The Static Between Worlds

Chapter Two: And Then There Was No One

The morning smelled like burnt toast and something too still.

Ilya scraped the corner of the bread as she muttered to herself, squinting into the toaster like it had betrayed her on purpose. Moth was already up, perched silently on the windowsill like a gargoyle. His eyes tracked something far above the treetops, pupils wide, ears angled back just slightly.

She followed his gaze but saw only sky.

Bright. Too bright. The kind of blue that looked painted on. Like it might peel if she scratched at it hard enough.

"Creepy," she muttered, sliding the burnt toast onto a plate and slathering it with butter like it could cover up the taste of something off.

On the counter, Rhett's handwriting curled across a scrap of yellow paper:

"Heading to town early—grabbing that cable and some bolts. Back soon. Don't burn the house down. –R"
Below it, a crooked little heart.

She smiled despite herself, tracing the corner of the note with her thumb.

The radio in the corner crooned an old folk tune. It had played once already. She thought it was on shuffle.

But then it started again. Same one. Same little hiccup in the second verse where the audio skipped.

Ilya turned the dial to another station.

Same song.

Three channels later—still the same.

She turned the radio off.

Moth had left the window. She hadn't seen him move.

Trying to shake the unease settling in her chest, she got dressed, pulled on her jacket, and slipped on her boots. If Rhett was in town, maybe she'd meet him halfway. It wasn't like she had anything better to do today, and a walk might clear her head.

The air outside was too still. No birdsong, no hum of lawnmowers. Just silence and that strange, high-up shimmer in the sky.

She made her way down the sidewalk, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. Familiar houses passed by in slow succession. The Bakers' place, always with the overgrown lawn. The Holloways' house with the blue mailbox and wind chimes that didn't chime. A car idled in a driveway to her left, engine humming quietly, but no one was inside. That was strange.

She kept walking.

Two blocks down, she passed the McClure house. The front door was open. Groceries sat untouched on the porch. A sprinkler flickered on across the street—then off—then on again in a twitchy, almost rhythmic pattern. She stared at it for a few seconds, then shook her head and moved on.

She crossed over to Main Street and made her way toward the bakery, half-hoping to see Rhett's car.

Nothing.

She slowed as she approached the storefront. The display case was full of fresh pastries. The "OPEN" sign buzzed faintly in the window. Everything looked normal—until she noticed no one inside.

She pushed open the door, a soft jingle echoing into the empty room.

"Hello?" she called. "Katrina?"

No answer.

She stepped farther in, eyeing the still-steaming cup of coffee left on a table near the window. The espresso machine gurgled in the background. But not a soul in sight.

Her stomach twisted.

She backed out of the bakery, the little bell above the door jingling behind her.

Picking up her pace, she turned the corner toward the gas station. She passed familiar shops with their lights still on, signs still glowing, as if the whole town had just... paused.

At the gas station, one of the pumps was still running. The nozzle lay on the ground, slowly leaking fuel. The convenience store's door was wide open. The lights were on. Music played softly through tinny speakers overhead.

But again—no people.

She pulled out her phone, hands shaking now.

No signal. No apps. Just a white screen filled with buzzing static.

She turned slowly in place, scanning the street. Her breath quickened. Her vision blurred with panic.

"Moth?" she called, unsure why. He wasn't with her. He shouldn't be.

That's when the hum started.

Low. Deep. Like something massive shifting in the bones of the earth.

The sky pulsed—just once. A flicker. Like a glitch.

And then, from behind her, Moth's yowl split the silence.

She turned just in time to see him racing across the empty intersection, fur puffed out, eyes wide. He leapt straight into her arms, trembling.

A flash of blinding white light burst across the sky.

Everything froze.

Wind. Noise. Even the birds.

Then—nothing.

Silence.

Everyone was gone.

She staggered down the sidewalk, eyes darting in every direction.

No people. No voices. Just echoes.

A baby stroller sat on its side, wheels still spinning. A grocery bag lay overturned, fruit rolling lazily across the pavement. Cars idled at empty intersections.

She screamed Rhett's name.

No answer.

She turned down the main drag, toward the electronics store.

A wall of old televisions glowed in the display window. All were showing her. Standing in the same place she stood now. Frozen. Pale. Watching herself.

Then the version of her on the screens turned and stared at her directly.

The screens blinked to static.

Moth slipped from her arms and padded toward the window. He sat. He stared.

And didn't move.

She turned and ran, feet slamming against the pavement as she made her way home.

She burst through the front door, heart pounding.

The house was dark.

Except—

The television was on.

Still unplugged.

Rhett was on the screen. In a room she didn't recognize. Shouting her name—though no sound came through.

The footage distorted. Warped.

Then he glitched.

His face twisted, warped, and repeated like a broken tape.

He reached toward the screen.

Then it went black.

Moth jumped up beside the TV, tail twitching. He glowed faintly around the edges. His fur shimmered in the light of the screen.

He looked back at her.

Opened his mouth.

No sound.

But his shadow on the wall—

It was no longer shaped like a cat