Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  Shirley eyed him up and down, and he stepped back, feeling uncomfortable under the assessment. “Someone found a shoe. They think it could be related to the case,” she said after a moment of internal deliberating. They always came around. Tom knew enough about the town to know they were scared of something. The small department considered him as a possible threat and a potential savior. If he could solve the missing girl’s case, then everyone could stop their whispered tales of the local bogeyman.

  Tom didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the phone from her hand, scratching himself on one of her gaudy oversized rings. “Detective Bartlett. Tell me what you found.”

  A man’s voice carried over the handset. “I was walking my dog, Ruby. She likes the forest. Lots of good smells this time of year, you know? As I was saying, I was walking Ruby, and after a mile or two, we headed back. I’m seventy-four, and I get tired, you see.”

  Tom was tapping his index finger on the wooden desktop, and he was propped on the edge of it, his leg dangling down the side. Shirley was leaning in, like she wanted to hear the conversation. Tom turned from her. “Go on. Then you saw something?”

  “A shoe. Right there in the mud. Ruby found it, actually. Sniffed it right up. I thought it was strange and remembered hearing about the Tremblay girl. She lives a couple blocks from me. Has us all scared. Margie won’t leave the house, but I told her they usually take kids, not old ladies.”

  Tom’s heart raced in his chest. A shoe was good evidence. He’d moved to Gilden two years ago, a transfer from Chicago. At the time, he started to hear rumors of Red Creek, and all of the disappearing kids over the years. He’d done some digging and found they accused one Katherine Smith and her grandfather, Conway Smith, for the murders. There was a whole big excavation at an orchard to prove it, but something about it didn’t sit right with Tom. Then he heard the rumors being whispered around his ears, and those he believed even less, if that was possible.

  “Where is it? Did you leave the shoe?” Tom was worried the old man would have compromised the scene, but after a day of rain and a dog slobbering around it, he doubted there would be much use even if it was intact.

  “I left it and went straight home and called the sheriff’s office. I can show you where it is,” the man said.

  “Good. Good. Let me take your name and address, and I’ll be right over.” Tom grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, and jotted the name Bob on the sheet, giving Shirley a grim grin.

  He hung up and turned for the door. “Tell the sheriff to call me.”

  His unmarked Chevy waited for him at the end of the parking lot, and he glanced up at the sky, hoping the dark clouds were only there for show today. Any more rain and the minor amount of tracking he’d been hoping for would be wiped away.

  Tom drove from the sheriff’s office and noticed the string of empty businesses on the side street. Three out of seven were empty, For Lease signs by the same realtor splattered around the entire block. Only the auto repair shop looked open at this early hour; half a dozen old trucks and cars were parked to the side of it.

  Tom hadn’t spent much time in Red Creek since moving the sixteen miles away to Gilden. Never much of a reason to come here.

  He turned on Main and saw the sole thriving business in the entire town: Chuck’s. He’d never eaten there but suspected he’d be there a lot while the investigation was ongoing. His stomach grumbled at the thought of something more than the piece of toast he’d demolished before making the half-hour commute.

  He kept driving, light raindrops finally breaking free from the bloated clouds above, eventually making his way to Wood Street. He slowed as he passed the missing girl’s house. It was clearly built in the seventies, the roof in desperate need of new shingles, the shutters’ green paint peeling after years of exposure to upstate New York weather.

  A light was on in the living room, and a dark form moved behind thin curtains. He still needed to talk with the family, because the interview Tyler and his deputy had done was half-assed at best. No wonder they’d called in a real detective. They weren’t built for this kind of case.

  He found Bob’s house easily. As stated, his was the one with a wide assortment of garden gnomes. Tom parked the car, and the old man stepped out from his front door, standing on the steps of his split-level. Ruby was already beside him with a leash, a beautiful old German shepherd. She gave a solitary bark but wagged her tail as Tom approached.

  “Bob?” he asked, getting a solemn nod.

  “I’ll show you where I found it,” he said, walking past Tom with unexpected speed for his age. “You must be new to the department. Never seen you before.”

  Tom introduced himself as they walked. “Are we close?” he asked.

  “Yepper. See this path?” Bob stopped and pointed at a break in the block. It was the width of a lot, and two older houses were fenced in on either side, creating an opening to the field behind the street.

  Tom nodded.

  “Been here as long as I have. Kids always use it. God knows what they’re doing in the forest, but they like to play back there. Ride bikes. Go to the creek. Lots of memories of this path myself, seeing how Ruby makes me walk her for a good solid hour most days.” Bob was moving again, and Tom tried to keep up.

  The path was mostly dirt, and with the melt-off, it was more mud than anything now. The light rain continued to fall, and Tom suddenly wished he’d brought an umbrella.

  “It’s up here. See how the path continues past the field?”

  Tom did see that. The field was cut to stubble. It was hard, dried grass now, bleach-blond spikes poking through the mud and last remnants of snow. A hundred yards beyond was a forest. Leaves were starting to grow on the bare mixture of birch and oak trees, spruce mingled in like uninvited guests at a party.

  “The shoe is just around the bend,” Bob said, and Ruby was tugging at her leash now, as if she were an on-duty drug-sniffing dog. Her tail wagged excitedly in perfect time, a metronome. Bob stopped abruptly and pointed.

  Tom pulled gloves from his blazer pocket and grinned his thanks. The mud was deep here, and he could see how someone would be able to lose a shoe in it. There it was, mostly brown from the mud, but definitely a shoe. He jerked it free, splotches of brown mess splattering on his pants. It was a size five girl’s sneaker.

  Tom spent the next few minutes searching for any more signs of distress. He found no clothing or footprints that alerted him to foul play, but it had been two days, and the rainstorms were powerful. Bob was gone now, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

  He wished Gilden had budgeted for a full forensic team, but this was what he got for moving to a small town. His mind drifted to his days in the big city, going home to a meal and a wife. He shook his head. “Don’t do this to yourself. Focus,” he told himself.

  It was time to search the parents’ house. He glanced back at the forest, momentarily feeling like eyes were on him. He wished he hadn’t heard all the rumors of this town, because he couldn’t afford to let them influence him in any way. There was no fictitious monster in Red Creek, just the same kind there was everywhere. Flesh and blood.

  _______________

  “Ready to go?” Brent asked, running up the stairs to grab her suitcase. Always the gentleman.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Taylor said, slipping on her sunglasses. It was actually sunny for the first time all week, and she took that as a good omen for the morning she was heading to Red Creek.

  “Won’t your dad be pissed when he hears you went back?” Brent asked.

  They walked down the sidewalk, the suitcase rollers rattling off the cobblestones the entire way. “He won’t find out, now will he? He thinks I’m staying here for the break, and Aunt Beth swears she won’t tell him. She thinks he’s too over-protective, too worried about nothing.”

  Taylor wasn’t as sure about that as her aunt was. Beth hadn’t been there that night. She hadn’t seen the black vapor, its long tendrils wrapping around Taylor’s tiny wrist, burning on
contact.

  “Good. I don’t want your dad finding us there together. That’s not how I want the first time I meet your family to go,” Brent said, stopping at the street where her car was parked.

  Dread settled into Taylor’s stomach at Brent’s words. She couldn’t imagine her parents and little brother being in Red Creek. Why was she going? A missing girl had nothing to do with her. Still, she needed closure on it. She’d spent her whole life being scared of dark corners, fearful at every tiny noise at night. It wasn’t a way to live, and she knew it.

  Going to Red Creek would help her understand. She would do what she was being trained to do in her journalism classes, and get to the bottom of the missing children. She was going to do what none of the shoddy sheriffs’ departments had done over the years. Taylor was going to solve the mystery of this shadow man.

  Taylor also knew there was a chance it wasn’t real: that her mind may have compensated for the horrifying experience, like that old psychiatrist had suggested her dad’s may have done from his own kidnapping.

  Taylor watched Brent toss her bag into the trunk, along with his satchel, and he moved for the driver’s seat. “Mind if I drive?” he asked, and she smiled for the first time that day.

  They met at the side of the car, her hands finding his hips as she leaned in and kissed him. He tasted like coffee.

  “You drive, I pick the music,” Taylor said.

  Red Creek was only an hour from Bellton, and she wondered the same thing as she did every night before going to sleep. How far did the reach of the shadow stretch? If it was real, and they were dealing with an unworldly demon, could it find her at school?

  So far, she’d seen no signs of it, but now, with another kid missing, maybe it was awake again. How long would it take a demon to recharge after having its lair burned? That was a question she could never speak out loud.

  “What’s with you and this place? What happened?” Brent asked as they pulled away from campus.

  Taylor hadn’t told him much; just that her father had a run-in with a serial killer there. It had been all over the news back then, and it only spoke of the Smiths and how they had kidnapped and killed dozens of children over the years.

  The town had become famous for a short period of time. Streaming TV networks did documentaries on it, and Red Creek became a bit of a tourist destination for the nation’s large true-crime following. New condos went up, and her aunt was optimistic for those first few years. Then everyone forgot as the next big thing happened, and Red Creek was now more desolate than ever.

  “You know what happened. You watched the documentary.” Taylor’s family had been left out of it, their names changed, but it had been leaked by some of the locals. It had resulted in better sales for her father, and anytime she complained about the attention, he pointed to something the money had bought them. Right now, she was sitting in something the money had bought them: the brand-new car he’d given her for her eighteenth birthday.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Brent said, and not for the first time.

  “I know. That’s why we’re going back,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean? I thought we were visiting your family. Seeing your cousin,” he said.

  Taylor had to be honest with him. At least, as much as she could. She owed him that, especially since she was going to be running around, looking into every possible lead, and might need his help.

  “There’s more to it. A thirteen-year-old girl went missing two days ago.” Taylor stared out the window, watching trees race by on the side of the road.

  Brent lowered the radio volume. “Wait. What does that have to do with us going there?”

  “I have to see. I have to know…”

  “To know what? The Smiths are gone, remember? It was all on that show I watched. Conway died of cancer, and his grandkid, Katherine, killed herself in prison,” Brent said, his voice rising in volume.

  Taylor couldn’t explain it without sounding totally insane. “I know. I just have some stuff to look into. Isabelle will help too.”

  “What’s her deal?” Brent asked.

  Taylor didn’t know how to answer that either. “She’s a good kid.” She almost laughed, seeing how the girl was only a year younger than her. Somehow, after spending her whole life in Red Creek, Isabelle seemed a little emotionally stunted. “She works at the local diner.”

  The trip went fast, and Taylor’s anxiety increased with every passing mile. What the hell was she doing? She held her phone tightly in her hand and had the urge to text her dad and tell him what she was up to. They were always a team, and she felt the betrayal as if she were stabbing him in the heart. She pressed her eyelids closed and took quick, shallow breaths.

  “Tay, are you okay? What is it?” Brent asked from the driver’s seat. He’d never seen her like this. She was good at masking her social disorders in front of people. Now she felt the guise fall off, and wasn’t ready to expose her vulnerability to him.

  She pictured her family. Mom, looking beautiful in a sundress, holding Stevie’s hand as they walked across the street to Central Park. Her dad glanced over at her, his hair gray now, a month-old beard covering his face like it had for the last five years. She focused on the good memory and found her breath returning to normal.

  “I’ll be okay. Sorry to worry you, B. It’s…” Taylor started, and saw his hand come to rest on her bare knee.

  “I get it. You’ve been through some serious shit here, and after years, you’re finally returning. Thanks for trusting me and letting me come with you. Don’t worry. I’m here for you every step of the way,” Brent said, his mouth full of perfect white teeth as he smiled at her.

  “What did I do to deserve you?” she asked him, and really meant it.

  “Almost there.” Brent broke the moment as he pointed at a Welcome to Red Creek sign ahead.

  As if on cue, the sky darkened and deep black clouds rolled in, sending drops against the windshield in a warning to Taylor. Turn back. The two words echoed in her head repeatedly as they headed down the narrow road toward the place from her nightmares.

  As they neared the town, her phone rang. It was her dad.

  Four

  Paul set the phone on the granite countertop, kicking himself for not checking his voicemails earlier.

  “She’s not coming home,” he said quietly at the kitchen island. He couldn’t believe it. They had so many plans for the week, and then Taylor had randomly called and left a message, saying she was too busy to come home.

  “That’s insane. Call her now. We didn’t send her to school so she can burn out. That girl needs some time at home to clear her head.” Terri was standing at the coffee maker, pouring a cup. She turned to him, and Paul tried not to be distracted by her open robe and what was underneath.

  She seemed to catch his leer, and he grinned at her, getting a smile in return, but she still pulled the robe tighter and tsked at him as Stevie hopped off the couch.

  “Where’s Taylor?” he asked. Paul’s heart broke. He knew how much her brother wanted to see Taylor.

  “She’s still at school, bud. I’ll call her and see what’s up.” Paul took a sip of coffee and headed for his office. He didn’t want to grill Taylor in front of Stevie. The boy adored her.

  The phone rang, and eventually went to voice mail. Paul considered hanging up and trying again but pushed the urge down. After the beep, he started to talk. “Hey, honey bear. Look, we think you should come home. We can cancel a few things, and you can work on the project here. Call me as soon as you get this. Love you.”

  He sat at his desk and flipped his laptop open. He needed to clear his head while he waited to hear from his daughter. His new book sat in its file on the desktop, and he clicked it open. With a last sip of coffee, he started to type.

  Why did all her bright ideas always happen in the middle of the night? It was a sickness, she thought as she got out of bed, her bare feet moving against the hand-carved hardwood floors she’d had to have. Now,
ten years and a divorce later, they seemed an extravagance she didn’t need.

  Her steps were quiet as she made her way to the staircase, careful to avoid the squeaking stair as she descended to the house’s main living room. The dying embers of tonight’s fire glowed softly in the center of the tall space’s wall, giving her enough light to make it to the kitchen unaided.

  Joshua was sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake him. He had his band recital tomorrow, and the kid was already nervous enough about his less-than-stellar trombone skills. She didn’t blame him. He was terrible, and her ears would testify to that in court.

  She grabbed the pen and paper off the kitchen countertop and began making notes. Ways to pay off their debt sooner. Something thudded to the floor from upstairs, and Dana jumped off her seat. She listened, thinking it might just be Joshua pushing one of his toys off his bed. He liked to sleep with them, as if having an action figure under your pillow would make your dreams better. Maybe the kid was onto something. She’d put a ten-dollar bill under her pillow tomorrow and see if it helped.

  When no other sounds emerged from above, she kept writing. She could finally sell all his stuff. He wasn’t coming back for it. The garage was full of things other people would pay money for.

  The stair creaked: the one she’d avoided because of the noise.

  Someone was walking around her house. “Joshua?” she asked, her voice too quiet to carry from the kitchen. She glanced at the clock. 2:12 blinked on the microwave above the stove. What was her son doing up?

  She found her nerve and pushed the impending fear of an intruder from her mind. She had a security system for a reason. Dana got up and moved toward the living room, the kitchen tiles cold against her bare feet.

  “Joshua, you better go back to bed…”

  Her voice fell off upon seeing the stranger. He was wearing black, standing in the corner of her living room. Dana tried to move but couldn’t. Fear froze her like someone looking Medusa in the eyes. Her gaze lowered, and she saw the glint of the embers reflect from a long knife in the man’s hand. No. A machete, her panicked brain told her.