Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Echoes of the Past

The soft murmur of the town settled around Lucas as he walked along Ashwood's main street. The trees lining the roads had begun to show the first hints of autumn, their leaves turning a burnt orange that matched the fading warmth of the day. It was late afternoon, and the streets were quieter than usual. The only sounds were the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant hum of conversation from Emma's bakery, which had become an anchor for him in the quiet, unsettling town.

Today, Lucas had decided to visit Sheriff Ben for a more personal conversation. The sheriff, despite his calm demeanor, had shown signs of a deeper connection to the town's troubled history. There were things Ben knew—things he'd seen—that Lucas was sure could help him understand Ashwood and its people better. After all, it wasn't just the serial killings that had haunted this place. There was something darker, something that lingered in the town's very bones, like a shadow that would never quite fade.

As he approached the sheriff's office, Lucas noticed the dim light spilling out from the narrow windows of the building. He could see Ben's silhouette through the glass, hunched over a desk, a cigar resting between his fingers. The office smelled of old leather and paper, a mix of dust and nicotine—a place of memories, both recent and long past.

He knocked twice, and the heavy door creaked open, revealing Ben sitting in his usual chair, the weight of his years etched into his weathered face.

"Detective Grey," Ben greeted, his voice gravelly from years of smoking and late-night shifts. "What brings you to my corner of the world today?"

"I've been thinking about the town, Sheriff," Lucas replied, stepping into the office. "About how things were before all the killings started. There's more to Ashwood than what's happening now. And I get the feeling that you know a lot about its history."

Ben raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something behind his eyes—perhaps regret, perhaps a longing. He leaned back in his chair and gestured for Lucas to take a seat. "History's a funny thing," Ben muttered, the words almost to himself. "It's something we try to bury, but it always finds a way to come back. If you're looking for answers, Detective, you won't find them in the files. You've got to listen to the stories. They're the only things that make sense of this place."

Ben reached over to a filing cabinet and pulled out a thick, yellowed folder. The edges were frayed, the paper stained with age. He pushed it across the desk toward Lucas. "This here's a collection of old case files, the ones we don't talk about anymore. You'll find your answers in these."

Lucas opened the folder carefully, scanning through the pages. They were filled with stories of disappearances, unsolved mysteries, and chilling accounts from residents long gone. But it wasn't the cases that caught his attention—it was Ben's expression, the way his eyes narrowed as he looked out the window, lost in thought.

"Something tells me this is more personal for you, Sheriff," Lucas said quietly. "The town's history, the pain of these old files. It's not just the case you're carrying—it's something deeper, isn't it?"

Ben's jaw tightened at Lucas's words, and for a long moment, the sheriff didn't answer. He stared out the window, his fingers tapping restlessly on the edge of his desk, the only sound in the room.

"I lost someone, once," Ben said finally, his voice lower than before. "Her name was Rachel."

The name hung in the air, weighty with emotion. Lucas said nothing, sensing that Ben wasn't done. Ben leaned forward, his face etched with years of grief and pain.

"I was supposed to marry her," he continued, his voice distant, as though he were speaking from somewhere far away. "She was the one, you know? The one I was going to spend the rest of my life with. We had it all planned out—the wedding, the house, everything. But then... she ended it. Took her own life. Found her one morning, hanging from the rafters in the old house we'd picked out. No note. No warning. Nothing. Just gone. And I—" Ben cut himself off, his fists clenched at his sides.

Lucas remained silent, letting Ben's words sink in. It was clear that the sheriff hadn't fully processed the loss, that the wound had never truly healed. There was a darkness in Ben's eyes now, a hardness that had been shaped by that one moment of tragedy.

"That's when I made the decision," Ben went on, his voice still rough. "I wouldn't marry anyone else. Not after Rachel. Not after seeing what she did to herself. I couldn't bring myself to risk losing someone else like that. So, I buried myself in this job. Kept my head down, kept my distance. Thought maybe, if I focused on keeping the town safe, I could forget about it. But you never really forget, do you, Detective?"

Lucas shook his head, understanding more than he cared to admit. He had seen it in the eyes of so many people—the way trauma never truly left you, the way it hung around like a shadow, silently suffocating every attempt to move on.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," Lucas said softly, his voice sincere. "I didn't know."

Ben gave a tight nod. "Doesn't matter. People don't talk about it. No one here knows the real story, except for a few old-timers. But that's the thing about Ashwood. It's a town full of ghosts. Not just the kind you can see, but the kind that haunt you from the inside. The memories, the regrets, they linger long after the people are gone."

He stood up abruptly, walking over to a dusty bookshelf that lined the wall. "You want to understand this town? You want to get to the bottom of what's happening with these killings? You need to understand the past. People here are carrying more than just the weight of their own mistakes. They're carrying everyone else's too. And when you've been living in the shadow of something like that for long enough, it can break you."

Ben pulled a thick, leather-bound book from the shelf, setting it in front of Lucas with a heavy thud. The book looked old, its cover cracked and faded with age.

"This here's a journal from Sheriff Collier," Ben said, pointing to the book. "The sheriff before me. He wrote about the early days of this town—the murders, the disappearances, the things that happened before anyone even thought to put it in a file. Some of it's hard to believe, but I've seen enough to know that you can't trust everything you read. Ashwood's secrets have a way of showing up when you least expect it."

Lucas opened the journal carefully, flipping through the pages. There were sketches of buildings, descriptions of people, and cryptic notes about strange occurrences in the town, all dated back to the 1920s. The further Lucas read, the more the town's history seemed to unravel—murders, disappearances, things that didn't quite make sense in the context of the quiet town he saw now.

"This town," Lucas muttered, feeling the weight of the journal in his hands. "It's been haunted long before the killer started his work."

Ben nodded grimly. "Ashwood has always had its darkness. And it's never going to go away. You can try to fight it, but it always comes back."

There was a long silence between them, the air thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Lucas glanced up at Ben, seeing the sorrow in the sheriff's eyes—a sorrow that seemed to have become as much a part of him as his badge.

"Thank you for sharing this, Sheriff," Lucas said finally, his voice solemn. "I'll keep it in mind."

Ben gave him a curt nod, his eyes distant once more. "You won't understand it all until you've been here long enough. But don't make the mistake of thinking you're different from the rest of us. We all carry the weight of Ashwood's past. And it will drag you down if you let it."

As Lucas left the sheriff's office, the weight of Ben's words settled on him, heavier than any case file or murder investigation. Ashwood wasn't just a town of secrets—it was a place built on the ruins of lost souls, a place where tragedy had woven itself into the very fabric of its existence. And as much as Lucas wanted to ignore the past and focus on the killer who still roamed free, the truth was undeniable: in Ashwood, the past was never really gone. It was always there, waiting to drag you down when you least expected it.

And Lucas could feel it closing in.