The sun rose pale and tired over Piedmont, as if it, too, had been up all night listening to whispers. Mist still clung to Terrapin Creek, thin threads of it curling through the oaks like smoke from an old fire that wouldn’t die.

Addison Lee’s car rattled down the narrow road leading into town, tires popping gravel like gunfire. He was young, too young, some might say, for the seriousness he carried in his eyes, and the way he gripped his notebook made him look more like he was heading into battle than chasing a story.

The sign at the edge of town leaned sideways:

By the time he reached Centre Avenue, the place was already waking up. The hardware store’s bell clanged faintly, and over at the Huddle House, the usual crowd had gathered, faces pressed close over mugs of coffee, talking low and quick.

Addison parked, smoothed his shirt, and stepped out into the kind of quiet that wasn’t quite welcoming. The townsfolk had that sideways glance about them, friendly enough if you stayed a spell, but wary of strangers who came asking questions before learning names.

Inside the diner, the air was thick with fried eggs, grease, and rumor. Sadie Mae looked up from the counter as Addison approached.

“You with somebody?” Sadie asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Piedmont Journal, ma’am,” Addison said, offering a small smile. “I heard there was… an incident? Out by Terrapin Creek?”

Sadie’s brow lifted. “Who told you that?”

“Word gets around.” Addison tapped her pen against her notebook. “You the owner?”

“I am,” Sadie said, pouring coffee slow. “But I don’t do gossip before breakfast.”

Clara Mae, two stools down, didn’t share that restraint. “She’s talkin’ about Tommy Wayne, of course. Boy come back after fifteen years, stirred up ghosts that had gone to sleep. Cole and Sadie found his tracks by the creek last night. Then poof. Gone.”

Addison jotted notes in tidy shorthand. “Gone how?”

“Gone-gone,” Clyde offered from the booth near the window. “Ain’t nobody seen him since he came back. Only thing left was his shirt and a warm kettle.”

Sadie gave him a look sharp enough to skin a catfish. “You hush up, Clyde. You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Don’t have to,” he said. “The house does the talkin’ now.”

Addison leaned forward. “What house?”

Sadie hesitated, then nodded toward the window where the road curved out of town and up the hill. “Lily Pearl’s. Old place just past the graveyard. You’ll know it soon as you see it. Windows stare at you like they remember.”

Addison smiled faintly, jotting again. “Sounds picturesque.”

“Sounds cursed,” Clara Mae said, crossing herself.

From the corner, Ol’ Man Eustace spoke without looking up from his plate. “If you go out there, Missy, you best bring somethin’ made of iron and Jesus in your heart. ’Cause whatever’s walkin’ that property don’t care much for the curious.”

Addison paused his pen. “You mean the Sheriff?”

Eustace finally looked up, one eye glinting beneath his cap. “No, ma’am. I mean the other one.”

*****

New Yesterdays can be found at: Books-A-Million, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon, as well as your favorite bookshops. The Audiobook is available from Libro.fm, as well as Amazon.