Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

  “My name is David Whelm, from the New York Bulletin.”

  Fiona took his hand and David tried his best to hide his surprise at the firmness of her handshake. He could tell that whatever this town lacked in stones, the Sheriff definitely made up for it.

  “Never heard of it,” Fiona said, releasing her grip and crossing her arms across her chest, glaring at David.

  “I’m not too surprised,” he said, holding her stare. “We’re a small newspaper.”

  Fiona nodded and gestured to a seat in front of her desk as she made her way to her own chair and sat down. “So what brings a small newspaper from New York all the way to the small town of Melington?”

  “Come now, Sheriff,” David chuckled, forcing himself to be as pleasant as possible. His girlfriend usually called him a social whore, and he was sure that he would need to pull out all his cards for this one. “This is far from a small town. You’re growing exponentially, and it won’t be long before you become a metropolis of your own.”

  Fiona gave him a crooked smile as she sat back in her chair. “You can leave the compliments for the trinket vendors and mountain guides, Mr. Whelm. I have no delusions over what Melington is.”

  David smiled. This was going to be a lot more interesting than he had presumed.

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Fiona pressed.

  “A story, Sheriff,” David explained. “We received a very interesting tip back home, something that greatly contradicts your claim to being the perfect family home.”

  “Really?” Fiona asked, an eyebrow raised. “And what tip is that?”

  “Missing children,” David replied. “We have reason to believe there have been several cases of missing children in your town, and that the proper authorities, being yourself, are doing very little about it.” David waited for his words to sink in, his smile unfaltering as he watched Fiona’s poker face. “Actually, there are rumors that the cases are being covered up. Care to comment?”

  “Off the record?”

  “Of course.”

  “No, I wouldn’t care to comment.”

  David chuckled, crossing his legs as he opened the file in his hands and scanned the document within. “Does the name Blake Collins ring a bell?”

  “Of course,” Fiona said. “I knew his father. Great kid, funny as hell, won the Melington Middle School Science Fair last year.”

  “The Collins lived here until about six months ago, if my sources are correct.”

  Fiona nodded.

  “Any idea where they are now?”

  “People come and go, Mr. Whelm,” Fiona said, her eyes level with his, her features as cold as stone. “We don’t keep tabs on them.”

  David smiled. “Of course,” he said. “It’s just, we reached out to their family in Hartford, and no one seems to know where the father and son are.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if they ever pass through here again,” Fiona said. “I’ll let them know their family’s looking for them.”

  David closed the file and sighed, running his tongue across the inside of his mouth as he thought of how best to say what was on his mind.

  “Sheriff, I’m not trying to insinuate anything,” he said.

  “It sure seems like it, Mr. Whelm,” Fiona said. “Besides, I don’t recall any reason why I should even answer your questions. I don’t know who your sources are, or what you’re looking for, but you can regard my patience as a sign of good faith and courtesy to the good people of New York. However, that patience is not without limits, and quite honestly, I still have no idea what you’re getting at with your questions.”

  “I’m only following a lead for a story,” David said.

  “Then I suggest you double back and see where you went wrong,” Fiona replied. “Melington might not be the best place in the world, but it’s my home, and I feel very strongly about people who want to tarnish its name just for a story.”

  David stared at the Sheriff, trying his best to read her. He didn’t know why, but there was something very off about this woman, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. He had expected a fluff piece, and he had completely ignored doing any background checks on his sources. Children went missing all over the country; there was nothing special about this town. All this trouble should have led to nothing more than a quick read on page three of the Bulletin beside news of Siamese twins and flesh eating bacteria.

  However, David was beginning to feel there was actually something to the fact that the missing children reports were being covered up. He couldn’t tell for sure, but he knew the Sheriff was hiding something. Besides, in a town like this, locals were usually quick to clear up misunderstandings and show that their home was the best little town this side of the country.

  Fiona Bright was doing none of that.

  “Sheriff Bright, these are actual accusations,” David said.

  “Then I suggest the proper authorities ask me questions, not a reporter from, what did you call it?” Fiona paused and squinted her eyes. “I’m sorry, but I’ve completely forgotten the name of the paper you work for.”

  David took the hint and stood up, faking his smile as best as he could without giving away how he truly felt. “Thank you for your time, Sheriff,” he said, not bothering with a handshake. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Fiona nodded and said nothing, gesturing to her office door with only a slight shift of her eyes. David let himself out, briefly stopping to thank the officer and give her his card before exiting the station.

  David could feel his body shiver in excitement. Apparently, there was a reason to stay in Melington after all.

  ***

  “How did you sleep?”

  Alan looked up from the book he was reading as Deborah walked in with a cup of coffee in her hand and slumped down on the couch beside him. She eyed him as she sipped her drink, and Alan wondered if maybe she was onto him.

  “Pretty good,” he replied, shifting his attention back to his book. “Why?”

  “I woke up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water and could have sworn you were shaking under the covers.”

  Alan smiled and shrugged. “Probably the cold,” he suggested. “It was a bit chilly last night.”

  Deborah set her drink down on the coffee table and pulled her legs up beneath her, shifting her position to look straight at him. “We’re in July, Alan,” she said. “It hasn’t been chilly for months.”

  Alan closed his book and looked at her. “You know, I liked it a lot more when you were busy at school,” he said with a smile.

  “I liked it a lot more when you didn’t lie to me,” Deborah shot back with a smile of her own.

  Alan laughed at that, but he said nothing. He knew Deborah could read him like an open book, and it took a lot effort to make sure he kept her in the dark about what he was going through. She had been overprotective ever since he left the hospital, and he knew that telling her about his research or his dreams would only upset her. With all she was going through, he didn’t feel like it was the time to burden her with his problems, not when he still couldn’t make much sense of them. Besides, this was something he needed to figure out on his own, without any external suggestions.

  He had never shared what he had gone through during his coma with Deborah. He had never told her about the dark room, or the corridor beyond, or the little, blonde girl that had given him a way out. It made very little sense to him, and until now, there was no reason to believe that any of it was more than residual nightmares from his encounter with Copper Tibet. He knew he would have to tell her eventually; he wouldn’t be able to hide it forever, but for now, it didn’t seem necessary.

  Deborah could see the conflict in Alan’s eyes, and decided not to press. She leaned over and grabbed her mug, nestling it in her hands as she rested her head against his shoulder and flipped through the pages of his book.

  “Stephen King?” she asked, amused by the image on the cover. “Really?”

  Alan chuckled,
a part of him relieved that Deborah had the good sense to let things be. “I thought it would be an interesting read,” he said.

  “Never took you for the horror type.”

  “After what we’ve been through?”

  Deborah looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, Alan Carter, but I want you to know you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here.”

  Alan bent down and kissed her forehead. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

  “If you say so,” Deborah sighed, pushing up to her feet. “I’m going to be in the study if you need anything. Paperwork takes no vacation.”

  Alan nodded and opened the book back to where he had stopped. “Your mother called again,” he said.

  “I know,” Deborah replied. “I’m going to see her tomorrow.”

  Alan raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That’s mature.”

  “I want to get this over with,” she said. “Her persistence is getting extremely annoying.”

  “Then I take back my comment,” Alan smiled.

  Deborah squinted at him. “You do know I have a hot mug of coffee in my hands, right?”

  Alan raised his hands in mock surrender and laughed. Deborah pointed an angry finger at him, trying her best not to laugh along, and made her way towards the staircase.

  He wasn’t fooling her, though. She could tell his mind was troubled, but knowing Alan, he would only open up about it when the time was right. For now, all she could do was wait and pray he could handle his demons on his own long enough to finally ask her to help.

  Six Months Ago

  “We never knew how the Coles did it, but it didn’t matter. For the founding families, the only thing that did matter was the safety of our children. I know what you’re thinking, and believe me, it would have been the best solution if we could be sure that Copper Tibet would never leave Melington.

  There were no guarantees, though. Some of the families spoke of noises waking them up from the deepest of sleeps, scratching behind closed doors and laughing through the walls. The only thing anyone knew for certain was the monster had to be contained, and it was the duty of the founding families to make sure that happened.

  When the Coles first spoke of the blood bindings, it had horrified the Council. To this day, we can only speculate what the Cole family had done to make sure they kept this nightmare at bay. But everyone slept a lot better knowing that their children would never be taken.

  I know how selfish this sounds, but sweetheart, you have no children yet. When you have one of your own, you’ll realize a parent would go to great lengths to make sure their child is safe; it’s human nature, and selfishness plays no part in it. You forget all about morals and what’s right or wrong; there is only the natural instinct to protect your own, and that was the only reason anyone agreed to what we were forced to do.

  Melington was still a small town at the time, and finding a child each month was not an easy task. Members of the Council were forced to do things they never thought they would. Some would drive as far as Vermont to snatch a child from its home and bring it back to town. The families pushed for expansion, and soon enough, the town began to grow.

  I’m not proud of our history, but there was never anything any of us could do about it. I won’t lie and say it didn’t bother me; it disgusted me. But by the time I had found out about all this, I had already had you, and the thought of losing you scared me a lot more than what I would face in hell for my sins.

  We had no choice in the matter, or at least I was made to believe so. We were suffering the sins of our fathers, and somehow we had become numb to the fact that we were making others suffer along with us.”

  Chapter 4

  Michael Cole hated the dark.

  It was a childhood fear, something his father had instilled in him a long time ago when he was still living under the same roof as the crazy, old man. Michael blamed his father for many things, but none of them had left a scar as deep as this.

  He remembered the first time his father had driven the fear into him. Michael had only been five, and until then had shared the bedroom with his parents and younger sister. Despite the large house, Daniel Cole had been adamant about keeping his children in the same room with him at all times, especially at night. For a five year-old, that had never struck Michael as odd. On the contrary, he had enjoyed it very much.

  When it had been time to move into his own room, his father had tucked him in and had sat down for a few minutes next to him on the bed, looking around the room as if searching for something. Michael had never understood what it was that had bothered his father so much that night, but it was nothing compared to what had happened later.

  “There are things in the dark, Michael,” his father had said, looking at him earnestly, frowning to show his seriousness. “There are things you can never imagine waiting in the shadows to reach out and grab you when you least expect it.”

  It had been a traumatizing conversation, and the worst thing about it had been the fact that Michael had known his father hadn’t been joking. There had been a look in his eyes, a deep despair, as if he were leaving Michael out in the open to fend for himself. Michael could still remember how cold the room had suddenly felt that night, and how much he had wished his father would take him back with him to the master bedroom where he would be safe.

  “I want you to sleep with the lights on at all times,” Daniel Cole had said. “Do you hear me? Never turn off the lights.”

  Michael had spent most of his childhood in that room, and as he had grown older, the fear of the dark had been coupled with other oddities that, to this day, he could not comprehend. He had never had a closet, for instance, always forced to keep his clothes with his sisters’ in one massive oak monstrosity in the hallway between their rooms. His bed had always been custom made so that the sides would reach down to the floor, leaving no space for anything to slide under it. They were little things, but enough to make Michael feel like something was terribly off about his family.

  Still, it was the dark that had always haunted him. Even now, well into his thirties, he always left a light on whenever he went to sleep, and there was never a dark room in his apartment. At one point he had even contemplated charging his father for the electric bill.

  Michael Cole hated the dark.

  That was why, walking through the fields behind his house, searching for the path between the trees that he was certain existed, Michael could feel his skin crawl and his body shiver. The beam from his flashlight provided little reprieve from the overbearing darkness around him, and the moon overhead was of little relief. He found himself conflicted between going on or returning to the house, but his feet kept pushing him forward, as if having a mind of their own.

  Michael traced the tree line of the woods behind his house, shining his light back and forth as he searched. He had often seen his father walk out here, disappearing between the trees in complete darkness. The man himself had been unscathed by the same fear he had instilled in his son. Michael had always meant to ask his father about his late night treks. Now it was too late.

  You could have done this in the morning.

  Michael knew that was true, but something inside him told him that whatever he was looking for could not be found in the light. His father would never have ventured out at night if that were the case, and Michael wasn’t interested in finding nothing. He knew there was a secret to the late night walks through the woods, and whatever the secret was, it probably had something to do with Daniel Cole’s current state.

  The doctors had failed. They were no closer to finding a way to bring his father back than they had been six months ago. He could see it in their eyes and in the way they looked at him. He could feel it whenever he met a member of the town Council. Everyone was waiting for his father to die, and Michael would be damned before he let that happen.

  Daniel Cole was his father, after all, no matter how much he hated the old man.

/>   Michael stopped when the light settled on a narrow opening in the tree lines. The leaves on the ground, crushed by recent footsteps. He pushed through the brush and made his way forward. Finally, relieved that he found what he was looking for and instilled with newfound vigor to move forward. For a few seconds, he forgot all about his fear of the dark and made his way along the path, imagining his father doing the same.

  Branches lunged down at him, scraping at the nape of his neck and entangling in his hair, as if the trees themselves were trying to stop his advancement. Michael pushed them away, careful that none would snap back against his face, closing his eyes as he bent through them.

  He could see how the path had once been wider, the trunks of the surrounding trees sitting well behind the undergrowth. He assumed the path had once been used for something more than walking. But over the years, ever since his family had taken these lands, it had been left to wither between the nature around it. Michael wondered why his father had never taken better care of the path, especially since he had used it so many times in the past. What was he hiding back there?

  Michael lost track of time as he moved forward. At one point he began to fear that the path wouldn’t actually lead to anything at all, that it would continue to narrow out until finally becoming one with the woods around it. He shifted the light of his flashlight through the trees, looking for any sign that maybe whatever he was looking for was actually off the course of the path and not at the end of it. He saw nothing, though, and the shadows his light left behind only added to the dread he was feeling as he walked through the darkness.

  He was about to turn back and give up his quest when the path suddenly widened and opened into a large field. Michael stood at the end of the trek, eyes wide in amazement as he took in the large space beyond; an island of meadow surrounded by thick woods. The darkness thinned here, the absence of the tree canopy allowing for more light to fall down from the moon above. Michael gazed out in wonder, and something inside him began to stir.