The cottonwoods whispered secrets that no one dared to hear. Their skeletal branches clawed at the fading light of the dying day, casting long, twitching shadows across the cracked sidewalks of Graham. Somewhere deep beneath the surface, a silence waited—patient, hungry, and ancient.

No one remembered when it first came. Some said it had always been there, a stain on the town's soul, growing stronger with every whispered shame and buried secret. It fed on what people feared most: the parts of themselves they locked away, the moments they hoped no one would ever know.

On this night, the wind carried more than just leaves. It carried a name—a name so quiet it slipped past the ears of the living and settled into the bones of the forgotten. When shame comes calling, it does not knock. It slips through cracks, unseen and uninvited, turning the familiar into a nightmare.

And tonight, it was coming for Graham.