Chapter 1

Just a lonely girl, travelling through an eerie world.

The song pulsing through Rory’s helmet didn’t have those lyrics, but she had a habit of rewriting the soundtrack of her life. Tonight, the streets felt off—eerie enough for her to tighten her grip on the scooter’s throttle. It was just shy of half-past ten, but the neighbourhood was unnervingly quiet. Not a single car on the road, not a pedestrian in sight. Just endless rows of darkened houses, their windows as lifeless as the streets.

The streetlights, spaced too far apart, left long shadows in between, where the darkness seemed to thicken. Rory couldn’t hear much beyond the beat of her music, but she imagined the silence on the street was heavy. The kind of silence that made you feel like you were the last person alive. She didn’t like that thought—so she pushed her motor scooter a little faster.

She glanced down at the phone mounted on her scooter’s dashboard—she was on track to make the delivery on time. Good thing, too, because the smell of pizzas wafting from the oversized delivery backpack had been making her mouth water since she’d left Margarita’s Pizzeria twenty minutes ago. Who orders pizza right before closing, anyway?

She wanted to be annoyed at the customer, but deep down, she knew her frustration lay elsewhere. It was her own choices she was mad at. Taking a gap year after high school had seemed like a brilliant idea—at the time. Europe for three months? Amazing. The rest of the year? A blur of binge-watching movies and video games. In hindsight, it felt like wasted time.

Then there was the half-baked decision to take a half-scholarship at a design college instead of going to university. If she had just chosen university, she wouldn’t be paying tuition fees directly out of pocket. Her mother hadn’t helped—she refused to support Rory’s “Digital Media” degree, calling it too vague. That had led to a painfully blunt conversation about how Rory’s mother wouldn’t fund what she saw as a waste of time.

In her mother’s mind, Rory should have taken an interest in medicine —become a doctor, like her father! Save lives! Do something right in the world! Make up for the mistakes she had made. Make up for the life she took. Fill the gap in her mother’s life— bring back her husband.

Rory reflected on the last five years. Her eyes welled up but she kept the tears at bay. She understood deep down that it wasn’t really her fault. But she had asked him to come with her as she took the seat behind the wheel. She could have paid for an instructor, but she had asked him. He would never have said no.

That day had caused a rift between the two women. They were amicable now. Enough time had passed, and they were always bound to start speaking again. They might even be considered friendly. But there were months where they didn’t speak.

Rory shook off her thoughts.

She was here now, a food delivery rider. The pay was decent, as long as the orders kept coming, and at least she’d had her rider’s licence for over a year. She had gotten it out of necessity, but she had found the solitude of riding comforting. She could ride all day long, all by herself, and she felt free. Still, she hated the last-minute deliveries right before closing. They always felt so rushed—though they usually paid the best.

Lost in her thoughts, Rory almost missed the house. She braked hard, her scooter screeching to a stop in front of a derelict terrace house. Like the rest on this street, it looked lifeless.

Goddammit. A fake delivery.

Rory pulled her phone from its mount and called Margarita’s Pizzas. She sighed, lifting the visor of her helmet as the call connected.

“Hey, Prue—it’s Rory. This last delivery… the house looks abandoned. Must be a fake. What should I do with the pizzas?”

“It’s not a fake delivery. They paid upfront. Just get the pizzas to the customer, Alden. I’m not getting another one-star review over late deliveries because of you. Did you even bother knocking, or are you sitting there on your bike expecting them to magically know you’re outside?”

“Well, the app literally shows them I’m here,” Rory muttered.

“Knock on the door, Rory!” Prue snapped before hanging up.

“Charming as ever,” Rory muttered, sliding the phone back into her pocket.

She dismounted her scooter and made her way toward the door.

Let’s get this over with.

Knock. Knock. Knock. The knuckle protectors on her gloves made a solid, satisfying sound against the heavy wooden door.

Rory stepped back, waiting expectantly.

No one’s here, Prue. Just like I said.

She knocked again.

Silence.

Rory raised her hand to knock a third time but paused. She could hear something—voices? No, just one voice. A radio, maybe? Who still owned radios? Someone had to be inside.

Rory raised her hand to knock, but instead, she tested the handle. The door creaked open, and the sound of the radio grew louder. It sounded like a news station.

“…Police Commissioner Lachlan Whelan stated that the alleged creature sightings were being looked into but were not currently considered serious, attributing the reports to sensationalist fear-mongering from known individuals in the community…”

“Hello?” Rory called out, peeking through the half-open door, her voice tentative.

“…When questioned about the recent Special Operations Taskforce, Commissioner Whelan simply stated that the unit would operate independently from the Police Force itself…”

“Delivery from Margarita’s?” she offered. “Two family half-and-halfs, two pepperonis, garlic bread, and some cans?”

“…Reports of Sydney’s own Spring-heeled Jack! Just in time for Halloween. And that’ll wrap up today’s news day. Back to you, Karl and Josie!…”

The newscaster’s voice came from nearby, and Rory reached inside, feeling along the wall for the source. Her fingers brushed against a blocky, metallic object—an 80’s-style boombox perched on top of a cabinet, or maybe a credenza? Is that what they were called? Credenzas? Anyway, she found the volume dial and turned it down until it clicked off.

“Okay, look, I’m just gonna leave these pizzas on a table or something, alright? I’ve got other deliveries to finish,” she lied.

No response.

She felt along the wall for a light switch—nothing. Steeling herself, Rory took a few tentative steps into the room.

Screw it. I’ll just dump these on a table and bail. I don’t get paid enough to wait around in creepy houses for—

The floorboards beneath her gave way.

She fell.

And fell.

…and kept falling.