Marcia was a California Redwoods girl through and through—barefoot summers, endless hikes through towering giants, and late-night bonfires beneath starry skies. Peter, though? He was all city. Slick cars, bright lights, and music blasting from the open windows of every street corner in Los Angeles. When he first rolled into Hill Valley High, he stuck out like a sore thumb, but there was something about his outsider charm that drew Marcia in.

They met at a party in the redwoods, where Peter, seemingly lost, strummed a guitar like a one-man band. It was the kind of accidental romance that felt like a summer storm—unexpected and electric. Soon enough, they were sneaking off into the dense forests, away from prying eyes, beneath the cover of the endless canopy.

It became their escape, especially for Marcia. She wasn’t a fan of birthdays, holidays, or any of the meaningless traditions people seemed to cling to. With Peter, everything felt better in the dark.

One evening, they wandered deeper than usual. The towering redwoods cast long shadows, and the light from Peter’s flashlight flickered like it might die any second.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Peter muttered, pushing aside thick ferns. He was out of his element, and it showed.

Marcia grinned. “You scared, city boy?”

“Not scared, just… uneasy. Feels like someone’s watching us.”

They pressed on, the forest growing denser, and soon they found themselves in an eerily quiet clearing. No birds, no crickets. Just silence. Marcia was about to crack a joke when the air grew cold, unnaturally so, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet trembled, and a blinding light shot down from the sky. Peter’s flashlight dropped from his hand, spinning wildly in the dirt as both of them froze, staring upward.

A massive, sleek ship descended from the heavens, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the towering trees around them. The air crackled with energy as the craft hovered a few feet above the forest floor.

“Marcia…” Peter whispered, reaching for her hand. But before he could grab it, a beam of light shot down, engulfing Marcia. She screamed as her feet lifted off the ground, her body pulled upward toward the ship. Peter lunged for her, but she was already out of reach, her face frozen in terror.

“PETER!” she screamed, her voice disappearing into the hum of the ship’s engine.

And then, just like that, she was gone. The ship shot back into the sky, leaving Peter alone in the silent forest, staring up into the black abyss.

Days passed, then weeks. Marcia’s disappearance became a mystery no one could solve. The police called it a missing person case, but Peter knew the truth. He tried telling the authorities about the ship, about how it had taken her right before his eyes, but they didn’t believe him. No one did. The once lively Peter became a shadow of himself, haunted by that night.

He started wandering the redwoods alone, retracing their steps, hoping to find some sign of Marcia, some clue that would bring her back. It was in those long, lonely walks that he began to hear her voice, faint but unmistakable.

“Peter…”

It came at night, carried on the wind, like a whisper from the trees. Sometimes, he saw her too—just a fleeting image, standing between the trunks, watching him with those same terrified eyes from that night.

One evening, he followed her voice deeper into the forest than ever before. As the moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting eerie shadows, he found himself back in the same clearing. The place where he lost her. Only this time, it was different. The ground was disturbed, the air thick with an unnatural charge.

Suddenly, the light appeared again, but this time it wasn’t coming from the sky. It was coming from the trees. He stumbled back, watching in horror as Marcia stepped out from between the towering trunks. Her face was pale, eyes wide and hollow. She looked like Marcia, but something was off. She was too still, too perfect, like a doll.

“Marcia?” Peter choked out, stepping toward her.

She didn’t move, didn’t speak, just stared at him with those vacant eyes. Then, as Peter reached for her, her mouth twisted into a grotesque smile.

“They showed me everything,” she whispered, her voice cold and mechanical. “It’s all a lie, Peter. Holidays, birthdays… all of it. I see it now. We were right. Everything is better in the dark.”

Peter froze. “What… what did they do to you?”

Marcia tilted her head, her smile widening. “I’m free now. You could be too. Come with me.”

Before Peter could react, the light from the trees intensified, and the ship reappeared overhead. Marcia’s body flickered like static on a broken TV screen, and Peter realized, with a sickening dread, that whatever this was, it wasn’t Marcia anymore. It was something else—something that had taken her.

“I can’t,” Peter whispered, stepping back. “You’re not her.”

The ship hummed louder, and Marcia’s form began to dissolve, her smile never fading.

“Suit yourself,” she said, her voice distorted as her figure faded back into the light. “You’ll see soon enough. It’s better in the dark.”

In an instant, the ship vanished, taking whatever was left of Marcia with it. Peter collapsed to his knees, the silence of the forest closing in around him once more.

The redwoods loomed tall and unfeeling, as if they’d witnessed this a thousand times before. Peter stood, his heart heavy with the realization that the Marcia he knew was gone—lost to the dark, along with whatever dreams they’d once shared.

As he wandered back through the forest, a single thought echoed in his mind.

Everything is better in the dark.