Chapter 5
Beau
“I’m walking down the street in Willow Grove, Georgia—home of the Annual Gloaming Festival and, according to locals, the ‘strangest town in the south.’ I didn’t mean to end up here—but a random breakdown has me stranded…
and it just so happens to be the weekend this town celebrates its own homegrown cryptid, the terrifying Gloamstrider. ”
Noelle paused in front of me so fast that I almost bumped into her as we wove our way down Main Street, past stalls full of cryptid merch and antler crowns. She was talking into her recorder like I didn’t even exist, sweeping her gaze over every tchotchke.
“Wait a second,” she said, eyes finding mine. “Is that how it’s pronounced? Like glow?”
I laughed. “Yeah—got a nice ring to it, huh?”
She shrugged. “Could be better.”
Then she turned away just as fast, bringing the mic back to her mouth like she was narrating a nature documentary—the subjects, of course, being the festivalgoers rather than the creature itself.
“The Gloamstrider,” she said in her best radio voice, “is described by witnesses as fae-adjacent, antlered, and tall enough to scrape the boughs of the longleaf pines. It’s said to travel with the mist, and—according to one interview I did earlier this morning—‘devours the souls of the disrespectful.’”
She clicked the recorder off again.
“So basically, a southern Slenderman with better PR.”
I couldn’t help grinning. “You get all that from Miss Francine?”
“Not all of it,” she said. “Miss Francine doesn’t believe in Slenderman.”
We’d spent the morning and most of the afternoon strolling around town, talking to locals and visitors alike, asking any and all questions Noelle could come up with about the Gloamstrider.
She was deeply skeptical—and if I was being honest, so was I.
Sure, there was a lot of weird shit that happened in Willow Grove, but this in particular… I’d never believed it.
“So do you believe it?” Noelle asked as we turned the corner toward the shop. We’d been around town long enough that Milo needed a walk, and Noelle had offered to tag along. “In the Gloamstrider, I mean.”
I hummed. “You know…nah, I don’t. Spent long enough in the woods around these parts, and I ain’t never seen some kinda bipedal, scaly, antlered monster. Well, other than my brother Whit.”
She huffed a laugh at that. “How many brothers have you got, anyway?”
“Four.”
“And you’re…?”
I sighed. “Smack dab in the middle. Gimme a second—I’m just gonna grab Milo, then we can head out toward the trails. There’s a waterfall out there you might like.”
She gave a short nod and stepped aside to let me unlock the shop’s front door.
I whistled once, and Milo came barreling around the corner like he’d been waiting all day for this moment.
I’d hardly managed to get his leash on him before he was dragging me toward Noelle, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled.
“Jesus,” she said as he skidded to a stop in front of her. “Does he have an off switch?”
“Only when he’s asleep.”
She let him sniff her hand, then crouched down and scratched behind his ears like they were old friends. I watched them for a second—how easy she was with him, how naturally he leaned into her touch—and something warm crept under my ribs.
Noelle stood up and adjusted the strap of her bag. “So…are trails an absolute necessity, or could we stay in town?”
I took a moment to look at her, cocking my head to the side. Her eyes darted toward the trees—the grey sky making it seem a little gloomier than usual.
“You scared of the woods?” I asked.
“No,” she said too quickly. Then, she scoffed. “Okay—maybe a little.”
I couldn’t resist the urge to needle her. “Afraid the Gloamstrider’ll get you…?”
She gave me a flat, serious glare. “No,” she said, “but now you have me nervous.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Just sayin’. He does prefer skeptics.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t walk away, so I took that as permission to go on our usual route. Milo circled us twice, his leash wrapping loosely around my legs before he set off toward the woods.
And the decision was made for us—by Milo, a dog with the survival instinct of a tin can.
Noelle heaved a heavy breath, squared her shoulders, and then she came up beside me and walked with me into the woods.
There were a few other people around—unusual, but expected for this particular weekend.
We got all kinds out looking for the Gloamstrider, carrying their binoculars and their cameras.
Noelle snapped a few photos with her phone as we wound through the trees, Milo’s leash dragging ahead of us.
“Alright,” she said, adjusting the strap of her bag after capturing a shot of a couple adjusting a satellite dish out in the woods like they were going to get in touch directly with the aliens. “You wanna know the truth?”
I looked down at her. “Only if you want to tell it.”
She swallowed hard. “Well…when I was a kid, I actually saw something. It’s what got me started on this whole kick. I was looking for an explanation.”
“And did you find it?”
“Yeah,” she said, though she didn’t sound so sure. “See—I know you think I’m some city girl…but I actually grew up in Whiskey Trace, Arkansas, this tiny little town in the Ouachita Mountains.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, no one has,” she said with a bitter smile.
“Anyway…we’re close enough to Appalachia that we get all kinds of folktales, right?
Monsters and ghosts and demons and God knows what else.
My grandmother loved telling scary stories, and the one that got me the most was the story of the Shadow Painter—this big cat, like a skeletal panther with wings and glowing eyes.
If you saw it, they said it was an omen of death. ”
I let her talk, listening as we went deeper into the woods. Maybe I was imagining it…but her story made me think I was seeing things—shadows in the trees, dark spots moving too fast in the underbrush.
“So I’m up late one night, looking out the window of our trailer—and I swear, I saw it,” she said. “Big lightning storm, thunder so loud it rattled the whole town…and there it was, in a tree. Watching me.”
“And was it an omen of death?” I asked—blurting out the question despite myself, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
Noelle sighed.
“My brother died that night,” she said.
I looked over at her, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Her eyes were trained on the path, her mouth pulled tight.
“Overdose,” she said. “He was older—seventeen. I was twelve. He’d been clean for a while, or at least we thought he was. But that night…”
She trailed off, jaw clenched like she was trying not to spit out a taste that still turned her stomach.
“I didn’t even know what was happening at first. Just that he was locked in the bathroom and nobody could get in. We called 911, and when they came, he was already gone.”
She finally looked at me then—just a quick glance, like she needed to check I was still there.
“And I kept thinking about the Shadow Painter. About how I saw it the night before. About how the story says if you see it, someone dies.”
The air around us went still. Even the wind felt like it stopped listening, just for a second.
Noelle snorted softly and shook her head again.
“It took me a while to find out that there was a mountain lion roaming through the area that same week. Somebody saw it in their chicken coop a few towns over, shot at it, but didn’t kill it.
It was probably that. Just some half-starved cougar looking for food. But even when I knew that…”
She shrugged, and this time the smile she gave was brittle. “It felt like a joke. Like the universe thought it was funny to leave me scared of monsters while the real one was already inside our house.”
I had no fucking idea what to say to that—to this admission of something deep and painful from someone who’d put on a brave face since the moment I met her. She took another deep breath, then looked up at me.
“So,” she said. “I don’t think any of it’s real…and I disprove it so kids like me don’t have to be scared.”
“But the woods still freak you out,” I said.
She laughed a little. “I mean, you’re a true crime fan—don’t they freak you out?”
“Only when I forget my knife,” I said, half-joking, trying to offer a smile she could meet without feeling cornered.
She snorted, which I counted as a win, and kicked a pine cone down the trail ahead of us. Milo bounded after it. We both watched him pounce and skid, dirt flying under his paws, before she spoke again.
“I know it’s dumb,” she said. “But every time I’m in the woods, I still feel it. That thing. Like it’s behind me, waiting to catch up. I don’t actually think it’s real, not anymore…but I guess my body hasn’t gotten the memo.”
“It’s not dumb,” I said. “Fear’s a hell of a thing. Doesn’t always need permission.”
We walked in silence for a while, just the rhythm of boots on packed dirt and Milo’s panting keeping time. The trees stretched tall above us, dappling the path with filtered light, and even though I’d been out this way a hundred times, everything felt sharper.
Like I was paying attention to it through her eyes. Not just the forest…but the way she moved through it. Wary, alert, always tracking the exits.
“I have to admit,” I said. “I didn’t take you for someone up for sharing that kind of thing.”
She laughed. “I talk for a living,” she said. “I mean…it’s in my bio on the Whispers website, dead brother, broken family, all that shit. This is on you for not being terminally online.”
I blinked. “Wait—you talk about that? On your show?”
She arched an eyebrow at me, like it should’ve been obvious. “Yeah. Not every episode, but…it comes up. I’ve got a whole arc about grief folklore and rural mythologies—Shadow Painter was the opener. Pretty sure it traumatized my sound editor.”
I shook my head slowly, trying to reconcile the woman next to me—the one who’d just told me something raw and personal with all the emotion stripped to the bone—with the version of her broadcasting that story to thousands of strangers. Maybe more.
“Still don’t strike me as someone who would do that,” I said.
She gave a dry laugh. “What, you thought I’d be more mysterious?”
“No,” I said, a little too fast. “I just—I don’t know. You seem so…closed off. Careful.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, brushing a pine needle off her jeans. “It’s easier when I’m not looking anyone in the eye. Podcasting’s like shouting into the void—you can say anything when the silence doesn’t talk back.”
That made sense.
“Still,” I said. “I figured I’d have to earn that story.”
“You kinda did,” she said, glancing over at me. “You didn’t make fun of it. Or me.”
“I’d never.”
She shrugged again. “Yeah, well. You’d be surprised how many people do.”
I followed her gaze as it drifted through the trees, out toward the waterfall just beginning to peek through the thinned-out pines. She looked like she belonged here, somehow—like she’d been dropped into the wrong life for too long and her body still didn’t know how to relax.
“I’m glad you told me,” I said. “Even if it’s public domain.”
She smirked. “You’re not gonna go home and listen now, are you?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I wasn’t gonna admit it, but I’ve never actually heard your podcast.”
Noelle blinked at me, then burst out laughing—real, bright, surprised laughter that startled a couple of birds from the brush.
“God,” she said. “That might be the most refreshing thing I’ve heard all week.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes!” she said. “I thought for sure Delilah gave you the rundown. Or that you Googled me the second I wasn’t looking.”
“Nah. I figured if you wanted me to know something, you’d tell me.”
She went quiet again, chewing on that, her eyes turning thoughtful. After a beat, she said, “I might.”
Milo came bounding back then, paws muddy and tongue lolling, like he couldn’t imagine a better day.
Noelle reached out and rubbed his head with both hands, laughing softly when he licked her wrist and then flopped down at her feet.
I watched the two of them for a beat longer than I meant to—her fingers in his fur, his dumb tongue hanging out in pure bliss—and then cleared my throat.
“You hungry?” I asked. “Figured we could grab dinner somewhere before it gets too crowded again.”
Noelle looked up at me, lips parted like she might say yes right away. But then she hesitated. Bit the inside of her cheek.
“I’m kinda…” She trailed off, searching for the words. “I’m all peopled out, y’know?”
I nodded, already backing off, but she shook her head quickly.
“No—I mean, I don’t want to go back to Delilah’s either. Just…what if we picked something up instead? Ate it somewhere quiet?”
She stood, brushing the dirt from her knees, and met my gaze full on this time. Open. Steady.
“Like maybe…your place?”
I swallowed. Hard.
“Yeah,” I said, voice rougher than it had any right to be. “Yeah, we can do that.”
Milo sneezed loudly between us and then flopped over with a groan, like he was already done for the day.
But me?
I was just getting started.