover the truth--and bring justice to the people who had stolen her parents away.

Anastasia's first stop was the house next door, the one that always gave her chills. Peeling paint clung stubbornly to the shutters, and ivy crept up the fence like dark veins. She hesitated before knocking, heart pounding in her chest.

The door cracked open just enough to reveal Mr. Harlem's pale, anxious face. His eyes darted past her, scanning the street, before settling on her.

"You shouldn't be asking questions, young lady," he said, voice low and tense. "Or you'll end up where they are."

Before she could respond, the door slammed shut, leaving her frozen in shock. His words echoed over and over in her mind: don't ask those questions... or you'll be where they are. Slowly, she backed away, unsettled, and turned toward the next street.

That was when a voice called her name. She turned and saw a young man standing a few paces away. Dark-haired, tall, with eyes that seemed familiar in a way she couldn't place.

"My name's Hendrix," he said softly, his voice smooth and steady, almost a whisper against the cold wind. "You don't know me, but I think I know what happened to your parents. The same thing happened to mine."

He gestured for her to walk with him. Every warning she had ever been given by her parents rose to the surface--never follow strangers. Yet something about his eyes, a flicker of shared pain, drew her forward.

She walked beside him, cautiously. Hendrix shared fragments, pieces of a story that only hinted at danger lurking in the shadows. The more he spoke, the more she realized he knew something--but he wasn't ready to reveal everything yet.

Hours slipped by unnoticed as the winter sun sank lower. When she finally returned home, the evening air had grown sharp, biting through her coat. She hurried to the door--and froze.

A crumpled ball of paper was wedged against the frame. Hands shaking, she unfolded it. The writing was faint, smudged, but unmistakable. Her mother's handwriting.

I'm still alive. Trust no one.

Anastasia's heart raced. The note was proof, a lifeline--and a challenge. She knew, without a doubt, that the path ahead would be long and dangerous, but now, for the first time in days, she felt a flicker of hope.

The following morning, Anastasia woke late. Her body had finally surrendered to sleep after nights of exhaustion and restless questions. Bitter coffee jolted her awake, warming her hands as she stared at the quiet street outside. Today, she told herself she would find something.

Stepping out into the cold, she exhaled heavily, letting the winter air sting her lungs. A flicker of hope rose in her chest. That was when she noticed a shed a few blocks down--a squat, weathered thing she was certain she'd never seen before. It looked old and new all at once, as if it had been hiding in plain sight.

Curiosity tugged at her. She approached, pushed the door, and stepped inside.

The smell of damp wood hit her first. Then she saw the walls. Photographs--dozens of them--her and her family at every age, every stage of life. Her heart lurched into her stomach.

On the ground lay a small brass key and a folded note. She picked it up with trembling fingers.
This will guide you to where you may find the remains.

She didn't recognize the handwriting. Not her father's, not her mother's. Mr. Harlem? Or... Hendrix? No, she thought. He's trying to help me. Or is he steering me somewhere else entirely?

Pulling out her film camera, she snapped pictures of everything--the photos, the key, the note. Someone had to believe her.

She left the shed quickly, the cold air closing in again. A prickling sensation crawled up her spine. She turned. No one was there. But she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

At the nearest caf she ordered another black coffee, inhaling its bitter aroma. It calmed her nerves in a way it shouldn't. She took a second sip--then froze.

Hendrix had just walked in. Of all the caf in town, he was here.

He saw her instantly and slid into the seat across from her without asking.
"Did you find anything?" he asked bluntly.

Anastasia hesitated, her mind racing. The note in her mother's hand. The shed is full of photos. The key. Should she tell him?

She managed a small nod but kept her voice neutral. "A few things."

His gaze searched hers for more, but she looked away, unwilling to reveal her secrets just yet. They sat in uneasy silence for a while, two strangers bound by missing parents and too many unanswered questions. When they parted, she still wasn't sure which voice to listen to--her gut telling her to trust him, or her head warning her to stay away.

As Anastasia left the caf the prickling sensation returned--someone was following her. She stopped, weighing her options. Should she confront them or keep walking? Heart racing, she turned toward the figure.

A young woman stepped into view, roughly her age, smiling but with eyes that betrayed worry.

"Why are you following me?" Anastasia asked, her voice quivering despite her attempt at strength.

The girl looked past her, calm and unwavering. "I can help you. I can help you find your parents. I know everything."

Anastasia froze. "Everything?"

The girl nodded. "I've known your parents a long time. Your father... since I was born. I'm nineteen. I believe I'm your sister."

Shock rooted Anastasia to the spot. Her mind spun--how could this be? Why had her parents never told her? Questions collided in her head: Who is she? Where has she been all these years? Why now?

Unable to respond, Anastasia turned and walked away, seeking space to breathe. She found a quiet bench in the town park, sank into it, and stared at the gray winter sky. Tears slid down her cheeks, unheeded. The grief, the anger, the confusion--she let it all wash over her.

After a long moment, the girl--Lucy--approached again. "There you are, my adventurous sister. Sit with me. I want to share my story, and I want to know yours."

Reluctantly, Anastasia shuffled closer. Words tumbled between them, stories of childhood, shared interests, dreams, and heartbreak. It was strange and comforting all at once, like meeting someone familiar for the first time.

Night fell. Lucy told her she was staying at a nearby motel. "If you want to meet again, call or text. I'll be there," she said. She had her own reasons for searching--her father, their family's secrets--but she was willing to help Anastasia find answers.

As Anastasia watched her sister walk away, the loneliness returned--but this time it was tempered with hope. She now had someone to share her journey with, someone who might help her uncover the truth about their parents.

As Anastasia walked toward the street, Lucy followed at a careful distance, keeping herself hidden at first. I have to find her, she thought. I need to know my baby sister, even if I can't reveal everything yet.

She had been searching for clues to find their father, piecing together the fragments of their family's past. She didn't know much about Anastasia's mother, but she knew she loved her deeply. Her own mother had died when she was a baby, leaving her father only able to see her every few months. Knowing there was a little sister she was forbidden to know had always weighed on her heart. Raised by her aunt and uncle, she had been loved and guided, but the emptiness of never knowing her sister had left her aching.

The moment she finally saw Anastasia, shock nearly stole her breath. She didn't know how to approach her; she barely managed to let the words spill out, hoping to form a connection, hoping her sister wouldn't run away from the truth.

Meanwhile, Anastasia felt someone watching her and froze. Hendrix appeared, leaning casually against a lamppost. Her pulse quickened. Was it coincidence--or had he been following her?

"I think you found something important," he said, nodding toward the pocket where the note rested. "Let me help."

Anastasia hesitated. Could she trust him? Could he be trusted with Lucy's story--or with the key she had found in the shed? She shook her head slightly. "I... I can't tell you everything yet," she said softly.

Hendrix nodded, eyes flicking toward the shadows of the street. "Then start with what we do know. That key--where do you think it leads?"

Anastasia pulled it from her coat, the metal cold in her palm. "I don't know. Maybe a drawer, a compartment... something connected to my parents."

Together, they moved cautiously toward the shed, tension wrapping around them like a thick fog. Every shadow seemed to twitch, every distant sound rattled her nerves. Anastasia thought of Lucy, the sister she had just glimpsed, and a flicker of hope stirred inside her. She wasn't alone anymore--not entirely.

"Stay close," Hendrix whispered. "We don't know who's watching."

That night, Anastasia sat on the edge of her bed, the brass key cold in her palm. She turned it over and over, imagining the lock it might fit. Every answer she thought she'd found only opened another question. She wanted to reach out to Lucy, to ask about the years she'd lost, but the words stuck in her throat.

That night, Anastasia sat cross-legged on her bed, the brass key cold in her palm. She turned it over and over, tracing the grooves, imagining the lock it might fit. Every answer she thought she had only seemed to open another question. The weight of her parents' disappearance pressed on her chest, and the revelation of Lucy--her sister she had never known--made the world feel both smaller and impossibly vast.

She wanted to reach out to Lucy, to ask about the years they'd missed, to close the gap time had left between them. But the words caught in her throat, heavy and unshakable. She wasn't used to this--hope tangled with fear, longing with doubt.

Her gaze drifted toward the window, where shadows stretched long under the cold winter moon. Somewhere out there, the answers waited. She could almost feel them, blurred at the edges of her perception, just beyond reach.

Finally, she clenched the key in her hand. Tomorrow, she would find the lock it belonged to. She didn't know if it would bring answers--or more questions--but she would move forward. For the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of purpose. Not alone, not entirely. And that small spark, fragile though it was, felt like a beginning.