Urban Legend

The wind bit at Vera's cheeks as she led Jack Hayes and Matilda Willock out of the precinct, the chill wrapping around her like a second skin. The missing child—five-year-old Lila Dunn—had vanished into thin air, and every passing moment was a clock. She'd told her deputies to fetch lanterns and coats, their faces creased in a reluctance she'd not yet grasped. The town unfolded before them, a maze of darkness and silence, and she steeled herself for what was to come.

"Start at the Dunn house," she instructed, her voice cutting through the fog.

"Radiate out from there—yards, alleys, wherever a kid would wander. Shout if you find anything."

Jack grunted, his jaw tight, and Matilda twisted her lantern in her hands, her hands trembling slightly. They moved toward Clara Dunn's tiny home on the edge of town, the wooden fence drooping under the weight of neglect. Clara stood in the doorway, her hands wringing as they approached.

"We'll find her, Mrs. Dunn," Vera attempted to reassure her voice. "Can you lead us to where she was last seen?"

Clara led them around to the rear, a scrubby square of lawn bordered by a broken stone wall. "She was right here, playing with her doll," she whispered, pointing to a spot where a little cloth doll had been abandoned, its painted face streaked with dirt. "I turned for the laundry, and when I looked back…"

Vera knelt, examining the ground for clues. There were no footprints, no signs of struggle—just the doll, a silent witness. She stood, scanning the area. “Jack, check the alley behind the house. Matilda, take the street side. I’ll talk to the neighbors.”

The deputies dispersed, their lanterns bobbing like fireflies in the mist. Vera approached the nearest house, a weathered shack with a flickering porch light. She knocked, and an older man—stooped and gray—cracked the door open, his eyes narrowing on the badge hanging with a shine on her chest.

“Sheriff,” he muttered, glancing past her. “What d’you want?”

“I’m looking for Lila Dunn, a five-year-old girl missing from next door. Seen anything unusual?”

He shifted, his hand tightening on the doorframe. "Ain't seen nothin'. Kids walk off sometimes. She'll show up."

Vera stepped nearer. "Certain? No unusual sounds, no one lurking around?"

His eyes slid sideways, and he shook his head too quickly. "Like I told you, ain't seen nothin'. Good luck." The door shut before she could say anything.

She scowled and moved on to the next house. The door was opened by a pale-skinned woman, with a toddler attached to her skirt. "Missing girl? No, no, I haven't seen her," she stammered. At Vera's mention of kidnapping, the woman's eyes widened, and she stepped backward. "I—I have to go. Please, leave us alone.

House by house, the pattern continued. Individuals clenched up, fear palpable, as if discussing Lila's vanishing opened a shared horror. Vera's suspicion grew. Why the fear? What were they concealing?

Jack and Matilda returned by mid-afternoon, their heads shaking. "No sign of her," Jack whispered. "Searched every bit—nothing."

Matilda hugged herself, her lantern dimming. "People won't speak. They just… shut down when I asked them."

Vera rubbed her temples, the weight of their silence pressing on her. “Keep searching. We’re not stopping yet.”

The day wore on, the fog thickening as the outskirts were searched—barns vacant, fields gone to seed, the edges of the forest. The townspeople's response lingered with her. Fear, why? What were they hiding? Her thoughts strayed to the boys who had harassed her before, their aggression reflecting this secrecy.  She was missing half the pieces to the puzzle that was Greenly Bay.

The sky turned a bruised purple, and the air grew colder as dusk approached.  Weak pools of light were cast by their lanterns, and Vera's limbs were pulled by fatigue.  With a heavy voice, she finally said, "Let's head back. We'll get back together and make plans for tomorrow."

They trudged to the precinct, and the Greenly Bay streets were eerily empty. Inside, Clara Dunn waited, her eyes red and swollen. “Any news?” she pleaded.

Vera shook her head. "Not yet, Mrs. Dunn. Go home and rest. We'll continue the search at first light. Make a list of anything else you can remember—times, places, anything."

Clara nodded reluctantly, gathering her things. "Please find her," she whispered, then vanished into the night.

The door shut with a snap, and Vera turned on Jack and Matilda, her patience wearing thin. "Alright, come on. You both know something. Why is everyone treating me like I've just asked about the devil himself?"

Jack sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Matilda glanced at him, then away, her lips pursed. "It's… a legend," Jack began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Folks don't talk about it much here, but it's been happening forever. In '14, there was this guy named Martin Carey—his wife and infant were murdered, and the town turned on him. Buried him alive after he tried some kind of witchcraft. Said he cursed them, that he'd take their children."

Vera's heart racing, she leaned in. “And?”

Matilda's voice shook as she spoke. "It started after that. Kids vanishing—turning up dead days later. Every few years for decades. They say it's Martin's ghost, come back to make us pay. That's why people are scared. They think talking about it calls him."

Vera's stomach churned. Decades of kidnappings? Kids being murdered? "Why was this not in the reports? Why am I just now hearing about this?"

Jack shrugged, his face guiltily defensive. "Higher-ups don't want it on paper. Keeps the town quiet, keeps the tourists out. We take care of it ourselves—or try to."

The revelation ignited something in Vera—anger, resolve, a need to test herself against this darkness. "This isn't a myth. It's a pattern. And Lila's a part of it now."

She stood, grabbing her coat and revolver. "I'm going back out. Alone."

“Sheriff, it’s night,” Matilda protested. “You shouldn’t—”

“I can’t wait,” Vera cut in, her decision firm. “If there’s a chance she’s still out there, I’m not stopping.” She strode to the door, ignoring their worried glances, and mounted her horse. The night swallowed her as she rode into the fog, her mind racing with the legend’s weight.

Hidden, a man stood in the shadows near the precinct, his breath fogging in the cold air. He watched her leave, a glint of something—malice or curiosity—in his eyes. He drew the hood of his cloak closer and followed her, quiet as a ghost, the stalk continuing.