Disturbia

The rain didn’t wash things away in Oakhaven; it just made the secrets heavier.

It started with the "glitches." A neighbor, Mr. Henderson, standing perfectly still on his porch for forty minutes, staring at a dead mailbox. The rhythmic, synchronized clicking of every sprinkler system on the street, firing off at 3:14 AM exactly. Disturbia

Elias leaned closer to the glass. Across the street, the Miller house was glowing. Not with the warm amber of a living room lamp, but a harsh, clinical ultraviolet. He pulled up his camera feed—a hidden lens he’d tucked into a birdhouse. The rain didn’t wash things away in Oakhaven;

On screen, the Millers were sitting at their dinner table. They weren't eating. They were moving their forks in unison, lifting empty air to their mouths, their expressions frozen in terrifying, toothy grins. Not with the warm amber of a living

Elias backed against the window, the glass cold against his spine. He looked out at the street one last time. Every house was now bathed in that same ultraviolet glow. Doors were clicking open in unison. Figures were stepping out onto the wet asphalt, all of them turning their square-pupiled gaze toward his window.

"The lawn needs mowing, Elias," the silhouette said, its voice a discordant layering of his neighbors’ tones. "The symmetry is breaking."

He spun around. His bedroom door, which he’d locked an hour ago, stood wide open. The hallway light was out, but he could see a silhouette standing there. It was tall, its limbs slightly too long, swaying with the same rhythmic twitch as the sprinklers outside.