An Unsettling Awakening

The morning light of a new Sunday slipped uninvited through Sofi's window, stabbing like a golden spear straight into her eyes and dragging her out of a dream that faded away relentlessly, like sand between her fingers. With a muffled groan, she covered her face with her hand, cursing the sun's insolence for threatening to unveil secrets before she was ready to face them. Reluctantly, she sat up in bed, her pajamas twisted around her, her brown hair defying gravity in a wild nest. She shuffled toward the bathroom, where the familiar routine—shower, getting dressed, brushing her hair—helped her clear her head, but did nothing to calm the unease rooted deep in her chest.

As she got ready in front of the fogged-up mirror, her mind returned again and again, like a hammer pounding insistently, to the name that had been haunting her since yesterday: Kevin.

She had written it in her own handwriting in her notebook, scribbled with the fury of someone who hated with every fiber of their being. But… who was Kevin? Why did she hate him with such raw intensity?

The question floated in her head, an unanswered riddle gnawing at her from the inside, like a persistent worm. She didn't remember him—at all—and that was the most unsettling part, the thing that plunged her into a sea of confusion. It was as if a chunk of her memory had been violently ripped out, leaving a pulsing void behind.

The conversation she overheard last week at Mrs. Gable's bakery about someone named Tomás—another name that sounded oddly familiar but that she couldn't place either—only fueled that gnawing sense of absence, of something missing from her own story.

Sofi had always loved the strange and unexplainable; it was her fuel, the spark that ignited her endless curiosity. But this time, the strangeness involved her directly—it had pulled her into its center.

The decision formed in her mind like a cold and solid truth: today wouldn't be just another day. Today, Sofi would investigate on her own, ready to unravel the mystery surrounding her, no matter what it took.

With determination carved into every movement, Sofi rushed down the stairs without a second thought.

She picked up the landline—the old, corded phone her family still kept as a relic from another time—and dialed Dani's number with steady fingers.

—Dani, it's Sofi. Hey, I won't be able to go out today —she said flatly, urgency barely concealed in her voice.

On the other end, Dani's voice, always tinged with playful complaining, sounded half-disappointed, though curious.

—What? Don't tell me! You're ditching us just like that, mystery queen? I thought we were going to the courts to watch the game.

Sofi let out a soft laugh, hollow, one that didn't reach her eyes, lost in the whirlwind of thoughts.

—Something like that. But I have a good reason, trust me. It's… complicated.

—It better be —Dani huffed, though not truly angry.

His tone carried that familiar joking frustration. There was annoyance, sure—but also resignation.

—Alright, fine. I'll see you later. Don't disappear, okay?

Sofi hung up without giving further explanation, leaving Dani in total uncertainty. She knew her friends would be confused, maybe even a little annoyed, but this mystery felt too personal, too urgent to share just yet. She needed answers, and she needed them now—before that strange fog in her memory grew any thicker.

Frustrated by the sudden change of plans, Dani called Vale next.

—Sofi bailed on us! She said she's not coming. Can you believe that?

—Why not? —Vale asked, her voice tinged with curiosity at her friend's sudden change. Sofi was usually so predictable in her daily habits.

—No clue! She wouldn't say. Just that she had a "good reason." You know how she is—always full of mysteries.

—Hmm, then I don't think I'll go either —Vale said, her voice sounding more distant than usual, almost absent.

—I had something else to take care of anyway.

Dani grunted, his desperation rising. Javi was his last hope for not spending the day alone. In a mix of pleading and drama, he called him.

—Please, Javi, don't ditch me too! Sofi and Vale ghosted me! I don't want to spend Sunday by myself!

Javi chuckled on the other end, his calm voice a soothing balm to Dani's nerves.

—Relax, man. Of course I'll go. I'll be at your place in a bit.

Dani hung up, frustration melting into sudden excitement—completely unaware of the chain of events that had been set into motion by Sofi's growing mystery.

Sofi walked through the sunlit streets of town, her notebook—her only companion in this strange and solitary quest—clutched tightly to her chest like a shield. The morning air was filled with the scent of jasmine and the distant hum of cars, but Sofi barely noticed. Her mind was locked on her mission.

She visited all the usual shops: Mrs. Gable's bakery, where the smell of fresh bread had always felt like a warm hug—today was no exception.

—Excuse me, Mrs. Gable, do you know anyone named Kevin? Or Tomás? —Sofi asked, trying to sound casual despite the urgency in her voice.

—Kevin… Tomás… Hmm, no, sweetheart. No one around here with those names. Are you sure you're not confusing them? I've lived in this town for fifty years—I'd remember.

Sofi thanked her, disappointment tight in her throat, and continued her search.

Next was Mr. Ramón's stationery store, dusty and packed with old books and school supplies. Mr. Ramón, a man with drooping glasses and a distracted look, barely looked up from his crossword puzzle.

—Excuse me, Mr. Ramón. Do you know Kevin or Tomás? —Sofi asked, her hope already fading.

Still focused on his puzzle, he muttered:

—Kevin… Tomás… Doesn't ring a bell. You know, memory gets fuzzy. I barely remember what I sold yesterday.

Sofi nodded, lips curled into a resigned frown.

Next stop: Nora's veterinary clinic. Nora, a kind woman with her hair tied in a ponytail and hands that smelled faintly of disinfectant, greeted her with a smile.

—Kevin or Tomás? —Nora repeated thoughtfully.

—Sorry, Sofi. No clients with those names come to mind.

At Mr. Godínez's pharmacy, the gruff man dismissed her with a quick:

—Don't know anyone by those names, young lady. Are you here for medicine or what?

Finally, she ventured into the Grandparents' Café, a noisy spot filled with the smell of freshly brewed coffee and lively chatter. She approached a table where two old men were playing dominoes, their pieces clicking loudly on the table.

—Excuse me, do either of you know Kevin or Tomás? —Sofi asked, feeling foolish for repeating the same question over and over with no success.

One of them, with a beard so long and unruly it interfered with his food, looked up and smiled, revealing yellowed teeth.

—Nope, doesn't ring a bell. Are they from around here?

The other man, younger but just as gray, chuckled.

—Everyone knows everyone here. If they were from Elmwood, we'd have seen them at the plaza or a town party.

The answers were always the same: confused stares, shrugged shoulders, a resounding "no" drilling into her nerves with exhausting persistence. No one knew Kevin. No one remembered Tomás. Frustration grew with every closed door, every blank face that gave her not a single clue.

The sense of strangeness deepened. It was as if she was speaking of people who had never existed—or worse, people who had once existed and, for some inexplicable reason, had been entirely forgotten, erased from the town's collective memory.

She wandered aimlessly for a while, the morning sun already high above, the weight of defeat pressing heavily on her shoulders. "What if I made it all up?" she thought, panic prickling at her skin. "What if my mind played a cruel trick on me?" The idea was absurd—but the lack of evidence made her doubt herself.

Then, a voice inside—logical and stubborn—cut through the fog of uncertainty like a blade. "I don't write nonsense. Especially not about someone I hated."

That last part—the hatred—was a visceral echo, a truth seared into her emotional memory, even if she couldn't remember the face or the reason behind it. It was a certainty without memory—a disturbing void urging her forward.

Her steps took her to the elementary school, to the community mural she had seen countless times: an explosion of color depicting Elmwood's history and dreams. One part of it, a dull gray strip covering part of a drawing, caught her attention again—but this time, she stared at it differently.

She didn't just glance at it like before—she studied it with a focused intensity, as if expecting the tape to peel off and reveal the truth beneath. Her eyes scanned every detail, searching for something, anything. The spot was oddly blank, out of place in a mural bursting with life and characters and landscapes.

And then, like a spring bursting forth, the realization struck with such force she stumbled mentally.

"It's like Tomás and Kevin were erased."

The suspicion—still only a seed—began to sprout roots within her, wrapping tightly around her thoughts. Logic told her it was crazy, pure imagination. But her instincts, raw and primal, screamed that something was fundamentally, deeply wrong. She had no solid proof—no name, no face—but the sense of a deliberate absence, of something suppressed, was unmistakable.

Sofi returned home around seven in the evening, just as the sun was painting the sky in vibrant oranges, soft pinks, and melancholic purples. She climbed to her room, notebook still clenched in hand, and collapsed onto the bed, the mattress sinking under her.

Her head was spinning, filled with a million unanswered questions drifting like dust in sunlight. Everything that had happened that day—everything that didn't fit—had left her drained.

Her eyes landed on the old video camera on her desk, a bulky relic from another era.

A spark flickered in her mind.

If her memory betrayed her, and the townspeople didn't remember, maybe the old recordings would. Maybe the truth was hiding there, waiting.

With silent resolve, she picked up the camera and sat on the floor, her back against the wall. She began reviewing home videos, traveling through time on the grainy little screen.

Fragments of her life with her friends: joyful moments, carefree childhood games in the park, contagious laughter at birthday parties, improvised little vlogs with the gang. Dani the clown, Vale's laughter, Javi's calm… it was all there—a time capsule of her youth.

One video, then another.

And then, in the middle of that warm familiarity—in a picnic recording by the lake from two years ago—Sofi noticed something odd in the background. Something subtle. Something only someone looking for anomalies would see.

A section of the image was slightly distorted, like a part had been stretched or clumsily patched up. At first, it was barely noticeable—a flicker—but with closer scrutiny, the image felt incomplete. Manipulated.

There was a gap. A patch of grass stretched unnaturally. A tree bent in an impossible shape.

It was as if someone—or something—had been digitally erased. And though the edit was crude, it was unsettling. The absence screamed.

Sofi stared, heart pounding wildly in her chest. Hands trembling, she played another video.

There it was again.

A backyard video from an afternoon of games: another distortion, another absence in the frame.

A missing silhouette. A warped tree. A clumsy void.

In a third video, during a sleepover, a half-visible figure appeared at the edge of the screen, as if someone had begun to disappear but not completely. Dani's laughter seemed aimed at that empty spot—but there was no one there.

Reality cracked in those small errors.

Three videos. Three glitches. Three absences.

Sofi swallowed. She could no longer deny it.

Someone was erasing things. And doing it very well.

She rushed downstairs, seeking the familiarity of an adult explanation. Her mother was in the kitchen, stew scent in the air. Sofi's hands shook as she held the camera.

—Mom, look at this —Sofi whispered, showing her the screen, pausing on the distorted frame.

Her mom barely glanced over, focused on stirring the pot.

—Oh, sweetie, it's probably just a glitch. You know how those old cameras are. Don't overthink it.

The dismissive answer stung like a thorn under her skin.

Not convinced, Sofi went to the living room. Her father sat with the newspaper, as usual.

—Dad, can you see this? —she insisted, showing the same frame again.

He didn't lower the paper. He grunted.

—Mmm, yeah, sure. Probably a recording error. Cameras do weird stuff sometimes. Don't worry.

Indignant. Disappointed. Alone.

Sofi went back upstairs, camera still in hand. What could she even say?

"I think things are disappearing from Elmwood"?

It sounded absurd—even to her. But her gut screamed otherwise.

She collapsed onto the bed for the second time that day.

She played the videos again. And again. Watching closely, hoping the image would shift, that truth would emerge.

But the distorted pixels remained unchanged. A silent witness to something erased.

The seed of doubt had been planted.

And now, with this new, tangible clue—and the confirmation that she was alone in her search—she knew it would grow into obsession.

The mystery of Kevin and Tomás was no longer just curiosity.

It was a truth erased.

And Sofi wouldn't rest until she brought it back into the light.

She knew, with a chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning.