Killer Shadow
Night fell around Vera Kingsley, the fog churning like a living thing as she stood just outside the sagging silhouette of a shattered house. Her horse snorted beside her, its breath frosting white in the chill, its reins slung careless over a gnarled limb. The house loomed before her, its windows dark and shattered, its roof caving inward like a skull crushed by time. The air was thick with a sweet, sour scent—rot and something older, something she couldn't identify. She turned the radiophone in her hand, the static slicing through the silence as she keyed it.
"Sheriff Kingsley to base," she said, her voice steady despite the creepiness crawling over her skin. "You there, Tom?”
There was a response after a crackle of static, the voice of her fellow dispatcher Tom Ridley, an old dispatcher in Milwaukee, coming on. "Yeah, Vera, I'm here. You're working late. What's going on?"
"I'm in Greenly Bay, working on a missing child’s case. Townspeople aren't talking, but I have a lead on an old house that's got some sort of tie to the town's history. Give me the scoop—what's the deal with these kidnappings?"
Tom sighed, the sound echoing metallic through the connection. "Alright, listen up. This goes back decades, starting sometime around 1914. Kids started vanishing—turning up dead a few days later, always on the riverbank. Folks here whisper it's related to a man named Martin Carey. His wife and infant died, and the town turned on him—buried him alive after some accusations of witchcraft. The legend goes that he cursed the town in revenge, and that's when the kidnappings began."
Vera frowned, her other hand resting on her holster. "Witchcraft? Come on, Tom, you know I don't buy ghost stories."
"I know, I know," Tom said. "But the pattern's real. Early cases—back in the '20s, '30s—kids were last seen near that house you're at. Carey's house. Parents warned their kids to stay away, called it a no-go area. Some kids still went in, curious or dared, and never came out. Then the snatchings spread out, but that house… it's ground zero."
She glanced at the dilapidated building, its front door hanging off its hinges. “So you’re saying this is where it started?”
“Looks that way. Records are spotty—the town kept it quiet, didn’t want outsiders poking around. But if your missing girl’s tied to this, that house might hold clues. Just… watch yourself, Vera. That place gives even me the creeps, and I’m a hundred miles away.”
“Appreciate it, Tom. I’ll check it out. Over and out.” She clicked off the radiophone, tucking it into her coat pocket.
Witchcraft or not, the kidnappings were real—decades of children lost, and now Lila Dunn. That was enough to keep her invested, ghost stories be damned. She’d faced psychos and killers—human monsters with blood on their hands—and come out on top. A spooky house? Child’s play.
She pulled out her flashlight, turning it on, and the light cut through the blackness. Her other hand hovered near her weapon, teasing the holster as she stepped in the direction of the doorway. The boards groaned under her boots, the creaks echoing off the vacant shell of the house. The living room was a graveyard of memories—furniture knocked over, a busted mirror reflecting her shadowy image, and a fireplace full of ash. The air was heavy, thick with dust and decay.
The silence was broken by a faint scraze, like nails on wood, coming from upstairs. Even though Vera's heart was racing, she kept walking, scanning the stairs with her flashlight. Every step was a challenge to her determination as the stairs creaked beneath her, but she ascended steadily, breathing heavily. A hallway with doors that opened like gaping mouths loomed before her at the top. The noise came again, louder now, from the door at the end.
She entered, her light opening onto a bedroom frozen in the past. A sagging bed consumed the room, its yellowed, torn mattress dominating the space between chipped wallpaper and a broken chair. The scrape sounded once more, and she approached the bed, boots crunching on the garbage-strewn floor. And on the mattress lay a doll—tiny, cloth, its painted face smudged. Clara's words exploded in her mind: the toy Lila had been playing with. Her heart was racing. No possibility of coincidence here.
Her flashlight gave out, and the room plunged into darkness, before she could even move. "Damn," she cursed, hitting it against her palm.
A shiver crept up her spine, but she reached for her gun, her hand brushing the grip—when a shadow stirred. A figure, tall and indistinct, loomed in the corner. She turned, raising her gun, but too slowly. The dark man leapt, a blur of motion, and something hard slammed into her temple. Pain exploded, and the world went black.
.
.
.
Morning light filtered through the trees, a dim gray dawn, as Vera groaned awake. Her head ached, a dull ache pounding behind her eyes. She was propped up against a tree, its twisted bark digging into her back, a mile or so from the precinct. Her horse was a few feet away, tied to a low-hanging limb, its head drooping as if it, too, had had a long night. She blinked, disoriented, her hand reaching for her holster—her gun was still there, but her flashlight wasn't. What the hell had occurred?
She struggled to assemble it. The house, the doll, the shadow—fragments teased her, but the details melted, dissolved in the mist of unconsciousness. Her coat was damp, her hat missing, and a bruise was forming on her temple. Had she been attacked? Dragged here? The questions swirled, un answered, as she loosened her horse and climbed on, her body protesting with every motion.
She had to ride back before the radiophone crackled in her pocket. She pulled it out, thumbing the button. "Kingsley here."
"Sheriff, it's Jack," the worried response was. "You alright? We were worried—didn't know where you went last night."
"I'm fine," she lied, grinding her teeth as she shifted. "What's happening?”
There was a pause, and then Jack's voice lowered. "We… We found her, Sheriff. Lila Dunn. Her body's down by the riverbank. She's dead."
The words were a blow, knocking the breath from her lungs. The line went quiet, the suspense lingering in the air like a cliffhanger.
