Author’s Note: This is more accustomed to fanfiction, constructive accepted, beg to god nobody on here knows me. -Libra
I grew up in a moderately large town with isolated neighborhood communities. Everyone knew each other in my neighborhood, albeit vaguely. There were numerous counts of disappearances, and when people would return, something would be wrong. They’d not look for their families which had moved away, they wouldn’t go to school or work for weeks, and yet everyone would forget about it.
Small occurrences would begin happening, after the first few returns, pet remains would be found, bloodstains would be found behind a school, broken, bloodied weapons would be found in strange places. Bodies of the returned would be seen, but the same person would be alive, having a cup of tea, perhaps. The pets were never recovered alive. Every single person who returned, seemed to have an item, a piece of jewellery, perhaps.
I knew a few people who had “returned,” they weren’t zombies, they weren’t like monsters. They seemed like people. Of course, the truth would be revealed about all of them, at least to me. The things I’ve noted about these people, they’re much less, analytical, sure. A love of science wouldn’t be diminished, but skepticism towards ghosts, things like that, would be completely gone. Also they’d be incredibly defensive about their privacy, self conscious, and less welcoming to physical contact. Nervous towards people that were superstitious of them, paranoid of people that thought the ‘returners’ were ‘weird,’ and preferring to hang out with other ‘returners’.
