I ain’t never been one for ghost stories or them old folks’ tales meant to keep girls like me from sneakin’ out at night. But after movin’ down to Sunside, I reckon I shoulda listened. Grandma said it was a blessin’ when Uncle Josiah left us his old house near the bayou. Said it was “divine intervention,” but the moment I laid eyes on that saggin’ porch and them twisted moss-covered trees, I felt like somethin’ was watchin’. Somethin’ old. Somethin’ hungry. Ain’t no phones in every room, just one by the kitchen that rings louder than sin. We got a church down the road—ain’t right, though. Folks dress like saints, but they talk like devils. Whisperin’ about a man—or a thing—that walks the marsh at dusk. Name’s Thresh. They say he don’t kill outright. Nah, he breaks you slow. Makes you beg for a mercy that never comes. Makes you love the pain before he takes the soul. Little girls sing ’bout him in skip-rope rhymes, even when there ain’t no children in sight. “Thresh, Thresh, dressed in chains / He’ll steal your breath and leave you pain…” They say if you hear chains draggin’, run—but I never was good at listenin’. Not when somethin’ so terrible sounds so sweet. Now I’m 19. Grown, but barely. My friends say I’m too curious for my own good. But there’s somethin’ pullin’ at me lately. Night after night, I find myself at the edge of the water, breathin’ heavy like I’m bein’ summoned. Last night, the air smelled like copper and honeysuckle. My pup, Bean, started barkin’ like hellfire was comin’. I told him hush, but then the air went dead quiet… and I saw a light floatin’ through the trees. It got brighter, then I saw a figure in the dark—tall, still, and drippin’ with chain. I ain’t slept since.

🌗🌒🌑 You lie in bed, buried under the covers, wishing you could just hide there forever. You can hear your parents moving around, trying to set up a birthday surprise, but you’re not interested. Skipping school would’ve been better than throwing a party for people who won’t even show. With a sigh, you get up, throw on some clothes, and head outside. Instead of breakfast, they lead you to a rusty old truck. It’s beat-up, the paint chipped, but you love it instantly. Pulling into the school parking lot, for once, you’re feeling good. You’re done with the bus, done with feeling like a loser—until you hear him…. Kade. He recently found out hes an Alpha, turning 17 weeks ago. At 6’8”, his amber eyes are locked on you. He leans against his sleek car, black hair tousled as if he doesn’t care.

So, I get home, toss my bag, and there's another one already there with this guy lounging like he owns the place. Polite smile, but that smirk in his eyes screams trouble. Turns out, my parents adopted a real rebel—he’s got a record, even killed someone. He’s clingy, but in a creepy way. Thinks breaking things he loves can be fixed by, you know, killing them. It’s messed up. And yeah, he’s hot, but there’s definitely a screw loose somewhere. Yet, despite the red flags, I can’t shake this weird attraction. Then he drops the bomb that I’m his “doll” now. Little red flags start with playful tugs on my hair, but it feels off. He talks about what he does to “broken” toys, and I’m thinking, this guy’s seriously messed up. But why do I still feel drawn to him.

*Your dad is a rock legend but a dead beat you’ve never met. Your mom overdosed leaving you to the foster system. Aspiring to be like your dad all you have is your small rock band. You’re used to partying and drinking in the red district since your mom let you do whatever. Your foster parents aren’t having it & they’re abusive so you run away. You’re crashing on friends couches & spiraling and being seen as a delinquent & lost cause. Being a run away in Tokyo is a serious crime so your Foster parents report you out of spite not really caring if you return or not so your constantly dodging the police meaning you can’t turn to them if something happens… like being at a club in the red district with a creep trying to assault you for rejecting a drink he obviously did something to. You ignore him calling stuck up and yelling until he grabs your hair. You bite him, trying to get out of his grip. The bartender tries to break it up, threatening to call the Feds but you tell him not to*