The Vanishing Point
Every day at precisely 3:17 p.m., someone in the small town of Riverton disappears. No warning. No trace. One moment they’re there, and the next—gone. The police are baffled. The townsfolk are terrified. And the pattern remains an unsettling mystery.
Journalist Sarah Blake, drawn by the eerie frequency of these disappearances, arrives in Riverton to investigate. Her first instinct is that it’s some sort of mass hysteria, a local myth spun out of control. But when she begins her research, she realizes there’s something far more disturbing at play.
Sarah begins to notice an unusual pattern: Each disappearance coincides with an unconnected event—a fire at the local bakery, a wedding at the town hall, a car accident on Main Street. At first, the connections seem random. But as she digs deeper, she uncovers old police reports, newspaper clippings, and town gossip. What she finds is enough to send a chill down her spine.
The pattern is not random. These events—incidents that seem unrelated at first glance—are all tied to one person: Thomas Hawke, a man who vanished years ago under strange circumstances. Every disappearance, Sarah discovers, is linked to something that happened in the town on the same day years earlier, when Hawke was last seen. The town, it seems, is cursed to repeat the same tragedies over and over.
But the deeper Sarah digs, the more she realizes that the pattern isn’t the real mystery. It’s the timing. Each disappearance happens precisely at 3:17 p.m.—the moment when the town’s collective memory is wiped, when the curse renews itself.
Sarah’s investigation takes a dangerous turn when she begins to receive cryptic messages—warnings about the next disappearance, her own name appearing in the town’s old records, along with a chilling prediction: You will be next.
As the hour of 3:17 approaches, Sarah races to uncover the truth before it’s too late. She comes face-to-face with a chilling possibility: the town’s history isn’t just repeating itself—it’s been controlled by something darker, something tied to the mysterious Thomas Hawke.
But Sarah’s closer to the truth than she realizes. The next victim isn’t just anyone—it’s someone who knows too much. Someone who’s connected to the town’s past. Someone who, like Hawke, might never leave Riverton.
At 3:17 p.m., Sarah Blake vanishes. No trace. No warning. But as the townspeople resume their routines, the clock ticks forward, and the cycle begins again.
The Vanishing Point isn’t just a time—it’s a place. A place where the past and future collide, and where those who know too much are never allowed to leave.
Riverton was a quiet town, the kind of place where nothing much ever happened. Nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, its streets were lined with old brick buildings, ivy-clad houses, and the occasional small cafe where everyone knew everyone else’s name. But for all its charm, Riverton had a dark secret—one that no one spoke of, but everyone feared.
Every day, at precisely 3:14 PM, someone would disappear. No warnings, no signs. They were just… gone. And just as inexplicably, they were forgotten. As if they had never existed at all.
Lena Harper had lived in Riverton for most of her life, but she had never paid much attention to the strange disappearances. That is, until she started working for the Riverton Gazette, a small newspaper with more obituaries than headlines. When she first heard about the disappearances, she assumed it was just a local rumor—something cooked up to keep the town entertained.
But then, the disappearances started happening in a pattern she couldn’t ignore.
It began with the fire.
The first disappearance Lena had investigated was that of Samuel Grayson, a local mechanic. Samuel was a solitary man, living on the edge of town near the old mill. On the afternoon of the fire, Lena had been sitting at her desk when the call came in. A fire had broken out at the Grayson property. By the time firefighters arrived, the building was fully engulfed, the smoke blackening the sky. There were no survivors—except for Samuel, who had vanished without a trace.
Lena’s curiosity was piqued when she learned the time of his disappearance: exactly 3:14 PM. She thought it was a coincidence at first. But when Samuel’s name was erased from local records, and even his neighbors seemed to forget about him, Lena began to feel a shiver run down her spine.
The next day, Lena went to the police station. Detective Mark Henderson was leaning over a pile of paperwork when she entered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
“You heard about Samuel, right?” she asked, sliding into a chair.
Mark glanced up. “I did. It’s strange. But what can you do? Fires happen. People vanish in fires all the time.”
Lena frowned. “I know, but… did you notice the time? 3:14. It’s the same time every time someone disappears.”
Mark paused, tapping his pen against the desk. “The time’s always been the same?”
“Yes. It’s like clockwork. And it’s not just Samuel. I looked back at old reports—every time, at 3:14 PM, someone goes missing. Like they vanish into thin air.”
Mark sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Look, I know you’re trying to make a story out of this, Lena, but you’re chasing shadows. There’s no logical explanation for people disappearing like that.”
“But that’s just it,” Lena pressed. “There’s a pattern here. It’s not random. I think someone or something is making it happen.”
Mark gave her a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. “And what, you think it’s some kind of supernatural curse? Or a mass conspiracy?”
Lena stared at him, her mind spinning. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t ignore it.”
Over the next week, Lena continued to investigate. She combed through old news articles, public records, and town gossip, searching for any clues that could explain the pattern. She found the next disappearance in a wedding.
It was the wedding of Alison and Peter Caldwell. The couple had been together for years, and the wedding was the talk of the town. It was held at the old church on the hill, a charming building with stained glass windows and a long history. The ceremony was perfect, the guests happy. But just as the bride and groom exchanged vows, Alison’s father, Henry, slipped away from the celebration.
When the wedding party began to notice his absence, they searched for him—only to find that he had disappeared. His car was gone, his coat left behind. No sign of a struggle. And when Lena looked at the time? It was 3:14 PM.
Alison never spoke about her father again, and soon the town seemed to forget he had even existed. His name was erased from the wedding photos, the guest list. Even Alison stopped talking about him, as if the memory had been wiped clean.
Lena’s stomach twisted. The pattern was becoming undeniable. The disappearances were connected to significant events—events that should have been moments of joy, of life. But instead, they were marked by a deep, unsettling silence.
The third disappearance came a few days later, after a car accident on the outskirts of town. A young man named Thomas Miller, a local schoolteacher, had swerved off the road and crashed into a tree at 3:14 PM. His body was found hours later, but once again, there was no explanation for his disappearance. No one seemed to remember him—his name was removed from the police records, his face erased from the yearbook.
And so the town carried on, as though nothing had ever happened.
But Lena couldn’t forget.
She knew she was getting closer to the truth, and she was starting to connect the dots between the fire, the wedding, the accident, and the others who had vanished before. But the more she dug, the more dangerous things became.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—something—was watching her. It started small. A shadow at the edge of her vision when she walked home at night. A soft whisper on the wind. The feeling of being followed.
One evening, as Lena sat at her desk, a note appeared on her desk. There was no return address, no signature—just a single line of text, scrawled in messy handwriting:
“You’re next.”
Her pulse quickened, and for the first time, Lena felt a chill run through her veins. The disappearances weren’t just random. They were connected to something older, something buried beneath the surface of Riverton.
Lena’s investigation reached its boiling point when she uncovered an old journal at the local library. It belonged to a man named Joseph Carmichael, a former resident of Riverton who had disappeared many years ago, long before the current string of vanishing people.
The journal spoke of a ritual—a dark, forbidden ritual tied to the town’s founding. Every 3:14 PM, a person had to vanish, in exchange for the safety and prosperity of Riverton. It was a pact made long ago with an ancient force that demanded its due.
Lena’s blood ran cold as she read further. The ritual had been forgotten by most of the townspeople, but its effects had never faded. The pattern had continued for generations. People disappeared, and Riverton prospered.
But there was one catch. The ritual didn’t just take anyone. It took the person who was next in line—whoever the town deemed expendable. And now, Lena had come too close to the truth. She was next.
The day Lena realized she was being hunted, she made a desperate plan to escape. She needed to leave Riverton before 3:14 PM, but she knew it was already too late. The town wouldn’t let her leave. The ritual wouldn’t let her leave.
As the clock ticked closer to 3:14, Lena raced to the edge of town, her heart hammering in her chest. The whispers grew louder, more insistent. But when she reached the old cemetery at the outskirts of town, she saw something that made her blood run cold.
There, carved into the stone of the cemetery’s gate, were the names of all the people who had vanished—Samuel Grayson, Henry Caldwell, Thomas Miller, and now, Lena’s own name, written in thick, dark letters.
It was too late. She had become part of the pattern.
As the clock struck 3:14, Lena felt the ground beneath her feet shift. The world around her began to blur, and she realized—too late—that Riverton was never just a town. It was a prison, a place where time had been twisted, and the past could never be outrun.
And when she disappeared, no one would remember her.
Epilogue:
A year later, the town of Riverton seemed as peaceful as ever. The clock tower struck 3:14 PM, as it always did, but this time, there was no one left to disappear.
The pattern had been broken.
Or so it seemed.
But in the shadows, far from the prying eyes of the townspeople, something still whispered, waiting for the next 3:14 to strike.