Brandon Swanson leaned against the battered door of his car, his breath visible in the crisp May air. The silence was so complete it pressed against his ears, broken only by the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustle of wind through the grass. He dialed his parents, his hands trembling slightly as he brought the phone to his ear.

Brandon’s father tried to steady his voice. "Are you alright, Brandon? Where are you? Can you see anything familiar?" "I'm not hurt, Dad. I just—my car’s stuck in a ditch. I can see some lights. I think it’s a town. I’ll walk toward them," Brandon’s mother gripped the phone tighter, her voice wavering. "Stay on the line with us, sweetheart. We’ll come get you. Just keep talking."

Brandon walked slowly, phone pressed to his ear, describing every landmark he passed. The conversation with his parents became his lifeline, each word battling against the growing unease. He tried to ignore the sensation that the lights weren’t getting any closer.

"Can you see any signs? Anything that looks familiar?" "No, just more trees. I think I’m close, though. I’ll keep moving," "Brandon, maybe you should turn back. Let’s just wait by the car," "I’m almost there. I promise,"

"Oh, no!—" The scream rips through the line, raw and terrified, before the connection dies. The phone goes silent, leaving only the sound of static and the distant ticking of the clock in his parents’ living room.

Brandon’s father stands by the empty road, clutching the phone, scanning the horizon for any sign of his son. Brandon’s mother wipes away tears, her voice breaking as she calls his name. The community gathers, searching, but the road yields only silence and mystery.