Part 2
### Chapter 1: Chapter 1
When Beatrice Foster returns to the isolated town of Knox Hollow to settle her grandmother’s estate, she plans to stay only long enough to renovate and sell the house she inherited, but the towns sheriff has other plans.
Complete Chapters 21
Rating 4.4 ( 7 reviews ) Age Rating mature
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Chapter 1 - The Shadow
The trees parted as the road curved downward revealing a glimpse of a town. Just rooftops at first. The driver squeezed the steering wheel as she surveyed the landscape. She was filled with a sense of triumph and pride. She made it. She was finally there. After all the whats and ifs had been somewhat cleared, this was still a crazy idea after all.
She passed the sign reading Welcome to Knox Hollow: Population 303 . Someone had crossed out the number three and written a two she noted.
A faded church steeple came into view. A squat gas station with a neon sign that must have hung there since the 50s.
The people silently glanced her way as she drove past them and just as silently turned their heads back to their regular lives. Knox Hollow didn’t greet her, it simply noticed her.
She followed the directions until the road narrowed. Asphalt changed to gravel that crunched underneath her tires.
Then: the house. Edith Foster’s house.
Two stories. White, or what used to be. Now the paint was flaking. Ivy curled around the windows. One shutter was hanging crooked. She made a mental note to fix that as she parked.
She stepped out with her overnight bag packed with essentials. Just enough to get through the first few nights. In the trunk, cardboard boxes sat taped and labeled, some half-crushed from the rush of packing. She hadn’t looked back when she slammed the trunk shut that morning and drove off. She silently prayed there was a working washing machine inside.
The air smelled like pine and old soil. She was halfway to the porch when she heard the low crunch of another set of tires. A sheriff’s cruiser rolled up and stopped at the end of the drive. The door opened.
Dark boots stepped out first, then the rest of him. Tall, broad shoulders, lean uniform, confident gait. A straight nose and sharp jaw was framed by the brim of a dark Stetson.
His face was unreadable, expression calm but firm like he carried the weight of responsibility without complaint. He adjusted the hat slightly and studied her.
“Sheriff Kade Mercer.” He said “You the granddaughter?”
Beatrice straightened. “Yes. I’m Beatrice Foster-” then, more from habit than upbringing she added “-sheriff.”
At the word something altered almost imperceptibly in his face. A tightening of the jaw. Not irritation but not approval either. He didn’t correct her. He also didn’t seem to appreciate the title.
He nodded slowly, his eyes steady on hers. He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away. Not even when another car drove by behind him.
He stepped a bit closer. “You planning to stay long, miss Foster?”
“Just long enough to get things in order. Then I plan to sell it” she replied.
“Mm. That house won’t go easy.” He nodded to the building that would now be her home. “Folks around here avoid it. Bad insulation, creaky floors... long history.”
He glanced down at her hand holding the bag then back up. He met her eyes again.
“You’ll want to keep your doors locked. People tend to think nothing happens in towns like this.” His tone was even. “They’re wrong.”
He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and held it out.
“If something... anything feels off, you call me. Not dispatch. Me . Understand?”
Beatrice nodded, taking the paper slowly.
He gave a final look. Long enough for her to register the colour of his eyes. Green. Then he turned and walked back to his cruiser.
Beatrice let out a breath. He wasn’t hostile. He wasn’t cold. He was just... intense. The kind of man who didn’t have to raise his voice to get the attention of a room.
The front door creaked open with more effort than Beatrice had expected. “Come on” she muttered under her breath as she leaned her shoulder into it. The wood groaned in protest before finally giving way.
She let her bag fall with a soft thud . The silence that followed was thick enough to breathe in. No humming appliances. No murmuring radio. Just her and the stillness of the house.
Dust and old wood mingled with a floral scent that still clung to the walls. Must’ve been some stubborn trace of her grandmother’s perfume.
This is yours now , she thought. At least until it’s not.
She closed the door behind her, the latch engaging with a whimper.
The meagre groceries were the first to be unpacked. Earl grey. Instant oats. A few canned goods. Honey. And then the mug with bugs-bunny she’d brought from home. It felt right in her hands. A familiar weight and warmth in all this unfamiliarity.
By the time the kettle whistled the kitchen had grown darker with the fading afternoon. She poured the water over her tea watching the steam curl upward around her face like a comforting little sigh.
She didn’t even get the first sip before the doorbell echoed through the house.
Her footsteps were soft and soundless on the old wood as she made her way back through the hallway. She hesitated at the door before drawing in a breath, fingers brushing the lock as she twisted it slowly and pulled it open just enough to see who it was.
A woman stood on the porch. Mid fifties maybe, lavender cardigan, neat gray-blond hair. Her hands clasped around a tin covered dish. She just stood there, waiting. Then in a sudden shift she smiled sweetly.
“Hi there” the woman said, her voice an octave to high “Sorry to drop in so soon. I live nearby and just wanted to say welcome.”
The woman stepped back a little, that same smile still plastered over her face.
“I’m Martha. I live just a bit down the road. White house with the roses and lavender out front.”
She glanced toward the street, then back.
“I heard about your grandmother. I didn’t know her well, really. No one did. But I wanted to stop by and offer my condolences. Bring you something warm.”
She held the dish up slightly, like an offering. It steamed invitingly under the layer of tinfoil.
“You are the granddaughter, right?” she asked, tilting her head, creating a crease in the flesh where her chin and neck joined.
Beatrice nodded and opened the door a little wider.
“Yes. I’m Beatrice. It’s nice to meet you, Martha” she said. “Thanks for coming by… really.”
“Of course, dear.” Martha’s tone softened even more. “I know how strange it can feel, walking into a house that’s suddenly yours.”
Her gaze drifted past Beatrice into the hallway.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… are there any arrangements? For your grandmother? A service?”
“Yes. A funeral will be arranged. I’m meeting with the director tomorrow.”
Martha nodded slowly. “That’s good. That’s the right thing to do.”
She didn’t press further, but her eyes lingered a little too long in the hallway behind her before they drifted back to Beatrice.
“Well… if you need anything I’m just a few minutes down.” She smiled again, but something in it felt rehearsed.
“And if you need help with the house, or… anything else just ask.”
Beatrice hesitated. Then - “Would you like to come in for some tea? I just made a cup.”
Martha’s smile deepened to a wrinkled grin. “I’d love that, dear. Thank you.”
She stepped inside without hesitation, wiping her shoes on the mat like it was routine. Her eyes greedily swept through the space, up the stairs, toward the kitchen, over the walls where paintings hung.
She followed Beatrice into the kitchen and took a seat at the small table folding her hands in her lap like someone raised to be still in strangers home.
“It’s strange seeing the place” she said. “I never came inside while she was alive.” She continued to look around. “She never invited anyone in.”
Beatrice poured the tea and slid a cup toward her. “Did you have to travel far to get here?” Martha asked as she gripped the handle.
“Not too far. Just a few hours” Beatrice answered. “I was the only one left to take care of things.”
“I’m not planning to stay long” Beatrice continued. “Just enough time to fix the house up and sell it. I needed a break from home, anyway. This… came at the right time. In a strange way.”
She took a sip of her own tea keeping the rest of her thoughts tucked away.
“Funny how life does that” Martha murmured. The words lingering too long in the air. “Are you sleeping upstairs?” she suddenly asked.
Beatrice looked at her over the rim of her cup. “Yes… I unpacked in the guest room” she said. “That’s where I used to sleep when I visited her as a kid.”
Beatrice’s eyes flicked toward the staircase. “It would feel strange… taking her room. To be honest, the whole place still feels like it’s hers. Like I’m just a guest passing through.” she set her cup down slowly.
“That feeling might not go away, not completely” Martha said genuinely. “Some houses don’t let go of people easily. I still imagine my husband sat in his recliner. Sometimes I swear I see him in the corner of my eye.”
She finished her tea, smoothed over the fabric of her cardigan and stood. “Thank you for the tea, Edith.”
Beatrice blinked “It’s Beatrice.”
Martha paused, then smiled. The kind of smile that did not reach the eyes. “Of course. Forgive me.”
She moved toward the front door as if she’d always known the way. Beatrice followed.
“If you need anything” Martha reminded “you let me know.”
Beatrice locked the door behind her. The warmth of the tea was already gone.
The house felt still again. But not empty.
She climbed the stairs slowly, her fingers grazing the banister, the creak of each step soft and hollow in the quiet. At the top, she turned into the bedroom. The curtains were hanging open just enough to let in the last of the light through the window.
Outside the yard lingered in the last rays of stubborn sunset. The trees at the edge of the property swayed gently in the breeze. Their long shadows stretched toward the gravel road.
Hadn’t it been for the sudden faint glint of something, something smooth and reflective, she wouldn’t have seen it.
There one second, gone the next.
Just enough to catch her attention.
It was too far away to see clearly. Just the suggestion of a shape, taller than the fence posts, but darker than the trees.
She didn’t move from the window, just stood there. Heart ticking a little faster in her chest, watching the figure.
Very slowly Beatrice stepped back. Not all the way from the window. Just far enough that the edge of the window frame hid her from view.
Then, finally, she reached up and drew the curtain closed in a swift motion. She didn’t look out again.
That night, sleep didn’t come easily.
She lay curled beneath the unfamiliar comforter. Her hand rested against her stomach, her face turned toward the wall. The house settled around her with creaks and sighs that felt almost alive. Every sound pulled at her nerves. The groan of the floorboards, the sudden thump she told herself was just the wind.
At one point, she thought she heard a car door close, but when she strained to listen, the silence pressed back harder. Eventually, sleep took her.
Last nights ghosts had been chased away by the first rays of morning sun.
Beatrice sat in the kitchen. The same mug from yesterday cupped between her hands. Crumbs from her breakfast lay scattered on the table.
The tea had gone lukewarm, but she hadn’t noticed. Her laptop glowed softly, the screen open to job listings:
She stared at the number a moment, then reached for her phone and tapped its screen.
A woman’s voice answered flat and detached. “General Store, this is Janine speaking.”
“Hi” Beatrice said, clearing her throat. “My name is Beatrice Foster. I saw the listing for part-time help and wanted to ask if the position is still open.” There was a pause.
“…Uh-huh. Yup, still up.” Silence stretched between them. No welcome, no encouragement.
Beatrice pressed gently “I can come by today if that helps?”
“Guess that’s fine if you want to swing by.”
The line went dead. No name. No time. Just a door cracked open. Hopefully.
Beatrice furrowed her brows and stared at the phone in her hand for a second, then pushed back from the table. She grabbed her keys and headed into town.
The bell above the door gave a soft chime as Beatrice stepped inside and collided with something. Someone.
She gasped, stumbling back slightly, but a hand reached out and caught her by the arm. Steadying her with surprising ease.
She looked up to meet Sheriff Mercer’s amused smirk.
No bags. No clipboard. No apology. Just him standing like a fixture in the doorway as if he’d been waiting for her. His eyes studied her face, not curious, not surprised, but like he was confirming something. His hand still lingered on her arm.
“Looking for work?” he asked. His voice was low.
Beatrice blinked, she hadn’t told anyone that. Mercer nodded his head to the help wanted sign on the window like he could read her thoughts.
“Yes” she finally said. “I called this morning.”
His hand eased off her with unbroken control. Like the moment still belonged to him. “Good” He gave a single nod. Said nothing more. Then he stepped past her with the same unhurried ease he always seemed to carry.
The bell chimed again as he exited. She didn’t look back, but she felt his gaze linger on her even after the door clicked shut.
The inside of the store was quiet. Behind the counter stood a woman with both hands braced flat against the laminate surface. Her hair was brown, cut in a short bob. Lips red and a hint of blue eyeshadow blended together with the line of her eyebrows. She didn’t smile but she didn’t look unkind. Like someone waiting for a second shoe to drop.
“Yes, Ms. I called earlier about the job.”
The woman, Janine if she remembered correctly, glanced toward the front door. Not a long look, but long enough to make Beatrice wonder if she was expecting someone to walk through. Then she grabbed a sheet of paper from beneath the counter. A form. She didn’t hand it over straight away.
“It’s part-time” she said briskly. “Mornings and afternoons, depending on what we need. Stocking. Cleaning. Sometimes register.”
Her voice carried the tone of someone repeating a script she didn’t much care for.
“You can start tomorrow if you want. Or today. Doesn’t matter.”
No smile. No questions. No real interest.
She shoved the form across the counter. Her fingers trembled, just slightly, then withdrew like the paper had burned her.
Beatrice glanced at the sheet. It was basic information: name, number. Nothing unusual.
When she looked back up Janine’s eyes weren’t on her face anymore, they were fixed on the door again. Her fingers tapped a quick and unconscious staccato rhythm on the edge of the counter.
“You’ll catch on fast” she stated. Her voice was steady, but her body wasn’t. Her shoulders held tension like she was holding in a breath she didn’t want to exhale. “It’s just shelves and customers. Nothing complicated.”
Janine eyes suddenly snapped back at her, like she had remembered something.
“You live at the Foster place, right?”
Beatrice hesitated. “Yeah. Edith was my grandmother.”
The reaction was small but sharp. Janine’s eyes darted down. Her mouth pinched into a tight line. Something uncomfortable stuck in between a grimace and a smile.
“That must’ve been… something” she muttered.
She busied herself with a magazine behind the counter, clearly avoiding eye contact.
“She was not a lady who liked to chit-chat, to put it mildly”
Her voice dipped just slightly before she added, almost under her breath “Guess you inherited more than the house.”
Beatrice winced the moment the words were out.
Janine forced a thin smile. “You’ll be fine here” she said. “Just… be on time. Be consistent. That’s all we really ask.” She slid a small silver key across the counter. No more words. No handshake. The conversation was over.
Beatrice took the key. She was hired and Janine already looked relieved to see her leave.
As her car passed the corner of the store she caught sight of the red and blue of a sheriff’s cruiser. It was tucked under the shade of some trees like it was hiding, or laid in wait for speeders.
A bit further down the road was a diner caught in an early day lull. One of those quiet, in-between hours when breakfast was over but lunch hadn’t started.
Outside the post office she saw two women talking. One of them froze mid sentence when her eyes landed on Beatrice’s car. She leaned over to her friend and let her hand shield her mouth as she whispered something. The second woman turned her head to track her car until it was swallowed by a corner.
1 Chapter 1 - The Shadow 2 Chapter 2 - The Intrusion 3 Chapter 3 - The Right Thing 4 Chapter 4 - The Memory 5 Chapter 5 - The Rain 6 Chapter 6 - The Mother 7 Chapter 7 - The Shift 8 Chapter 8 - The Revelations 9 Chapter 9 - The Betrayal 10 Chapter 10 - The Silence 11 Chapter 11 - The Patterns 12 Chapter 12 - The Hero 13 Chapter 13. The Bruise 14 Chapter 14 - The Lie 15 Chapter 15. The Ashes 16 Chapter 16 - The Dirt 17 Chapter 17 - The Roses 18 Chapter 18 - The Warning 19 Chapter 19 The Test 20 Chapter 20 - The End 21 Epilogue
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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Beatrice took a deep breath. Janine’s uneasy glances still clung to her. The moment she’d said her grandmother’s name, something changed. Like she wasn’t just a newcomer anymore, but part of something people here hadn’t forgotten.
The town may have kept its distance from Edith Foster, or Edith Foster from the town, but everyone still seemed to know who Edith had been, and with that her estranged granddaughter. She sat in her car for a moment longer before stepping out.
Inside was a clean lobby. Neutral carpeting. The air smelled faintly of polished wood. A man emerged quietly, as if he’d been listening from the other room, awaited her arrival to be announced by the bell.
She had expected someone older. He was maybe in his thirties. Tall and lean with rolled sleeves and a neat shirt and black tie held in place with a smooth silver tie clip. His hair was combed back. His movements were calm. He looked like someone who had learned how to handle seeing grief without letting it tip him over.
When his eyes met hers he paused. Just for a second, but long enough to notice her. Yet his gaze didn’t pity. It didn’t pry. It simply saw.
He stepped forward and offered his hand. Warm and strong. “I’m Nathan Wexler” he said. “I run the place.”
“You’re not what I expected” Beatrice said and hurriedly bit her tongue.
He offered a small smile. “I get that a lot. My great grandpa started the business. I’ve been keeping it going since my father passed.”
He gestured toward a quieter room to the left. “We don’t need to do everything today.” He said “But I can walk you through the basics, if that feels manageable.”
Beatrice followed him into the room. A catalog sat open on the table. Simple wooden caskets, modest urns.
Nathan sat across from her, folding his hands lightly on the table. “She did leave a will” he said gently. “Filed about four years ago. Everything, the house, contents and bank account was left to you.”
He didn’t linger on the topic, just let it settle in the space between them. “No other notes about arrangements” he continued. “No service details or personal requests.”
“Most families here prefer to keep things simple” Nathan said. “Burial or cremation. A short service, if you’d like. Something private, modest. We don’t have to set a date right now.”
He didn’t ask what kind of woman Edith Foster had been. He didn’t glance at her like he was waiting for her to carry the conversation. He just gave her space to listen, to process, like he already knew that Beatrice didn’t carry the answer to any of his questions.
“I’m not sure what she would’ve wanted” Beatrice admitted suddenly as she was looking over the catalogue with coffins. They were white, clean, pristine.
Nathan nodded once, slow and without judgment. “Then you choose what feels honest for you.”
He turned a folder toward her, a slim form with blank lines for a name, a date, a checkbox.
“We can start the paperwork, keep it openended” he said. “You’re under no pressure. If you need time, you have it.”
She looked at him for a moment, unsure what to say.
“Thank you” she finally breathed, eyes seeking his.
Nathan held her gaze, his voice came even lower now. “Whatever you need, miss Foster, I’ll make sure it gets done right.”
And for the first time since stepping foot in this town she felt a flicker of calm.
She had finished the last of Martha’s casserole and now she was washing the single plate and fork. She dried her hands and glanced at the phone on the counter. Hesitated, then picked it up.
The screen lit. No new messages. No missed calls. Just the illuminating clock, steady and quiet. The battery was nearly full.
She unlocked it. Scrolled through her inbox. Nothing from Nathan Wexler, but still, her thumb hovered a moment longer over his name.
She had just turned toward the stairs when the doorbell rang. She froze. Martha? Her hand found the deadbolt, clicked it free. She opened the door, the chain still in place.
There he stood. Sheriff Mercer . Hat in hand. Posture easy, his eyes found hers quickly.
“Evening, miss Foster” he said.
She didn’t smile, but her tone stayed polite. “Evening, Sheriff. It’s a little late… is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just let his eyes sweep the parts of her he could see from the narrow opening in the door.
“Nothing urgent” he said. “Saw your car at Wexler’s this afternoon.” He paused. “I figured I’d check in.”
She hesitated, then unlatched the chain and opened the door fully. He stepped inside. Not all the way, but lingered over the threshold enough for her not to be able to close the door.
“No issues, sheriff” she said. “Mr Wexler was very helpful. It’ll be a simple service.”
There was that flicker again. Around the mouth. Gone before it could become anything readable.
A silence settled between them.
“I also took the job at the general store” she added to break it “I start tomorrow.”
He nodded. But something behind his eyes had changed in a small and subtle way. “Good,” he said. “Keeps you close to town.”
Close to town. Why was that important, she wanted to ask. “Thanks for checking in” she stated instead. “I appreciate it, Sheriff.”
That slight twitch again at his jaw, barely a tic. He inclined his head instead of responding. Still didn’t correct her. Still not liking it.
He took slow steps out the door and walked down the porch steps. Then stopped. His eyes moved to the upper floor, to the guest room window.
“Lock the door, Beatrice.” he said quietly. Then he turned, put his hat back on. Gravel crunched under his boots. He didn’t look back. She closed the door. Slid the chain in place.
The guest room felt colder tonight. Beatrice didn’t hesitate. She walked straight to the window and firmly pulled the curtains closed without looking out. The night could stay out where it belonged. She reached to turn off the lamp. The soft click felt louder than it should.
Except for his words still lingering in the air - Lock the door, Beatrice.
The store lights buzzed softly overhead as she crouched in the cereal aisle lining boxes into neat rows. Janine’s rule: Labels forward and edges flush had been drilled in a redundancy.
Janine was now somewhere in the back counting invoices and aside from the faint buzzing of the lights the store was calm and quiet. There never seemed to be any rush in this town and Beatrice was slowly falling into the pace of it all.
She stood, brushed dust from her jeans, and turned toward the front just in time to see the door swing open.
He wore a dark button down with his hair slicked back in an orderly fashion.
He spotted her almost immediately and smiled, warm and recognising. “First day on the job?” he asked.
She nodded, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she set a damaged box back on the cart.
“Looks like you already got the system down” he said, glancing at the shelves she’d just finished stocking. He picked up a box and studied it, maybe to buy or maybe just to have something in his hands, then set it back on the shelf with care. “I didn’t expect to run into you so soon.” He confessed, eyes lingered on hers. “Settling in okay?”
She offered a genuine smile, maybe the first one in days that didn’t carry the weight of caution. “First shift” she answered “and I haven’t broken anything yet. So I think I’m doing okay.”
“Give it time” Nathan gave her a crooked grin. “These shelves have a mean streak.” He glanced down at her half-stocked cart. “Mind if I help you put a few of those up?”
She felt a flutter of something in her chest. “Sure. As long as you don’t judge my box alignment skills.”
“No promises” he grinned as he crouched beside her, grabbing a few items without hesitation. “It’s good, though” he said. “The job. Routine helps. Especially when you’re figuring out how to be somewhere new.”
She glanced at him, surprised by how easily he seemed to get it. Without digging, without pressing. “Yeah. That’s… exactly what I needed, actually.”
They kept working, making idle chit-chat for a while. Everything felt so easy. No tension, no strange silences or careful looks.
She learned he had a sister out west, someone he emailed more than he called and that he hated how all the good cereal boxes now came half empty. It wasn’t deep, but it was genuine. Familiar in a way that felt earned and not forced.
In return she offered only little things. That she used to stack shelves during high school summers, that she doesn’t mind quiet work and that she still hasn’t found the right spare parts to the ancient water heater for Edith’s house.
She didn’t say more and he didn’t push. Nathan’s eyes suddenly settled on something behind them, something that made him clear his throat and get up.
Beatrice glanced back to see that Janine had returned from the back and was looking at them, staring really, clipboard pressing into her hip and hand clinging to her phone. One eyebrow raised arched in silent critique, then she turned her judging gaze back to the register.
He looked down, a sheepish smile tugging his lips “I should get going before Janine thinks I’m trying to steal your job.
Beatrice let out another laugh. “Thank you for the help and the company, Mr. Wexler.”
The tension softened a bit as he looked back up again “You can call me Nathan, you know.” He didn’t move right away. Didn’t break eye contact.
She studied his eyes, a smile still lingered on his lips, they held so much warmth. Safety. “Thank you, Nathan.” she said, then in an almost secretive whisper, and without quite meaning to, she added- “It’s strange, being back here. People know me, but not really. Just... being Edith’s granddaughter. That’s what they see. Honestly... you’re one of the only people who’s made this feel even a little normal.”
Nathan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbed the back of his neck. “Normal. That’s a low bar in this town, but I’ll take it.”
He glanced toward Janine again, but his eyes quickly drifted back to hers. “You know where to find me if you ever need a break from whatever this place decides to throw at you.”
Beatrice unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Arms were full of leftover stock Janine insisted she take. Bread near expiration, a dented can of soybeans, two packs of chamomile and valerian tea with broken seals. Janine had waved her off with a muttered: “Going to waste anyway” before she could argue.
The house was still. Colder than it should be. Sunlight slipped in through the kitchen curtains casting a soft orange glow across the floor.
She set the groceries on the counter and paused, letting herself breathe for the first time since leaving the store. Her feet felt numb. Her back ached. But it wasn’t a bad ache. It was earned.
She smiled to herself and made tea from one of the boxes Nathan helped stock, just because, and carried the mug upstairs. But as she reached the top of the stairs, she froze. Something was different.
The hallway felt wrong. Like the air had been disturbed, dust unsettled. Like someone already had been there.
Her eyes swept over the room and stilled on something that made her heart skip a beat.
Her grandmother’s bedroom door was ajar. Just enough so for a sliver of sunlight to escape through the line of the frame.
Beatrice had shut the door on the first day. She was sure of it. It had been a reflex in passing. A soft whimper followed by a faint click of the hinge engaging. Then she had left the room like that, letting it be suspended in time.
Beatrice slowly moved towards it, not to open, but to close. A creak from the floorboards made her stop again, blood draining from her face. That creak didn’t come from her feet. It came from inside the room.
She couldn’t explain how she felt it, because that’s all it was. A feeling that something stood past the edge of the doorway. In the shadows and out of view. Something waiting, silent and still.
She strained to listen, breath held, heart thudding in her ears. Silence. No creaks. No hum from the pipes. The silence felt unnatural. Like the whole house held its breath along with her.
She took a slow step back, then another. She moved down the stairs with concentrated care. In the kitchen she hesitated.
The number sheriff Mercer gave her that first day was taped to the fridge door, just in case. She stared at it. What if she was wrong? What if he thought she was wasting his time? With shaking hands she dialed, ears strained for any kind of sound upstairs.
Sheriff Mercer’s voice was low on the line. She swallowed and heard her voice come out, barely a hushed whisper “Sheriff… I think someone’s in the house. Maybe a burglar.”
There was a pause, just a breath in length, then the low hum of his engine in the background, the faint crackle of a radio.“Lock yourself in your car. Now. I’m on my way.”
Beatrice grabbed her keys and bolted, heart pounding. She didn’t breathe again until the car doors were locked and even then it didn’t feel like she could catch the air to calm her racing heart.
His cruiser pulled up less than five minutes later.
Sheriff Mercer stepped out and crossed the yard with purpose, eyes scanning the perimeter with one hand rested near his holster. “Miss Foster” His voice held authority.
She opened her car door and approached him, but he gestured toward his cruiser instead.
She hesitated for only a second before doing as he asked.
The inside of the cruiser smelled like worn leather and something distinctly him. Aftershave, pine, burnt cedarwood.
The soft click of the automatic lock made her glance down at the handle. No latch. No way to open it from the inside.
She watched him move toward the house through the dim car window. His boots quiet like a ghost on the gravel and then he disappeared inside.
What followed was a deep trench of silence.
1 Chapter 1 - The Shadow 2 Chapter 2 - The Intrusion 3 Chapter 3 - The Right Thing 4 Chapter 4 - The Memory 5 Chapter 5 - The Rain 6 Chapter 6 - The Mother 7 Chapter 7 - The Shift 8 Chapter 8 - The Revelations 9 Chapter 9 - The Betrayal 10 Chapter 10 - The Silence 11 Chapter 11 - The Patterns 12 Chapter 12 - The Hero 13 Chapter 13. The Bruise 14 Chapter 14 - The Lie 15 Chapter 15. The Ashes 16 Chapter 16 - The Dirt 17 Chapter 17 - The Roses 18 Chapter 18 - The Warning 19 Chapter 19 The Test 20 Chapter 20 - The End 21 Epilogue
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