The world is tainted with unadulterated evil leaving you wondering just who you can trust. No one is reliable or safe - at least that's how Amelia Beckett feels.

More news about some dead girl I never even knew. Amelia gazes at the muted television screen as she reads the headlines.

Beloved small-town girl brutally murdered. Rest in Peace May Hart.

Every news outlet has assembled in the unchartered town like a flock of hungry vultures, waiting to prey on anyone willing to talk. Black Hill has become infamous.

The impervious town has gone rogue.

Amelia reads the following headline. May Hart, the most beloved seventeen-year-old girl in this backwater town. Amelia didn't know her - she barely knows anyone. She had only moved here a few months before May's disappearance and hadn't been one for making friends. Always believing she would be better off alone. Her father got a job offer he couldn't refuse - to become the local sheriff, yanking Amelia from her well-adjusted home in California to despondent Black Hill.

May's face appears on the silent screen and morbid thoughts begin to swirl through her mind. Imagine dying so brutally and so young. She thinks.

She clears her throat as her father's approaching footsteps echo through the narrow hallway and she stands up to greet him in the kitchen.

"Morning." He greets cheerfully, only to receive a mumbled hello in return.

"I better get to school." She replies grimly as she gathers her notes and books, clutching them to her chest as if trying to shield herself from imminent danger. She has never been one for idle chatter, but she has never been so despondent. The move has been overbearing.

"I will see you for dinner." Her father musters his best smile as he watches her sluggishly saunter towards the front door, releasing a heavy sigh after her exit.

Their sidewalk is covered in a crystal-white gown and her boots crunch against the thick snow. She wastes no time in turning the heater in the car on as her frosty fingers begin to return to their natural rosy state. She cautiously dawdles to school, not entirely comfortable driving on the icy roads - something she never had to do until her move.

The school building is as rustically aesthetic as the rest of the town. The first time Amelia saw it she feared that it would collapse on itself if one more student entered the fray, however, despite the odd overly grown hedge or rickety staircase - the school is surprisingly in reasonably decent condition. Her boots clanking against the checkered tiles is barely audible against the rambunctious chatter of students crowded in the narrow hallways. Her rusty locker creaks as she nearly yanks it off with a surprising amount of strength. She subtly gazes to see if the noise captured unwanted attention, but it's as if she isn't even there. With a sigh of relief, she carelessly tosses her books into her locker, not caring if they would get damaged. She throws a rebellious lock of auburn hair over her shoulder with a huff before slamming her locker shut.

The bell doesn't ring for another thirty minutes, but Amelia likes to skip the pretense of having anything better to do, and opts to sit in her first-period classes to wait for the bell. Fortunately her best, and only, friend Lillian Eddison's social life is as brutally non-existent as her own and she often finds her perky friend waiting for her in their usual seats. Not one to disappoint, Amelia immediately spots her best friend in the same seat as every English period - her luminescent purple backpack on the seat next to her. As if someone would want to sit next to either one of us. Amelia morbidly thinks before approaching Lillian. Her usual perky grin is showcased on her face as she moves her backpack for Amelia to sit.

"Can you believe it's been three weeks already?" Lillian, never one to miss out on the gossip, replies in greeting.

"I told you," Amelia replies with her arms crossed and crouched in her seat. "I never really knew her."

Truth be told, Lillian never truly knew May either. May and Lillian traveled in different social circles ever since freshman year. May ventured up the social hierarchy, leaving Lillian at the bottom with the rest of the social pariahs. May the two cliques never meet. The closest Lillian ever got to May Hart was breathing the same air as her in their respective classes.

The shrill ringing of the bell vibrates through Amelia's eardrums and the roaring herd of students stampedes into the classroom like animals to the watering hole. The once peaceful aura of the classroom is popped like a bubble as the needle of incessant talking pierces it. With a heavy sigh, Amelia sits upright and flips the pages of her tattered copy of Julius Ceasar - this semester's indicated reading. She stops when she reaches where the class left off and places a pencil against the spine to reserve the page. Mr. Stanley enters and it's as if he telepathically ordered the talking to cease as everyone hurriedly, and silently, situates in their seats.

"Good morning." His deep voice greets.

He ignores the half-hearted greetings and turns to the whiteboard and begins to write the word BETRAYAL. His penmanship is nothing less than sophisticated. He turns to the class with his hands behind his back and clears his throat.

"Betrayal is a major theme in Julius Caesar," He begins. "Caesar was betrayed by two of his closest friends as they conspired to murder him - all because of ambition and greed."

A loud bang makes Amelia nearly jump out of her seat at the unexpectedness. All heads turn in sync to investigate the cause of the noise - nobody is surprised as they lock gazes on the usual culprit. Ethan Crawford. He seems unsympathetic as he casually strolls towards his usual seat in the back, purposefully pulling the chair back to create an intense shriek as the feet scrape against the mundane tiles.

"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Crawford." Mr. Stanley vexingly greets.

"Wouldn't want to be anywhere else." Ethan nonchalantly slouches in his seat with folded arms. His worn-out leather jacket becomes strained against his arms. Amelia hurriedly looks away as the undoubtedly troubled boy catches her gaze. Everything about him is one alarmingly red flag.

"Brutus betrayed his closest friend because he was afraid of his power, and what he would do with it." She had been so focused on avoiding Ethan Crawford that she must have zoned out on Mr. Stanley continuing his lesson.

Despite her warnings to focus, her mind can't help but wonder as she unceremoniously gazes around the classroom as she locks eyes with the back of a tattered mop of hair. Seth Gallagher.

Amelia doesn't know much about Seth - he's another person at the highest point of the social hierarchy, so far up it might seem like climbing Mount Everest to the outcasts at the bottom. The one thing she did know about Seth is that he and May were seriously involved since freshman year. Their cliché story of the head cheerleader and the quarterback came to a tragic demise when May was reported missing. However, the tragedy struck like a bolt of lightning the day her body was found. It seems a part of the town died with her that day - but Amelia wasn't buying the phony saga. She had always been an observer, something she picked up from her father, and May Hart was not as loved as everyone depicted in the news. May had her secrets and scandals just like everyone else, but she finds it hard to believe she had a secret big enough to be killed. However, the morbid tragedy of life is that anyone is capable of murder - with the right incentive.

Her wild thoughts betrayed her once again as the bell reawakened her to reality. Students depart through the door with urgency as Amelia and Lillian casually trail behind the mosh pit of students. Amelia's thoughts run wild through each class until she finds herself awkwardly stagnant at the entrance of the cafeteria. It felt like her body was on autopilot and she had now manually taken charge. She unwittingly grabbed a stale-looking slice of pizza and a bottle of water before anxiously trailing through the maze of benches until she reached hers and Lillian's usual lunch spot. The furthest bench - far away from onlookers.

Lillian seemed to be in a daze with her elbows on the wooden table and her chin in her hands. Amelia sits down and follows her line of sight, not surprised to lock her eyes on Seth Gallagher- Lillian's crush since the fourth grade. Amelia never understood Lillian's infatuation with the quarterback. She must admit, she found him attractive when she first came to this school, however, the second he opened his mouth the attraction faded in a nano-second. Jock douchebags were never her type. Amelia's upper left lip unconsciously rises as two carbon copy blondes join Seth at his table - their cheer uniforms adorn their bodies like a badge of honor. Abigail Westcliffe and Tiffany Evans. The Gretchen and Karen to May's Regina. Amelia gazes on in repulsion as the bottle blondes twirl their hair around their fingers while engaging in a flirtatious conversation with any jock that was interested. Unable to look any further, Amelia turns away and twists the cap off her water bottle before taking an adequate sip. She had never taken much notice of the popular clique since they never bothered to acknowledge her presence.

However, her curious nature cannot help but make her thoughts run wild. If May was murdered, then who was responsible for her death? Was it an accident? Was it some random killer passing through town? Or, was it someone she knew? Someone that could be in this very room. Her eyes curiously glance around the room. She inherited her unrelenting curiosity from her father - a blessing and a curse. A shiver runs down her spine at her unruly paranoia. A normal mind would reassure her that the detectives are handling it, but she has always been one to stick her nose where it doesn't belong. Everyone has secrets. Her mind spirals. Perhaps someone has a secret worth killing for.

May Hart was infamous for her overbearing need to cause chaos, not taking a second to think of the lives she would destroy. Her portrayal of the warm-hearted girl-next-door was nothing but a charade. When the real May Hart made an appearance, she showed up with a vengeance. She would always play it off as a joke, but it seems someone stopped finding it humorous. It's amazing how humiliation is seen as an underrated emotion. It can unlock the darkest parts of your soul and corrupt the purest of hearts.

Amelia knows the dangers of getting involved in something as serious as this, but her desire to discover the truth overruled the warnings. She has to know who murdered May Hart.

The stars are a choir in the serenade of the black sky. The blanket of generous velvet envelops her in safety as Amelia gazes up from the edge of her roof. The leaves pirouette in symphony with the gentle wind as the cold breeze penetrates her pores. She begins to wonder how a town with so much life could become a death omen. Ever since May's discovery, she felt more closed off than ever. How could anyone be expected to walk these streets without a trace of fear? The wicked killer could still be out there, waiting for their next target.

Oncoming headlights capture her attention as an unknown vehicle comes to a stop in the home across her street. The home of Mr. Popular - Seth Gallagher. She couldn't see the figure, partly from the distance and the thick darkness. She squints her eyes but her attempts are in vain. She watches the unknown silhouette dig around in the car before the slamming of the door echoes through the soundless street. She can see the fast movements of the unknown figure as they approach the house, but the darkness is too thick. However, from the seemingly broad frame she knows for certain it cannot be Seth. His parents are always out of town too. Amelia notes.

She keeps her gaze on the home for a while longer, hoping the mystery person appears, but after ten minutes she decides to call it a night. Tomorrow is another day.

The ominous blanket of the night casts over the town, assisting the stars in seeming brighter. Rosemary Lang clutches her furry sweater tighter around herself as her keys to the house rattle in her hand. She exhales the murky air as she attempts to place the key into the lock, but her ice-cold fingers can barely grip it. After a few, failed, attempts she manages to unlock the door and burst into the home. She closes the door and sighs in delight as she is greeted by the synthetic warmth.

"Mom, Dad - I'm home!" She calls out but only receives her echo as a reply.

Typical, they're never home. Rosemary sulks as she waltzes to her bedroom and drops her cheer bag to the ground. With a pitiful sigh, she collapses on her bed and reaches for her iPhone in her pocket. She connects to her Bluetooth speaker and clicks on her pop playlist. The music blares through the speakers with a deafening roar as she aimlessly scrolls through Instagram - liking and commenting on some of her friends' pictures. She scoffs at how absurd some of the girls on the cheer squad are. The first rule of cheerleading is to never talk bad about anyone - at least to their face. She smugly grins as she comments gorgeous under one of the pictures followed by a fire emoji - just because she said it doesn't mean it was sincere. She is so immersed in her Instagram stalking and head-splitting music that she doesn't take notice of the shadow lurking inside her closet.

She rolls over onto her stomach, turning her back to the forbidding figure. The creaking of the door is enfolded in the music and the figure stealthily approaches her with a synthetic rope firmly clasped in their hold. The figure stalks Rosemary like a predator to its prey before wrapping the rope around her neck and yanking. She gasps as she feels the material scratching against her skin, her chest tightening from lack of oxygen. She grips the rope in a vain attempt of loosening it, but the figure overpowers her. With one more brutal pull of the rope, she collapses onto her silk bed sheets.

Amelia could barely hear the sound of her boots clanking against the grimy tiled floors. The rambunctious chatter of the students in the narrow hallway overpowers any other sound - even the rattling of the steel lockers sounds muffled. The news of Rosemary Lang spread like wildfire - a con of small-town living. Amelia discovered the news from her father who received an urgent call from Rosemary's parents at 4 am. He rushed into Amelia's room to let her know and hurriedly slipped out that Rosemary is dead before rushing out of their home.

Amelia didn't know Rosemary and from what she has heard whispered through the hallways, she wasn't worth knowing. Rosemary was infamous for her social media popularity - but she never used her fame for good. Every scandal or embarrassing moment was captured on her social media profiles, once you're on there you can never escape the shame. Her profile has destroyed relationships, families, and futures.

Her father never told her the details of her death leaving Amelia to wonder how exactly she died. Was it suicide? Or Murder?

First May and now Rosemary.

It seems that the bubble of security around Black Hill has burst and Amelia fears this is only the beginning.

She reaches her locker to find an anxious Lillian leaning on the locker next to hers, impatiently tapping her foot. The second she spots Amelia she stands upright.

"Did you hear about Rosemary?" Her inquisitive nature overtakes her sense of manners.

"Good morning to you too." Amelia retorts entering her locker combination.

Her rusted locker needed a bit more force than usual to open.

"What do you think happened?" Lillian questions ignoring the snarky remark. "Did your dad say anything?"

"He hasn't said a thing." She bitterly states.

The bell shrieks and the flock of students make a beeline for their classes. Amelia gratefully sighs as she is saved from Lillian's incessant interrogations.

The cafeteria is crowded as usual. Seth Gallagher casually places his forearms on the table as he leans over to steal a french fry off of Abigail Westcliffe's plate.

"Stop that!" She shrieks and slaps his hand away. She feigns anger but her cover is blown as a hint of a smile appears.

"It's not like you're going to eat it." Seth shrugs. "Your strict no-carb rule."

"As newly elected cheer captain it's my duty to set the example." She bellows before frowning. "It's what May would have done."

The mention of her name attracts a cloud of morbidity over their table. They remain in tense silence until the chime of someone's phone bursts the bubble.

"Sorry." Tiffany winces before reaching for her phone to check her Tiktok notifications. "Just more tributes about Rosemary." She mutters.

"I'm sorry." Abigail pipes up. "It's not like she was this amazing person - she did anything for followers."

Tiffany bites her lip as she glances at Josh Moore - her boyfriend since freshman year. He nods his head in agreement with Abigail's words.

"She was a bitch." He states with a careless shrug. "How about we change the subject?"

There is a moment of silence before they dive into their routine of senseless gossip and insignificant social media strategies. Their trivial conversation is, however, interrupted by the sound of a table screeching across the tiled floor and a group of students gasping at the scene before them. Ethan Crawford is having a physical dispute with one of the guys from the football team. Their pack mentality lures every football player to the scene to hold him back. He manages to get one cheap shot on the guy's jaw before he's dragged away by three of the players - one of them being Seth.

"Get your hands off me." Ethan growls like a man possessed before yanking his arm out of Seth's hold.

He gazes at him in disgust, as if his arm is about to fall off from his touch. Tiffany and Abigail live stream the entire scene - right up until Ethan pushes past the gathered crowd and stomps out of the cafeteria. Amelia observed the altercation from afar wondering what could have caused such an outbreak, but she reminded herself that this is not uncommon behavior for Ethan. She glances at Lillian questioningly but shrugs it off as Ethan being Ethan. However, the shiver in the back of her neck makes her doubt it. The town is on edge. It is not going to quiet down until they get closure.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

𝙄𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙢: 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙜𝙯_𝙩𝙝𝙚_𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧

𝙏𝙞𝙠𝙩𝙤𝙠: 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙜𝙯_𝙩𝙝𝙚_𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧