Has anyone heard of the “Bloodworth Incident?” Everyone’s talking about it, but I have no idea what it is.

It was only my second day when I first heard about the “Bloodworth incident.” Janelle brought it up while we were eating lunch. “Of course, after the Bloodworth incident, my wife and I got an entire home security system. It cost a fortune, but it’s worth the peace of mind.”

I wasn’t really interested in the conversation—I was more interested in scarfing down the burrito in front of me—so I didn’t ask what the “Bloodworth incident” was.

But then it came up again. And again. And again…

Stan: “We haven’t left our curtains open since Bloodworth.”

Caitlyn: “I probably would’ve been a nurse forever, if Bloodworth had never happened. But I just didn’t feel safe anymore.”

Larry: “Did you catch that special on the Bloodworth Incident last night?”

Unlike my coworkers, I was new to Green Creek. I figured “the Bloodworth incident” was some sort of local thing that happened a few years ago. Maybe a convict escaped from prison named Bloodworth. Maybe there was an accident on Bloodworth Street, or a flu outbreak named “Bloodworth.” I was curious, but the social pressure to appear like everyone else kept me from asking.

But then, the comments got weirder.

“I’m writing a novel for NaNoWriMo this year,” Aaliyah said during lunch. “It’s about what life would be like, if the Bloodworth incident had never happened.”

“Ooooh, that’s such a good idea!” Stan said.

“That sounds so interesting. I would love to read that,” Janelle said.

Wait. What? Now they were talking about it like it was a national, life-altering disaster. Not just some local incident. There was a pause in the conversation, and I finally took my chance. “Wait, sorry, I’m confused. What’s the ‘Bloodworth incident’?”

Aaliyah looked me dead in the eye. And then—she burst into laughter. Slowly, my other coworkers broke into laughter, too. Until everyone at the table was chuckling.

“You’re funny, Amanda,” Aaliyah said, shooting me a grin. “I like you.”

I wanted to say no, I’m serious, what is it? But there was something about the atmosphere that made me uncomfortable. So I said nothing.

When I got home, I spent an hour on Google. Bloodworth Incident. Bloodworth Green Creek Pennsylvania. Nothing came up. I tried multiple combinations of keywords, even fiddling with the time range for search results, and still—nada.

But when I woke up the next morning, everything was crystal clear.

It’s a prank. A sort of hazing ritual, for new hires. It made sense—the software development team was a rambunctious, loosey-goosey crowd. Stan swore all the time; Caitlyn came to work in sweatpants. Lunchtime conversation included borderline inappropriate topics, like past tales of drunken revelry or TMI details of Stan’s recent divorce.

This is exactly the kind of thing they’d pull.

Besides, if “the Bloodworth incident” really happened… they wouldn’t mention it so often. It came up almost every day! Like they were trying to talk about it as much as possible.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t confront them today. It was a Saturday. So I spent my morning at the local coffee shop, getting some editing work done for my side hustle.

That’s when things got weird.

Two young women sat down at the next booth, talking loudly about the party last night. And a few minutes into their conversation, I heard them mention it.

I haven’t slept through the night since the Bloodworth incident.

I froze.

So it wasn’t some prank in the office. It was something other people knew about in the town. For a minute, I just sat there in silence, my mind reeling. Then I cut in.

“Excuse me—sorry to bother you, but—could you tell me what the Bloodworth Incident is?”

Both of the girls turned to me. Then the brunette one stood up. “Uh, sorry, we have to go,” she said quickly.

I watched as the two girls hurried out, glancing back to make sure I wasn’t following.

***

I called my mom that afternoon. She had never heard of the Bloodworth Incident. I texted a few of my friends. They also had no idea what it was.

I drove to a Walmart just a few miles outside the town’s border. Struck up a conversation with the cashier and mentioned the Bloodworth incident. She stared up at me with wide blue eyes. “The what incident?”

I drove back into town, on the narrow two-lane route that snaked through the forest. Just beyond the old, hand-painted Welcome to Green Creek sign, there was a little gas station. It looked like it’d seen better days, from the paint peeling on the mini-mart to the rust creeping up the sides of the pumps.

I went into the mini-mart, poured myself a coffee, and made my way to the bored-looking man sitting behind the counter.

“Coffee? This late?” he asked, with a smile. It was almost 7—starting to get dark.

“Haven’t been sleeping much since Bloodsworth,” I replied, pulling out my wallet.

A pause.

“Oh, yeah, it’s been crazy. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and check the locks.” He rang up my coffee. “Two-thirteen.”

I handed him my card. And then I decided to push a little. “Aren’t you afraid he might break in through the windows?”

He looked up at me, brows furrowed. “‘He’?”

“Sorry, I meant… ‘she’?”

His expression darkened. His gaze flicked to the door—and then he stood up, taking a step towards me. What is he doing? Every muscle in my body froze. Is he going to… try something? Get out, get out now—

“You don’t know what the Bloodworth incident is, do you?” he asked.

“No…”

“You sure as hell better not let anyone know.”

I stood there, frozen. Stunned. Seconds later, the bells jingled behind me as another customer entered. He smiled and waved. Like nothing had happened.

I turned on my heel and ran back to the car.

It was starting to get dark. Deep blue shadows stretched across the road from the bare trees, like giant claws. I started up the car and pulled out onto the road, headlights blaring into the darkness.

Don’t let anyone know. Why? Was it some sort of conspiracy? Or a cult thing? Maybe a cult leader lived in town. Maybe he’d brainwashed everyone here, and invented an ‘incident’ to fearmonger his followers into behaving. Or, maybe not knowing about the incident was some sort of signal. That I wasn’t a member of the cult. That I should be hunted down.

As I drove down Main Street, I passed the town library. But then an idea hit me. I made a U-Turn and pulled into the tiny parking lot.

A woman sat behind the desk, working a computer that looked like it was from two decades ago. She reminded me of a huggable little grandmother, with her oversized spectacles, gray hair, and knit sweater.

“Do you keep old newspapers? Like, local ones, from a few years ago?”

“Of course,” she replied, with a sweet smile. “You can find them down there.”

I walked down one of the aisles, to where the microfilms were kept. My footsteps sounded loud in the silence, echoing among the dusty books. I grabbed a film from 2000 and started my search, scanning article after article on the screen.

Looking for any mention of the Bloodworth Incident.

I honestly didn’t expect to find anything. But then I came across an issue of The Green Creek Sentinel from July 3, 2005.

Heart hammering, I began to read.

TOWN ROCKED BY ‘BLOODWORTH INCIDENT’

by JODIE McFARLANE

On the morning of July 2, a horror shook our little town of Green Creek, Pennsylvania. Nearly half of our residents woke to find their front doors mysteriously open, with a dark, sticky substance pooled on the floor.

But that was only the beginning. Those residents began to exhibit

CONTINUED ON PAGE 2

I flipped the page—and gasped.

The entire article was scribbled out with black marker. There was even a photo—a photo of the Main Street. Grainy, black and white. I could make out the library, the other shops, the sky… but the marker had scribbled over most of the street.

But not fully. I could make out a pair of shoes. As if someone were lying there. A body.

And if I used my imagination, based on how many scribbled-out blobs there were, I’d guess there were no less than twenty bodies in the middle of the street.

I clapped a hand to my mouth. I clicked wildly at the mouse, moving through the next few issues, looking for any mention of Bloodworth. I didn’t find any.

But I did find something.

A TRIBUTE TO JODIE McFARLANE

We sadly mourn the death of our very own head journalist, Jodie McFarlane. She was only 41 years old…

A voice snapped me out of my trance.

“What are you doing?”

I whipped around.

The librarian was standing right behind me. But she didn’t look so warm and fuzzy now. Her expression was dark, stone-like, as she stared at the screen in front of me. A quiet fury in her eyes, behind her glasses.

“I’m sorry… I was just—”

“You came here to find out about Bloodworth, didn’t you?” she snarled.

“I—”

“You don’t know about it. You’re one of them!”

I expected her to lunge at me. Grab me. Chase me. But instead, she tilted her head towards the ceiling and let out the most blood-curdling scream I’ve ever heard.

Shuffling, rustling sounds echoed from the other aisles.

I broke into a run. Leapt past her, sprinting as fast as I possibly could. Once I made it to the atrium, I glanced back. Three other townspeople were running towards me, shouting to each other.

I ran for my life.

Miraculously, I made it out to the car. As I pulled away, I saw them standing at the door, staring at me.

Like an idiot, I thought I’d lost them. But as soon as I pulled out onto Main Street, I heard a police siren pierce the air. Red-and-blue lights flashed in my rearview.

I pushed the pedal to the floor.

As soon as I crossed the town’s boundary—the gas station, the sign—the officer pulled off to the side of the road. He didn’t follow me. He just watched me, as I sped away from that place.

I never went back. Never got my stuff. I got a new job, moved three states away, and started my post-college life over again. I assumed that was the end of it, and I’d never hear about the Bloodworth Incident again.

I was wrong.

Several months after the move, I met someone. He just moved to my city, and our dates have been phenomenal. I’ve taken him to the best restaurants and museums, showed him everything there is to do here. We were just about to celebrate our first month together—when he said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“You really should get a deadbolt for the door,” he said casually, as we watched TV on the couch. “‘Cause, we wouldn’t want another Bloodworth incident. Would we?”