She Vanished Just as the Year Ended

The icy December wind cut through the narrow alley like a blade, scattering forgotten Christmas decorations and rattling loose boards on the nearby fence. Detective Eli Harper pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders, his breath fogging the air in front of him. The year was ending, but it seemed like the chaos in Ridgewater was just beginning.

They had found her shoes first—red, scuffed, and abandoned near the cracked fountain in the town square. Then came the handbag, its contents spilled onto the snow-dusted ground like a gutted fish. But Lena Davis herself was nowhere to be found.

Eli glanced at the clock tower looming over the square. Eleven forty-five p.m. Fifteen minutes until midnight. Until the year was over. The thought clawed at him. Something about Lena’s disappearance gnawed at the edges of his mind, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit.

“She didn’t just disappear,” he muttered to himself. “Someone made her disappear.”

The square was eerily quiet now, the festive cheer of a week ago replaced with a suffocating tension. Most of the townsfolk were either at home or celebrating at the Ridgewater Inn, waiting to toast the new year. Eli doubted they even knew Lena was missing yet.

“You really think she’s still here?” asked Officer Grace Monroe, standing at his side, her flashlight cutting through the gloom.

Eli didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched down to examine the faint trail of footprints leading away from the fountain. The snow was fresh, the prints shallow, but they veered sharply toward the alley. Toward darkness.

“She didn’t leave on her own,” Eli finally said, standing up. “She was taken.”

Grace frowned. “But why leave her things behind? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s a message,” Eli replied, his voice low. “Or a warning.”

They followed the footprints, their boots crunching softly against the snow. The alley was narrow, flanked by brick buildings that seemed to close in on them. Graffiti marked the walls, and the faint hum of a distant generator was the only sound.

“Eli,” Grace said, her voice cautious. She shined her flashlight on a dark stain near a dumpster. Blood. Not much, but enough to quicken Eli’s pulse.

“She struggled,” he said, crouching again. “But where did they take her from here?”

As if in response, a faint creak echoed above them. Grace swung her flashlight upward, illuminating a fire escape ladder that hung precariously from the building.

“You think she went up there?” Grace asked, doubt lacing her tone.

“Not willingly.”

Eli grabbed the icy rungs of the ladder and began to climb, the metal groaning under his weight. Grace followed closely, her flashlight bobbing as they ascended.

The rooftop was a stark contrast to the snowy streets below. It was cluttered with debris—old crates, rusted pipes, and an antenna that swayed in the wind. Eli’s eyes scanned the area, his senses on high alert.

Then he saw it.

A single red scarf, fluttering from the edge of the roof.

“She was here,” Eli said, his voice tight. He reached for the scarf, but the moment his fingers brushed it, the rooftop door slammed shut behind them.

Grace whirled around, her flashlight shaking. “What the—?”

“Stay calm,” Eli ordered, though his own heart was pounding.

Before they could react further, a loud crack split the air. The sound of fireworks exploding in the distance. Midnight had arrived.

But the celebration below only highlighted the silence above.

And then they heard it—a faint, rhythmic tapping.

It was coming from the shadows on the far side of the roof.

Eli drew his gun, motioning for Grace to stay behind him. They moved toward the sound, each step deliberate.

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. And then they saw it.

A figure, shrouded in black, stood at the edge of the roof. A mask covered their face, but the faint glint of a knife in their hand was unmistakable.

“Don’t move!” Eli barked, raising his weapon.

The figure didn’t flinch. Instead, they raised their other hand, holding something small and metallic.

A pocket watch.

“Lena Davis,” Eli demanded. “Where is she?”

The figure tilted their head, as if amused. And then, without warning, they stepped backward, falling into the void.

“NO!” Grace screamed, rushing to the edge.

Eli grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “It’s too late!”

But as they peered over the edge, expecting to see the figure’s body on the ground below, there was nothing. No sign of impact. No footprints in the snow.

It was as if they had vanished into thin air.

And as the fireworks lit up the night sky, Eli spotted one last clue—a piece of paper wedged under the scarf.

He unfolded it, his heart sinking as he read the words scrawled in red ink:

“She’s gone. Just like the year.”

And below it, the faintest outline of an address.

“We’re not done,” Eli said, shoving the note into his pocket.

But as they descended the ladder, a sin

king feeling settled in his gut. The year had ended, but this mystery was just beginning.

Elizabeth Banister

@Liz4121

Buffalo NY

Elizabeth Banister has not written a story.