Chapter 1 - The Photograph Beneath the Tree
Noah Carter only wanted to frighten someone.
The enormous oak on Bellweather Lane had been his favorite hiding place since his family moved into the neighborhood six months earlier. Its lowest branch stretched above the sidewalk beside an abandoned brick building, low enough for a ten-year-old to climb and high enough to disappear behind thick leaves.
That evening, Noah spotted an elderly woman walking alone beneath him.
She had gray hair, a beige sweater, a long dark skirt, and a small leather handbag.
He waited until she was directly below.
Then he dropped.
“GOO GOO GA GA!”
The woman screamed.
Her hand flew to her chest. She stumbled onto the grass and collapsed.
Noah’s grin vanished instantly.
“Ma’am?”
She did not move.
He dropped to his knees, terrified, and held two fingers beneath her nose the way he had seen people do in movies.
Nothing.
“No… wake up.”
He shook her shoulder.
No response.
Certain he had killed her, Noah scrambled back up the oak and buried himself among the branches, trembling so badly that leaves shook around him.
Below, the woman remained completely still.
Then her eyes snapped open.
Noah clamped both hands over his mouth.
Without lifting her head, the woman reached into her handbag and withdrew an old photograph.
She held it toward the streetlight.
Noah could see the same oak.
The same sidewalk.
The same brick building before its windows had been boarded.
Beneath the tree stood a brown-haired boy.
Noah’s stomach tightened.
The boy looked exactly like him.
Same narrow chin.
Same crooked left eyebrow.
Even the same slight tilt of the head.
Yet the photograph was yellowed and cracked, and an old station wagon behind the boy belonged to another era.
The woman slowly raised her eyes toward Noah.
A chilling smile spread across her face.
“I’ve finally found you.”
Noah recoiled.
At that exact moment, a small hand closed around his shoulder from behind.
He screamed and spun.
For one instant he saw the outline of another child slipping behind the trunk.
Then nothing.
Noah jumped down and ran.
He did not look back until he reached the corner.
The woman was standing now.
Perfectly alive.
Watching him.
The next morning police found her leather handbag beneath the oak.
The woman was gone.
But the photograph remained inside.
On its back, written in faded blue ink, were four words:
NOAH CARTER — AGE TEN.
Below them was a date.
May you like
October 14, 1978.
Noah would not be born for another thirty-eight years.
