Sam adjusted his glasses, the thin frames slipping down his nose as the late afternoon sun dipped behind the worn rooftops of his small town. The air had a slight chill—early fall, but not cold enough for a jacket. His backpack felt heavier than usual, filled mostly with textbooks he already knew by heart. School was too easy, and nobody noticed or cared.
He kicked at a loose pebble on the cracked sidewalk, his shoes worn at the edges, soles thinning. The streets were mostly empty except for a few trucks rumbling past, their engines growling low. This town didn’t have much—mostly old houses, a rundown gas station, and the grocery store that rarely restocked fresh fruit.
Sam’s short brown hair was messy from the wind. He wiped a smudge from his glasses with his sleeve. Being small and skinny at thirteen wasn’t easy here. People called him names. "Four-eyes," "brainiac," and worse. It didn’t help that his mom worked three jobs just to keep them afloat. She was always tired, and their house was too small, filled with echoes.
Today had been no different. Sam had sat in class, feeling invisible. The teacher went over math problems like they were ancient history. Sam’s mind wandered, tracing patterns in the ceiling tiles. The bell finally rang, and he grabbed his books.
As he walked, the quiet of the town pressed in around him. No friends to walk with, no one calling his name. Just the sound of his own footsteps and the occasional crow cawing overhead. The school’s gates clicked shut behind him.
Halfway home, something caught his eye near the curb—a dull glint in the dirt. Curious, Sam crouched down and picked it up.
It was a medallion, heavy and cold in his hand. A weird thing, round with strange markings etched into its surface. It looked old, maybe cheap, but there was something oddly compelling about it. A little bird—some kind of scraggly black bird—fluttered down from a nearby tree and landed close by. It eyed the medallion with something close to interest.
Without thinking, Sam placed the medallion around his neck. The chain felt rough against his skin. Almost immediately, the bird suddly attack him like he did sothing wrong, and pecked him with its beack doing a sharp sting pricked at his scalp where the medallion rested but maniged to show the bird away, with the bird acted like it needed this medallion for some reason.
“Stupid bird,” he muttered, rubbing his head. But a small part of him thought maybe it was a sign. The medallion looked kind of nice. Maybe Mom would like it. Or maybe he could sell it and help with rent or food.
Sam shrugged and kept walking.
The houses blurred past, each one looking a little more run down than the last. The streetlights flickered on as dusk settled in. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the medallion wasn’t quite right. But that feeling wasn’t fear—it was more like a whisper of something... waiting.
The door to their small house creaked open, and Sam stepped inside, greeted by the faint smell of canned beans and old carpet. His mom was already gone, on her second job tonight.
Sam sat down at the kitchen table, the medallion cool against his chest. It caught the light from the single bulb hanging overhead and shimmered faintly, like it held a secret.
He poked at it absently and wondered what strange paths this tiny thing might open for him—if only he dared to find out.