
09/29/2025
"When Jenkins Went Dark" by Peyton Wilder & Mylee Miller
Last fall in Jenkins, people started whispering about the woods on the edge of town, about an overgrown tunnel. Strange lights floated between the trees, too bright and steady to be flashlights, and animals started disappearing without a sound. My friends and I thought we were brave enough to check it out one night, but the second we stepped out of the car, the air turned freezing cold, though it was still September. The woods were dead quiet, and when the lights flickered on, they didn’t just move—they drifted toward us. For a second, I could’ve sworn I saw a tall, twisted figure standing between the trees, its head tilted like it was studying us.
By the next morning, the whole town was on edge. A teacher claimed she heard scratching on her windows all night, and someone swore they saw handprints on the inside of their locked shed. Even the streetlights around Jenkins started flickering after dark, like the whole town was being swallowed up by whatever came crawling out of those woods—or maybe out of the tunnels beneath them.
Everyone in Jenkins knows the tunnel is abandoned, hasn't been used in years. That night, though, it felt like those tunnels weren’t empty anymore. When the wind shifted, it carried a hollow echo, like something breathing from underground.
I’ll never forget how it felt leaving that night. We drove away fast, but I kept staring in the mirror. I could still see the lights glowing faintly through the trees, following us, like Jenkins wasn’t just our town anymore. It belonged to them, and they had more than one way in.