404: Murderer Not Found

Willow Parktown wasn’t the kind of place where strangers felt welcome. It sat quietly at the edge of swamps and thick woods, the sky always grey, the streets full of broken neon signs and people who kept their heads down. You could feel the danger in the air—like the town was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. For 13-year-old Ethan Graves, though, this wasn’t just a scary place. It was home. He lived with his mother, Carla, in a broken old house that leaned slightly to one side and creaked whenever the wind blew. His stepdad, Greg, had once promised to keep things steady. But now, the house was full of secrets. Greg had started disappearing for hours at a time. He would come back sweaty and nervous, speaking in strange words Ethan didn’t understand—phrases like “midline,” “drop point,” and “no signal.” Strange boxes showed up at the door with no names. Doors were suddenly locked when they never had been before. Something was very wrong.

Ethan wasn’t just any kid—he was smart, curious, and determined. When adults ignored the signs, he paid attention. Late at night, when the house grew quiet and the only sounds were distant dogs and insects, he would turn on his old laptop and begin searching. Ethan had spent weeks learning from online forums and tech blogs. He had heard whispers about a hidden internet—a place deeper than normal internet browsing.

It was called the dark web, where people used secret tools to stay anonymous. Ethan was determined to go there, thinking it held answers about Greg’s strange behaviour.

He downloaded a special browser, and set up a VPN to hide where he really was. Then, he made up a secret name for himself: hauntedWillowBoy13. When he logged on, everything felt wrong—the web pages didn’t have normal names. They were strings of letters and numbers that ended in a vegetables name that was not known to many. The screen was filled with disturbing posts—people selling weapons, stolen identities, and drugs.

Everything was hidden in shadows. No faces. No real names. But one forum caught his eye: Line Exchange. It was full of dark deals, coded language, and usernames that gave him chills. At first, Ethan just looked. But soon, he started searching specific phrases Greg had said out loud, and that’s when he found it—Line Exchange, a dark forum where people dealt drugs using secret drop locations. Everyone was careful, talking in code, leaving no real clues with weird usernames. Ethan posted a question, trying to stay vague, asking if anyone knew about certain words Greg had used. That’s when it started. Replies came instantly: “Who are you?” “Wrong place, wrong time.” “You’re not supposed to be here, kid.” And then the most terrifying one of all: “He knows. And he’s close.” Ethan’s heart pounded. Every creak in the hallway sounded like a scream. He didn’t know who had sent the message, but he knew one thing: someone was watching.

That night, rain poured down and thunder rolled across the sky. Ethan, scared but smart, opened his webcam. He clicked record and turned the laptop slightly toward the door, just in case anything happened. The screen showed him, his cluttered desk, and the dim glow of the hallway behind him. It felt silly, maybe even paranoid. But Ethan wanted proof—if anything happened, this video would show the truth.

At exactly 11:41 PM, footsteps moved down the hallway. Slow. Quiet. The doorknob turned. The door creaked open. Ethan looked up.

“You?” he said, barely above a whisper.

There was no answer. Just a shadow. And then, the glint of something silver.

The knife flashed down—once, twice, again and again. Blood splattered the wooden floor. The laptop smashed under a heavy boot. Whoever it was—left quietly into the night. No one saw him leave. No one heard him run.

The next morning, Carla found Ethan’s body by the desk. Her scream could be heard across the street. Police came. Neighbours gathered. Reporters stood at the edge of the yellow tape with cameras.

Ethan wasn't the kind of boy who picked fights, and there was no list of enemies in his school files. But after his murder, police questioned everyone anyway—classmates, teachers, even the janitor—hoping someone had seen or sensed something. Rumours swirled through school halls, and whispers filled classrooms, as everyone wondered if something sinister had been lurking behind Ethan’s quiet eyes. During all of this, Greg and Carla stood side by side, tensed, giving news interviews, holding hands in silence. Greg looked like a grieving stepfather—supportive, maybe even protective. He had always treated Ethan with a strange mix of politeness and distance. Not cold, but never warm either. He liked the boy, surely, but more as a responsibility than a son. A part of Carla’s life he had accepted, not embraced.

Three days later, the cybercrime unit arrived with special software to recover broken data from Ethan’s laptop. Most files were gone. But somehow, deep in a hidden folder, a video survived—one that Ethan had recorded just before his death. The title of the folder was strange: NightCam. Inside was a single video file. The screen was blurry and the lighting was poor, but the footage was clear enough to see what happened. Ethan browsing dark websites. Reading messages. Glancing nervously at the door. And finally—Greg stepping into the room, half his face hidden in the shadows, a knife raised in his hand. The timestamp on the video? 11:41 PM—the exact moment Greg said he was asleep in his tent.

The police froze. It was all there. The evidence they needed.

Greg was arrested that night. In court, he barely spoke. The courtroom was packed—journalists, neighbours, and even cybercrime officers who now used Ethan’s video in training. Greg’s defence lawyer claimed he was under stress, that drugs had made him unstable. And during the incident he was trekking in a valley and had gas station receipts. But the evidence said otherwise. The receipts had been printed ahead of time. The GPS log had been faked using an old hiking app. Even the photos were from a camping trip he’d taken the year before. This wasn’t an accident. It was a plan.

Ethan had been too close to the truth—and Greg had silenced him to protect a secret life of crime.

The jury didn’t take long. Greg was found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole. Carla cried quietly in the back of the courtroom. The boy who had dared to look into the darkest corners of the web had found the truth—but at the cost of his own life.

Now, across police stations and cyber labs, the recovered video is used to train investigators. Ethan’s bravery is remembered. And the video still sits inside a folder with the haunting name he gave it:

404: Murderer Not Found.