Chapter 7: Funeral Without a Body
612 Words
Henderson buried Sheriff Cole Harper on a bright, cloudless morning.
The sky was cruelly blue.
People gathered along the water, dressed in black, sunglasses hiding eyes that refused to look too closely at the truth. The wind rolled in from the bay, gentle and calm, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and denial.
There was no casket.
Just a polished wooden podium, an empty space draped in white cloth, and a folded flag resting where a body should have been.
Harper stood in the front row.
She didn’t cry.
She hadn’t since the atrium.
Her notebook was tucked under her arm like a second spine. The symbols inside it hadn’t stopped moving since that night rewriting themselves, whispering in green fire when she wasn’t looking.
Damon stood beside her, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His shadow lay unnaturally still at his feet, no longer restless watchful. It remembered what had taken the sheriff. It remembered being afraid.
Lyra’s hands shook. She kept them buried in the pockets of her coat so no one could see the faint outlines of claws pressing against fabric. Her wolf hadn’t forgiven itself for letting go.
Vivi wore black like armor. Her shadow twin stayed perfectly flat today, obedient, silent too silent.
That scared her more than when it laughed.
Mayor Harley Vale approached the podium.
She looked composed. Gracious. Heartbroken in the way cameras liked.
“Sheriff Harper was a pillar of our community,” she began, voice smooth and steady. “A protector. A father. A man who believed in Henderson.”
Harper’s jaw tightened.
Believed in the lie, she thought.
“His passing was… tragic,” the mayor continued carefully. “But we must honor him by continuing forward. Together. Strong. United.”
Applause followed.
Polite.
Hollow.
Harper scanned the crowd.
Teachers from Gravewood High.
Students who had gone missing and “transferred.”
Parents who avoided eye contact.
Adults whose shadows bent the wrong way.
They all stood there, mourning something they refused to name.
A preacher stepped up next, speaking words about peace and rest and heaven.
Harper almost laughed.
Her father wasn’t resting.
He was trapped.
The water behind them rippled.
Just once.
Damon felt his shadow stir.
Lyra smelled it old magic, iron, grief.
Vivi squeezed her hands into fists as her twin whispered for the first time since the atrium:
They’re lying to themselves.
The ceremony ended quickly.
People lingered, murmuring condolences, touching Harper’s shoulder, telling her how strong she was. How proud her father would be.
She said nothing.
Then she noticed it.
A woman standing at the edge of the dock.
Not crying.
Not pretending.
Just watching.
Her clothes were outdated. Her face pale. Her eyes wrong too deep, too knowing.
A witch.
Harper’s breath hitched.
The woman tilted her head slightly.
Smiled.
Then stepped backward
And vanished into the water without a splash.
Harper finally broke.
She turned away from the crowd, breathing hard, fists clenched so tight her nails cut into her palms. Damon followed immediately.
“This town makes me sick,” he muttered.
“They don’t even know they’re prisoners,” Lyra said softly.
Vivi’s voice was colder. “They know. They just choose comfort.”
Harper looked back at the dock one last time.
Her father’s badge sat on the podium, gleaming in the sun.
A symbol.
A lie.
“They think pretending will save them,” she said quietly.
Her notebook pulsed.
Green light flickered along its edges.
“They’re wrong.”
The wind picked up.
The water churned.
Somewhere beneath Henderson, beneath the school, beneath the graves
Something laughed.
And the town went on like nothing had happened.
- Writer
