Warnings Blare like Sirens

The city's underbelly, a labyrinth of shadowed alleys and forgotten corners, had claimed another victim. This time, it was a young street performer, a mime named Marco, known for his silent artistry and expressive gestures.

He had vanished from a dimly lit alleyway, a place where he often entertained late-night passersby. His disappearance was eerily similar to the others: no witnesses, no signs of struggle, just an empty space where a life had once been.

Liam and Sam arrived at the alleyway, the scene cordoned off with yellow police tape. The air was thick with the scent of damp brick and stale garbage, a grim reminder of the city's undercurrent of despair. The police officers at the scene were dismissive, attributing Marco's disappearance to a runaway or a drug overdose. Marco lived alone, with no family to press on for an extensive search. The police were even there in the first place because someone had reported about a potential kidnapping happening.

But Liam and Sam knew better. They saw the pattern, the invisible thread that connected Marco to the other lost souls. Several disappearances that had happened within decades, may seem far stretched and unconnected. Yet for an entity beyond the common man's knowledge, how short would even a span of a thousand years be? But it was clearly getting greedier, an unsatiable hunger. Would there have been specific requirements that enable a human or a soul to be fit for the threshold's sacrifice?

There were people like Sarah and Marco, whose existences were wiped away like a dusty spot off a shelf. And there's people like Mr. Corbin, one who knows of the entity, the shadow, who fought with everything they had to dispel its power and end up deteriorating all the same.

if they had not been in a threshold during the feeding, would they have been just like Mr. Corbin? So were the disappearances all carefully planned, timed, manipulated, to execute directly at a threshold unbeknownst to the victims?

"Another one," Liam said, his voice low and grim. "Just like the others. No trace.

"Sam nodded, his gaze sweeping the alleyway, searching for any clue, any hint of the 'shadow'. "It's like they're being erased, completely wiped from existence."

They found a single white glove, a remnant of Marco's costume, lying on the ground. It was a stark reminder of the life that had been taken, a silent testament to the cruelty of the shadow.

A young man, another street performer, approached them, his face etched with worry. "You're not cops," he said, his voice low. "You're… investigating, aren't you?"

"We are," Liam replied, his voice cautious. "Did you know Marco?"

"Yes. I was the one who reported his disappearance. I felt that something was wrong. We were supposed to meet up at The Rusty Mug last night," the performer said, his voice trembling. "He never showed. I thought he bailed, but… Marco wouldn't do that. Not without saying something."

The performer explained that Marco was a reliable friend, and it was out of character for him to miss a pre-arranged meet up. He was worried, and he felt that something was wrong.

As they were talking, a police officer approached, his eyes fixed on Liam. "Vance," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What are you doing here? Still chasing ghosts?"

Liam recognized the officer, a man named Miller, who had been on the force for years. Miller had always been dismissive of Liam's methods, particularly after Liam had solved his parents' murder case.

"Just looking around," Liam replied, his voice tight.

"Still onto some nonsense beliefs and cases?" Miller scoffed. "I told you you're a bit deranged and overly obsessive into solving mysteries. You were lucky enough that you got to solve your parents' murder case, but doesn't that mean you should retire by now? Or did you want a proper closure by solving something bigger because you fabricated evidence for your parents' case?!"

Liam's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. He ignored the bait. He knew Miller was trying to provoke him, to undermine his credibility. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"We need to move," Liam said, turning to Sam. "We have appointments to keep."

As they were about to leave the alleyway, Sam turned to the young street performer, offering a kind smile. "If you remember anything else, anything at all, please don't hesitate to contact us," he said, handing him a business card. "Even the smallest detail could be important."

The performer nodded, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice barely audible.

Sam then turned his gaze towards Miller, who was watching them with a sneer. He held Miller's gaze for a single, silent second, a look that conveyed a mixture of disdain and determination, before turning and walking away with Liam.

Miller scoffed, muttering under his breath, "Tch. Amateurs."

Once they were out of earshot, Liam stopped, taking in a deep breath. He was the one who knew best that solving his parents' murder case took him twelve long years; and every little evidence he had obtained with his blood, sweat and tears were a hundred percent true to the core.

Sam placed a knowing pat on his shoulder, and they continued moving towards the venue for their appointments.

Their first appointment was with Clara Jenkins, Sarah's sister. She was a woman in her late thirties, her face etched with grief and determination. She spoke of Sarah's love for her work, her passion for life, and her growing sense of unease in the weeks leading up to her disappearance.

"She kept saying she felt like she was being watched," Clara said, her voice trembling. "Like something was following her, something dark."

Clara also mentioned that Sarah had been researching local cults and folklore, a detail that piqued Liam's interest. "She was always interested in the strange and unusual," Clara said. "But lately, it was like she was obsessed. She was always reading these old books, looking at these strange symbols."

Their next appointment was with Michael Davies, the retired police detective. He was a gruff, no-nonsense man, but he was willing to share his insights into the disappearance cases. "There's something off about these cases," Davies said, his voice low and cautious. "Something that doesn't add up. It's like they're being taken, not just disappearing."

Davies mentioned that he had found traces of strange symbols at several of the crime scenes, symbols that were similar to the ones Liam and Sam had found at the church. "I tried to tell my superiors," Davies said, "but they dismissed it as nonsense. They said I was seeing things."

Their final appointment was with Dr. Evelyn Walsh, the historian. But when they arrived at her office, they found a note on the door: "Appointment cancelled. do not contact me."

Liam tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail. He sent an email, but received no response.

"Something's wrong," Liam said, his voice displaying his worry. "She wouldn't just cancel like this."

Sam checked his email, and found a message from Dr. Walsh, sent late the previous night. It was a cryptic message, filled with fear and dread.

"I had a dream," the message read. "A warning. A shadow. It told me to stay away. To not interfere. I cannot help you. I am sorry."

"She had a dream," Sam said, his voice filled with disbelief. "Just like you."

Liam felt a chill run down his spine. The shadow was reaching out, influencing their lives, manipulating their actions.

"It's getting stronger. We need to find a way to fight this," Sam said. "Before it's too late."

They went to the office, trying to make detailed reports from their investigations and appointments.

Liam handed a cup of coffee to Sam, and said, "We need to start connecting the dots," his voice was thoughtful, and he continued, "The symbols, the disappearances, the cult… it's all connected. But how?"

Sam nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Davies mentioned finding traces of the symbols at other crime scenes," he said. "We need to get those files. See if there's a pattern, a link between the locations."

Liam jotted down a memo, his mind racing. "And Clara said Sarah was researching cults," he added. "We need to find out what she was looking for. Maybe she stumbled onto something she wasn't supposed to see."

He paused, his gaze fixed on the ground.

"And Dr. Walsh's dream," he said, his voice low. "It's like the shadow is trying to isolate us, to cut us off from any help. She should have been clearly more knowledgeable, and know more about things that could provide us with insights."

Sam nodded, his expression grim. "It's getting bolder," he said. "It's not just taking victims anymore. It's actively interfering with our investigation."

They remained in silence for a moment, the weight of the case pressing down on them.It was a notification from Liam's phone that broke the silence, a message that read, "I can help you."