Marissa handed me a file with details. As I skimmed through it, I felt a flicker of curiosity and excitement. This was what I was good at, digging into the unknown. And if it meant immersing myself in work and escaping my mess, so be it.
The drive to Rosebrook was long, but I didn’t mind. As I neared the town, a sense of unease began to creep in. The road wound through thick woods. The sky was overcast, casting a dull, gray light. When I saw the sign ‘Welcome to Rosebrook,’ I realized just how isolated this place was.
The town was small, a cluster of old buildings that looked centuries old. No chain stores, no fast food, just a few shops, a diner, and a single gas station. It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, and outsiders were immediately noticeable.
As I drove down the main street, I noticed the locals staring at me with suspicion, as if they could tell I didn’t belong. But I just shrugged it off. I was here to do my job.
I parked outside the only motel in town. I checked in with a clerk who barely glanced at me before handing over my room key.
After dropping my bags in the small, musty room, I decided to explore the town. The streets were nearly empty. And the few people I saw hurried by with their heads down, avoiding eye contact. The town had an eerie vibe.
I found the diner Marissa had mentioned, The Pot. It was a small shop where the food was cheap, the coffee strong, and the gossip plentiful. If there was any place to start digging, it was here.
As I entered, the bell above the door jingled. Every head turned to look at me. Conversations fell silent, replaced by a thick tension that hung in the air. I felt like an intruder in a place where I didn’t belong.
Ignoring the stares, I took a seat at the counter. The waitress, a woman in her fifties with graying hair, approached with a tired smile. Her eyes lingered on me, trying to figure out my purpose.
“Coffee, please,” I said, forcing a smile.
She nodded and poured a cup. “You’re not from around here,” she mumbled, more a statement than a question.
“No, I’m not,” I replied. “I’m a journalist investigating the recent animal attacks.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I felt their eyes on me. The waitress’s smile faltered.
“We don’t get many journalists,” she said slowly. “My advice? Don’t dig where you don’t belong. Some things are better left alone.”