The wind howled as a big box truck rumbled down the desolate road. A weathered sign reading Midnight Town, West Virginia, trembled against the gusts, struggling to remain upright. Fog thickened with every mile, swallowing the truck as it entered the small, eerie town.
The truck weaved through winding streets before stopping in front of a tall, white house. It looked like something out of a horror movie–too pristine, too clean. As the engine died, curious townsfolk stepped out of their homes to watch. From the truck emerged a short, blonde woman in a pink sundress, her thick brown hair tied back with two bright bows. She smiled as she began unloading boxes, oblivious to the stares.
Her new one-story home, freshly painted a vibrant pink, stood out against the decaying gray houses that lined the street. The cheerful color made the rest of the neighborhood seem even more lifeless.
Box after box, she worked through the day, only stopping when night fell. Lights began to blink off in every house except the pink one. Townspeople peered cautiously through their curtains, whispering about the newcomer.
“She looks like she’s going to be a problem,” one muttered.
By 11 o’clock, the only light in town still shining was from the pink house. Inside, the woman bustled about, unpacking and organizing. Time slipped by unnoticed until a knock at the door startled her.
Opening it, she found a tall man in a suit and a large top hat standing on her doorstep.
“Hello,” the woman greeted him warmly.
“Hello,” the man replied in a flat, lifeless tone. “I’m the mayor of this town. We’ve received several complaints.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m new here. My name is Elora Pretty,” she said, offering a bright smile.
“The town has a very strict curfew,” he said, eyeing her pink dress. “Everyone must be asleep by 12:06. If you can’t sleep, there are sleeping pills in your bathroom cabinet. You also can’t leave your house before 5:00 a.m. Violating these rules results in immediate house arrest.”
“Why so many rules?” Elora asked, her smile fading.
“They keep everyone safe… and we always know where people are,” the mayor replied stiffly.
“What was your name again?”
“Humphrey Montgomery, but most just call me Mayor Mont.”
Elora glanced at the clock she had just hung on her wall. “Oh—it’s 11:30. I should get ready for bed.” She tried to shut the door, but Mayor Mont stuck his foot in.
“There will be consequences,” he said, his voice quivering slightly, “if you don’t follow the curfew.”
“I understand,” Elora said, hiding her unease.
As soon as he removed his foot, she slammed the door and ran to her bedroom. She climbed into bed, cocooning herself in blankets. Guess it’s bedtime, she thought. Sleep came quickly after the long day.
The next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the fog. Elora woke up refreshed and ready. She smiled as she looked around her new home. As she approached the door, a dark scuff mark from Mayor Mont’s shoe caught her eye. She flinched.
Shaking it off, she checked the clock at 5:25 a.m. then stepped outside. With a smile on her face, she walked to her new job. The streets were empty, ghostly quiet. No cars. No people. Just stillness. She glanced at the windows. Little faces peered out at her. When she waved, the faces vanished. The people here are a little weird, she thought, brushing off the chill running down her spine.
Before she realized it, she was standing in front of the school. The building loomed in the center of town, dark and cold. It made the hair on her arms stand on end.
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice startled her. Mayor Mont hurried past, not stopping to speak further.
Elora stared at the school doors, then took a deep breath and opened one. Dry, cold air rushed out, making her cough. Inside, she found her classroom and settled in, waiting for the students. One minute before the bell, a line of children walked in silently, all wearing identical expressions. Elora stood and smiled.
“Hi everyone! I’m Ms. Pretty,” she said cheerfully. “I’m so excited for this school year!” The children started, blank and unblinking. One girl with long brown pigtails slowly raised her hand.
“Yes?” Elora asked.
“Can you not wear such a bright color tomorrow?” the girl said. “It hurts our eyes.” All the children nodded in unison.
“Oh… okay. Sorry,” Elora replied, glancing down at her pink dress. A strange feeling crept over her.
Throughout the day, the children answered questions in perfect unison. After lunch, while reading a book aloud, Elora looked up as every child had their head down on their desk. I didn’t think the story was that boring, she thought, uneasy.
Then, all at once, the children lifted their heads and stared. The rest of the day continued in stiff silence. When the final bell rang, they stood and marched out as one. These kids are really weird, Elora thought as she walked home.
The next few days were a blur of repetition. Each morning, the children arrived the same way. Each afternoon, they dropped their heads at exactly 12:06. On Thursday, Elora finally watched the clock at 12:06. The heads dropped. At 12:07, they rose again.
“Why do you guys do that?” she asked nervously. The children didn’t answer. They just stared.
By the weekend, Elora had decided not to leave the house. The whole town gave her a bad feeling. She spent Saturday cleaning, rearranging, and trying to feel normal. As the sun set, time passed too quickly. She glanced at the clock at 11:30 p.m. She rushed to the bathroom, washed up, and dove into bed. Sleep came fast.
But then—she woke up with a jolt. A nightmare had yanked her from sleep. Her eyes shot to the clock: 12:05. Just a coincidence, she told herself. But the feeling didn’t fade. It grew worse. Someone—or something—was watching her. She looked out the window. A child stood in her driveway.
Elora’s breath caught. It was the same little girl from her class. Her eyes were glowing red. More children emerged from the fog, one by one, surrounding the house. Dozens. Maybe a hundred. Elora watched in horror as the clock turned 12:06.
The first child hurled itself at the front door.
Then another.
And another.
Glass shattered as windows gave way. Elora screamed and bolted to her room. She slammed the door, shoving her bed and bookcase against it. She pressed her back to the wall and prayed it was just a nightmare. But the children burst through both the window and the door at once. They swarmed her, scratching, biting, tearing. Elora fought, but there were too many.
Just before her vision faded, she saw the clock turn 12:07.
