The Weight of Shadows

Ethan Carter kicked a pebble down the cracked sidewalk of Willow Creek, his sneakers scuffing against the asphalt. The town was a postcard of forgotten dreams-fading paint on shopfronts, a diner that smelled of burnt coffee, and a sky that always seemed one shade too gray. At seventeen, Ethan felt like he was outgrowing the place faster than his worn-out jeans. His dad's auto shop was the only thing keeping the Carters afloat, but even that was sinking under unpaid bills."Yo, Ethan!" a voice called. Marcus, his best friend since third grade, jogged up, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"You look like you're planning a jailbreak."Ethan smirked. "Maybe I am. You in?"Marcus laughed, his dark eyes glinting. "Only if there's pizza at the end of it."They walked toward the high school, a squat brick building that felt more like a prison than a place of learning. Ethan's grades were decent, but his heart wasn't in it. He was restless, itching for something bigger than Willow Creek's endless cycle of football games and gossip. His mom had left when he was ten, and his dad, Tom, buried himself in work. Ethan learned early to fend for himself, but lately, the weight of it all felt heavier.At school, Ethan slid into his usual seat in history class, half-listening to Mr. Grayson drone about the Industrial Revolution. His eyes wandered to the window, where a flicker of movement caught his attention. A figure stood across the street, too far to make out clearly, but Ethan swore they were staring right at him. The bell rang, snapping him out of it. The figure was gone.After school, Ethan biked to the shop to help his dad. The garage smelled of oil and rust, and Tom was under a truck, cursing at a stubborn bolt. "Hand me the wrench," he grunted without looking up.Ethan obliged, but his mind was elsewhere. "Dad, you ever think about leaving this place?"Tom slid out, wiping sweat from his brow. "Where'd we go? This shop's all we got."Ethan didn't answer. That night, unable to sleep, he slipped out to the backyard, where an old shed stood, half-collapsed. He'd been meaning to clean it out for months. Inside, among rusted tools and cobwebs, he found a metal box buried under a tarp. It was locked, no key in sight, but etched on the lid was a symbol-a circle with three jagged lines, like a broken crown. Something about it sent a chill down his spine.He didn't tell anyone about the box. Not yet.