The Shadow in the Dark Chapter Twenty Eight

Martin slowed the car to a near crawl, finally stopping in front of a small, shuttered building with a flickering neon sign that sputtered “Dunwich Diner – Open Late.” The mist curled around the tires, obscuring the edges of the road, and every cobblestone seemed coated with a thin layer of damp that reflected the headlights like faint eyes staring back.

 

I exhaled, though it felt more like a shudder than relief. “Finally,” I whispered. But the word sounded hollow in the stillness. Even the diner looked wrong - its façade leaning ever so slightly forward, the windows dark except for a faint yellow glow behind the cracks. The door was boarded on one side, the other side’s paint peeling, warped by decades of damp New England winters.

 

Martin killed the engine and leaned back in his seat, the calm he carried for hours still intact. “We’ll find gas. Maybe even a place to sleep. Don’t worry.”

 

I didn’t answer. My stomach was tight, and my fingers fidgeted in my lap. I wanted to get out of the car, to breathe, to see that this wasn’t some trap, but the longer I stared at the town, the more every line of the buildings, every crooked fence and warped sign, whispered unease. My imagination, already frayed, spun subtle horrors: the windows too dark, too opaque; shadows pooling in corners that didn’t make sense.

 

“I think this is a mistake. Call it my FBI intuition.”

 

“Come on,” Martin said, pushing the door open. “Let’s stretch our legs. It’s just a town, Ashlee. There’s nothing here but tired people and old buildings.”

 

I hesitated. My hand hovered over the handle, gripping the edge of the door for courage. “It doesn’t feel right,” I said quietly. “Even the name… Dunwich…”

 

“Names don’t mean anything,” he said, voice calm, almost soothing. “It’s a town. Gas, food, maybe a bed. That’s all.”

 

I wanted to believe him. I tried to convince myself of the rational. But when I stepped onto the cobblestones, the mist curling around my ankles, the town seemed… wrong. Not actively dangerous, but wrong in the way a clock can be wrong by a single tick - it’s subtle at first, then it rattles everything else you thought you knew.

 

We walked along the main street. Every shop was dark, signs faded, doors locked tight. A few streetlamps sputtered in the fog, casting halos that blurred the edges of the buildings. A newspaper blew across the road, tumbling and twisting in the mist, and I jumped at the sound, my pulse spiking. Martin glanced at me, a calm smile on his face. “You’ll get used to it,” he said lightly.

 

I didn’t believe him. I reached out with my hand and was grateful when Martin instinctively took hold of it. For a moment we just smiled shyly at one another and then moved closer and let me body touch his. “Thank you for coming,” I said. “I just realised I never said it until now.”

 

Martin leaned forward and kissed me softly. I could smell his distinctive cologne. “You cry for help and I come running, Ashlee. that’s all there is to it. You may be frustrating and maddening, and sometimes a lot of work, but I think I’ve fallen for you.”

 

My eyes sparkled as he said that. “Really? In just three months? Is that even possible?”

 

“In just three months.” He put his arms about me and I leaned in again to feel the warmth of his embrace. “Is it too early to say I think you’re ‘the one’?”

 

I think my heart fluttered a few beats when he said that.

 

“No,” I said, as I placed the palm of my hand flat to his chest, feeling where his heart would be. “Not too early at all.”

 

And then I knew. I somehow just knew that Martin wasn’t part of the God Game. He couldn’t be. He was someone I could finally count on. 

 

We reached the gas station first. The pumps were old and peeling, no attendants in sight. Martin fiddled with the handle of the gas pump as I lingered near the car, eyes darting to the darkened alleys and the twisted streets beyond. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. And yet I felt the town press in, its silence heavy, almost sentient. I drew comfort from the clam and precise way he handled the situation. Don’t we all want that from a man? 

 

“Gas is in,” Martin said finally, wiping his hands together, and glancing at me. “Let’s find a motel before it gets too dark. We need coffee, we need a good meal, and we need a bed for the night.”

 

I nodded, though my stomach churned. Every step I took on the wet cobbles felt like walking deeper into some carefully constructed trap.

 

Martin led me down another narrow side street, past buildings that leaned at impossible angles, their windows black mirrors reflecting fog and headlights in ways that made my head spin. He kept up his calm, confident demeanour, chatting lightly about the diner we’d pass if it were open, about the town’s history he’d read somewhere online, about a corner shop that might have snacks.

 

“I was thinking on the way here, Ashlee, we should work out a way we can spend more time together.” He smiled at me. “Going forwards. I know you have your career, and I have my work, and we live a long way apart, but we’ll find a way, yes?’

 

I nodded quickly. I liked the sound of that.

 

“We need to see more of each other. I think we’ve reached that stage.”

 

I had almost lost him. That stupid row in the restaurant. I had almost lost him that night when I stormed out. 

 

“I want to see more of you, Martin.” I reached out and squeezed his hand. “Lots more of you.”

 

Martin led the way. The streets twisted in ways that didn’t make sense. One corner looked exactly like the last we’d turned. Another alley seemed familiar, yet I was sure I’d never been there. My pulse quickened. it was disorientating.

 

“Martin,” I said, stopping abruptly. “I - I think we’re going in circles.”

 

He shook his head, but didn’t scold me, didn’t reassure me either. “No. The streets are just… narrow. Unfamiliar. That’s all. Come on, the motel is right around here.”

 

I forced myself to follow, though every instinct in me screamed to stop, to run back to the car, to leave the town entirely. My mind spun over possibilities: masked men from the woods, some trap built around me, the town itself… each thought worse than the last.

 

But not Martin. Martin wasn’t part of this. 

 

We finally came to a building that seemed plausible - a small inn, dark, with a sign that read “Dunwich Lodge” swinging gently in the mist. The windows were blacked out, the porch sagging, paint peeling. A faint creak sounded somewhere, though there was no wind.

 

Martin glanced at me, still calm, eyes steady. “See? Here we are. A bed for the night? Let’s get inside.”

 

I swallowed, nodding slowly. But the pit of unease in my stomach had not left. Not with the building looming above us, not with the fog swirling around our ankles, not with the quiet that pressed down like a weight on my chest.

 

The bell above the Inn door rang once when we stepped inside, the sound oddly loud in the stillness, as if it echoed longer than it should have. The place was lit too brightly for the hour, fluorescent lights humming softly overhead, washing everything in a pale, unforgiving glow. It felt less like a refuge and more like a stage set left standing after the audience had gone home.

 

The front facing part of the Inn was a public dining area, and tonight it was nearly empty.

 

A young waitress – wearing a badge that read ‘Hi, I’m Karen’ - stood behind the counter, wiping the same spotless section of laminate with slow, repetitive motions. She looked up when we entered and smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It felt automatic, practiced, like something she’d been trained to do rather than something she meant.

 

“Evening,” Martin said easily.

 

“Evening,” she replied, voice flat but polite.

 

I lingered near the door for a moment, scanning the room. Two men sat in a booth near the far wall, facing outward. They weren’t eating. No plates, no cups. Just sitting there, hands folded on the table, eyes tracking the room with a calm, unsettling focus. They didn’t speak to each other. They didn’t look at each other at all. They consciously didn’t even look at us as we entered. It felt as though they’d been there for hours. Maybe longer.

 

My skin prickled.

 

Martin guided me toward a booth closer to the counter, his hand light at my back. “Sit,” he said gently. “You look like you could use coffee.”

 

The waitress came over with a pad. “What can I get you?”

 

“Two coffees,” Martin said. “And I’ll have bacon and eggs.”

 

She nodded and wrote it down, then glanced at me. “You?”

 

“I’m fine,” I said too quickly. I had no appetite after all that birthday cake. 

 

She hesitated, then nodded again and walked back to the counter.

 

I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Those men,” I murmured. “Have you noticed them?”

 

Martin glanced briefly in their direction, then back to me. “They’re just sitting there.”

 

“They’re watching,” I said.

 

“They’re probably tired,” he replied. “It’s late.”

 

I didn’t argue, but I couldn’t look away from them for long. Every time I did, I felt exposed, like something vital was happening just out of my line of sight.

 

Martin stood. “I’m going to put some music on. Might lighten the mood. Any requests?”

 

“No.”

 

“Random selection it is.” He crossed the diner to the old CD jukebox in the corner. It looked out of place, too polished for the rest of the room, its chrome edges gleaming under the lights. He flipped through the selections casually, then fed it a coin and pressed a button.

 

The music began softly:

 

Everybody’s telling me what I should be

Act like this, fit in, follow their beat

But when the lights go down and I hear my heart

It’s playing something wild from the very start

 

They say slow down, don’t make a scene

But I don’t move unless I feel it in me

If I’m out of step, that’s fine with you

‘Cause I don’t wanna move like they all do

 

And, ohh baby…

 

We’re all dancing to a different tune!

Different steps, different point of view

If I’m spinning outta line tonight

It just feels good, yeah it feels all right

 

I froze. The song was ‘We’re All Dancing to a Different Tune’. 

 

The voice that filled the diner was unmistakable.

 

It was mine.

 

Not just similar - mine. The cadence, the breath between phrases, the way the melody leaned into certain notes. My heart slammed against my ribs as if trying to escape. “No,” I whispered.

 

Martin turned, smiling faintly, then stopped when he saw my face. “Ashlee?”

 

“That’s me,” I said, standing abruptly. “That’s my voice.”

 

The waitress paused mid-pour behind the counter. The two men in the booth didn’t react at all.

 

Martin walked back toward me slowly. “What do you mean?”

 

“The song,” I said, my hands trembling now. “I know it. I know that voice. There are albums - singles. With my picture. With my name on them.”

 

His smile vanished.

 

“Ashlee,” he said carefully, “you’ve never mentioned anything like that before.”

 

“Because I don’t remember making them!” I said, the words tumbling out faster now. “I mean – I never made them! I would know if I recorded a pop album! That’s the problem. I don’t remember being a pop star, but they exist. I’ve seen them.”

 

He glanced at the jukebox, then back at me. “You’re under a lot of stress. That doesn’t mean…”

 

“I saw it,” I said sharply. “At Rosemary’s house. In the woods. The cover - it was me. My face. My name. Albums, singles…”

 

The waitress set the coffee cups down quietly and retreated, her eyes flicking between us before she disappeared into the kitchen.

 

Martin took a breath. “Show me.”

 

Relief flooded through me. “Yes. Yes, come on. Let me prove something to you at last.”

 

I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the jukebox, my heart pounding. Up close, the display showed the CD cover clearly: a glossy image of a woman smiling into the camera, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders.

 

Not me.

 

The name beneath the image read: ASHLEE ENNIS.

 

I stared at it, my mouth dry.

 

“That’s not…” I began, then stopped. The woman’s face was similar in shape, in expression - but it wasn’t mine. Her hair was blonde. Pale. Soft. Nothing like my vibrant red.

 

Martin said nothing for a long moment.

 

Then, quietly, “Ashlee. Look at the name.”

 

“I know what it says,” I snapped, panic rising. “But that’s not how it was before. It was Ellis. It was me. IT WASN’T ENNIS!” I suddenly realised my voice was too loud. 

 

He turned to face me fully now, his concern no longer hidden. “You’re saying the cover changed.”

 

“Yes,” I said, desperately. “Or it was different before. I know what I saw.”

 

“You said you saw it at Rosemary’s,” he said. “In the woods.”

 

“Yes.”

 

He shook his head slowly. “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

“None of this makes sense,” I said, my voice cracking. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”

 

The two men in the booth shifted slightly, still silent, still watching.

 

Martin placed his hands on my shoulders, grounding but firm. “Ashlee, listen to me. I think you’re having some kind of episode. The stress, the fear, the exhaustion - it’s all piling up.”

 

“I’m not imagining this,” I said.

 

“I think you might be,” he said gently, and that gentleness terrified me more than anger would have. “I think you need to sit down and have some coffee. I’ll book a room for tonight. You desperately need sleep.”

 

“The album sleeves were me! I’m telling you – I saw them! Me as a pop star! Rosemary said her daughter played them all the time!”

 

The song continued to play, my voice - or something like it - filling the diner, bouncing off the walls, too loud, too present.

 

I pulled away from him, my thoughts spiralling. If the cover could change - if names could shift - then what else could?

 

Or worse.

 

What if it hadn’t changed at all?

 

The possibility hollowed me out, leaving me cold and shaking in the middle of the diner, while the music played on and the men watched and Dunwich remained perfectly, unnaturally still.

 

I don’t need permission to shine this way

I change my rhythm like night and day

You say I’m trouble, maybe it’s true

But I like the sound when I make my rules

 

No rewind, I’m already gone

When the beat hits hard, I’m moving on

You can stay still, I got nothing to prove

I’m already lost in the way I move

 

And, ohh baby…

 

We’re all dancing to a different tune!

Different steps, different point of view

If I’m spinning outta line tonight

It just feels good, yeah it feels all right