The Invitation: Shadows in the Mist

After I was taken and forced into that remote mountain town, my mother did everything she could to find me—even things I never imagined she would.

Even now, when I look back, her face floats up in my mind: worried, stubborn, the same mother who always seemed to look out for my brother first. She named me "Charity," like she was trying to convince herself there was some blessing in having a second daughter. But that same mother—when it really counted—moved heaven and earth for me. Funny how that works. For all her faults, she was relentless.

She went everywhere—climbing hills, fording rivers, dragging the police and a whole crowd of reporters behind her. I mean, she really did everything—putting everything on the line, not caring what the neighbors whispered. Old-fashioned as she was, she still tried to protect every one of her kids, even if it meant breaking the rules she grew up with. I wonder if she ever stopped to think what people would say. Maybe she just didn’t care anymore.

Sometimes I wonder about the price of love. If a life could be traded for another, I swear heaven must be packed with mothers. Only a mother would make that trade without blinking. I wish that felt comforting. It just makes me ache.

"We're here. Get out of the car." The vehicle rolled to a stop on the shoulder of some empty highway—the kind of place where the silence crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. My heart hammered so loud I was sure they'd hear it. Damp morning air clung to everything; the trees looked like ghosts in the mist. I checked my phone—still not even six a.m., the sky barely a dirty gray. I shivered, goosebumps prickling up my arms.

Just yesterday, a woman had messaged me through a Facebook group. Her profile pic was a splashy city skyline—looked all bright and glamorous. But when she called, her voice was sharp, all business, no time for small talk. She told me she was a casting director for some new streaming reality show, looking for three regular people to join a rural life experience series. It sounded almost too good to be true. I remember thinking, is this for real?

"We need a girl who's decent-looking and presentable, but who knows her way around farm work—to create some contrast for the show," she said. Her voice was brisk, like she was reading straight off a checklist. I could almost hear her nails tapping impatiently on a desk somewhere, like she had a hundred things to do and I was just one more name to cross off.

I kind of laughed at myself. My skin was a little tanned from working outside, my clothes plain and practical. Guess I fit the bill. Not exactly glamorous. The pay she offered? Five times what I made as a background extra. Five times. That kind of money makes you forget your doubts for a hot second, no matter how many red flags you see.

"So, what do you think? If you're in, I'll stop looking. If you hesitate, I'll move on." She barely glanced up from her phone, already scrolling, probably lining up the next person in her head. Her fingers drummed on the table, bored.

I didn't want to blow my shot, so I just nodded. She told me a car would pick me up that night. Everything moved fast—I barely had time to throw clothes in a bag and call my landlord before I was hustled out the door.

I got into acting as an extra because a coworker once told me, "You're so pretty, why not try acting?" I laughed it off, but the idea stuck. Once I got there, though, I realized 'pretty' is a sliding scale. I was just background—filler, set dressing, someone to stand there while the real stars did their thing.

A month passed, and I made less than I did at the plastics factory. I was already thinking about quitting, feeling like a total outsider—like I’d wandered onto the wrong field at recess and everyone could tell I didn’t belong.

The car drove through the night. Two other girls rode with me, both of them buzzing, talking a mile a minute. Their laughter filled the cramped backseat, their hopes popping like soda bubbles in the air. I tried to catch their excitement, but something inside me just felt wrong. Like a stone in my gut.

When we finally stopped, the three of us tumbled out, stiff and bleary-eyed. No cameras, no crew—just two men and the woman who’d called me, standing by the car. She told us to call her Ms. June. Her voice was sharp, all business, like she was running late for something more important.

"Where are we?" That was Jamie Martinez—she was all bright energy, a college student with a quick laugh and a backpack covered in patches and pins. She squinted into the mist, trying to make sense of the place. I remember thinking she looked out of place, but maybe we all did.

"The road ahead is too narrow, so we have to take a pickup truck. The director and crew already went ahead," Ms. June explained, brushing off our questions with a wave. "When we get there, you'll sign your contracts with me first." She didn’t even look up.

Back then, I didn’t question it. Extras usually got paid same-day, so signing a contract felt like I was getting closer to my acting dream. I kept telling myself, this is just how the business works—even if nothing about the place felt right. Just keep moving, I thought. Just play along.

All six of us—me, the other girls, Ms. June, and the two men—ended up at the community center, a squat brick building with faded flags and peeling paint. Inside, it smelled like burnt coffee and bleach. The kind of place that never really feels clean, no matter how much you scrub.

"Hand over your IDs, I need to make copies." Ms. June collected our licenses, then slid three contracts across the table. We filled them out, her pen tapping on the wood, fast and impatient, like she was counting down the seconds.

Right then, a guy walked in from outside. He looked like a local—boots caked in red clay, a strange accent, glancing at his watch every two seconds. He seemed in a rush, and Ms. June was clearly annoyed he hadn't started on time. She glared at him, and even I could feel the tension. If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

"We'll collect your phones in a bit. You all watch reality shows, right?" she said, trying to sound casual, but it landed stiff, like she’d rehearsed it in front of a mirror. There was a weird pause, like she forgot her next line.

Reality shows were everywhere then, and collecting phones and checking bags was a gimmick everyone used. It didn't feel out of place. I shrugged, telling myself it was all part of the show. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Before we handed over our phones, Ms. June told us to text our families, let them know we were safe. I stared at the screen, thumb hovering, but didn’t type a thing. My chest tightened. I just couldn’t do it.

The other girl, Quinn Rivera, barely spoke, but she was pale and jittery, like a rabbit about to bolt. She’d been picked up at the bus station by the show team. She tapped her phone a few times, handed it over in a hurry, her eyes darting everywhere, never settling.

Only Jamie sent a whole flurry of texts, her thumbs a blur. Even after Ms. June insisted, she hesitated, then finally put her phone down, her expression dropping like someone had just spoiled her birthday.

After that, the three of us were led, one by one, to different local homes to "get familiar" with the filming spots. The walk through town was weird—like being paraded through a zoo. Every step, I felt eyes on us, prickling the back of my neck.

People gathered everywhere we went. Every time we entered a yard, a crowd clustered at the gate, and the town manager couldn’t get them to budge. Their stares were heavy, lingering, like we were animals at a county fair. I felt exposed, raw.

We were nothing but merchandise—paraded by Ms. June from house to house, like cattle up for auction. It was a twisted open house, except we were the property on display. My skin crawled with every step.

Old women would grab my hand, pulling me close, their questions way too personal, their eyes roaming over me like they were looking for flaws. Their grip was iron, their gaze sharper than any knife. I wanted to yank my hand away, but I didn’t dare.

"Don't be nervous, our show is about pretending to be daughters-in-law, so the townsfolk are curious," Ms. June said, pointing around the room. She gestured at the corners, as if invisible cameras were already rolling. "There are cameras when we shoot, and people following you the whole time." Her words were supposed to comfort, but they just made me itch to run.

That year, reality shows with that theme were everywhere, so I tried to swallow my doubts. I kept telling myself this was all part of the process, but my gut was screaming something else. I kept arguing with myself, trying to tamp down the panic.

"Why do we have to visit so many houses? Can't I just see where I'll be filming?" I asked, my voice thin, barely making it past my lips. I hated how small I sounded.

"You don't get it. You'll be living together for a month while filming. If you don't get along and cause drama, we have to pay a penalty." Her words were quick, clipped. I wanted to believe her. Maybe it calmed me for a minute, but the unease wouldn’t go away.

But as the afternoon wore on, I realized I still hadn’t seen any director, no camera equipment, none of the celebrities Ms. June had promised. The air felt heavier, like something pressing down on my chest.

When night finally fell, the darkness felt suffocating, closing in around me. I started to get scared. At dinner, I tried to bring it up with Jamie, but my voice cracked, the words barely making it out. My hands shook under the table.

Jamie just laughed at me. "You're being dramatic. It's always like this. Haven't you done a show before? They're all famous—of course they don't show up on time." She rolled her eyes, like I was being a baby.

I’d never done anything like this before. I thought maybe the set wouldn’t be built until the stars arrived. Still, I kept quiet, trying not to look clueless. The doubt gnawed at me.

"Ms. June, when do I get my phone and ID back?" I tried to sound casual, but my voice was tight, and my palms were sweaty. I knew she could tell I was nervous.

Jamie nudged me, and I realized my stuff was still at the community center. My stomach clenched, a sour taste in my mouth. How could I have forgotten?

"It's fine, you'll stay at the center tonight. Go grab them." Ms. June waved me off, her eyes already on something else. She turned away, not even waiting for my reply.