The fog that blanketed Ashwood that morning felt differentâthicker, colder. It wrapped itself around the town like a shroud, the kind of fog that swallowed up sound and vision, leaving only a vague silhouette of what was. The kind that made every step you took feel like a step into something far darker than you could possibly comprehend. It was the kind of morning that, even before the first light of dawn, made the town seem suspended in timeâfrozen between the present and a past that refused to let go.
Emma had been up early, as she always was, taking her usual morning walk before the bakery began its daily rhythm. The sun was still a promise in the sky, and the streetlights that lined Ashwood's narrow roads flickered like dying stars. She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and quickened her pace, her breath visible in the crisp air. Her thoughts were heavy this morning, as they always were lately. It had been a strange few days since Lucas's arrival, and something about him unsettled herâa quiet tension that lingered around him like the fog.
She walked past the cemetery, its wrought-iron gates looming in the distance, and then along the path that wound toward the outskirts of town. It was a route she often took for the solitude it offered, a place where her thoughts could wander without interruption. But today, as she rounded a bend in the path, she saw something that made her heart race and her stomach drop.
A body.
It lay there, face down, at the edge of a small stream. Emma's breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she stood frozen, her mind trying to make sense of the scene. The figure was lifeless, its limbs splayed unnaturally to one side, the clothes stained with something dark and unmistakable.
Blood.
Panic surged through her chest, her body reacting before her mind had fully caught up. She took a step forward, then another, her hand trembling as she reached for her phone. It was an automatic responseâcall the police, tell them what she'd foundâbut even as she dialed the number, a part of her couldn't shake the feeling that this was different. This wasn't an accident. This was something deliberate. And the eerie quiet that enveloped the town only deepened her sense of foreboding.
"Sheriff Cole," came the voice on the other end of the line.
"It's Emma," she said, breathless. "IâI've found a body. Out by the stream, on the path near the old mill."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a terse, "Stay where you are. Don't touch anything. I'm sending someone now."
As the call ended, Emma lowered her phone, her mind racing. She knew the man. Or at least, she had seen him around town enough times to recognize him. He was a local mason, just 26 years oldâMichael Ward. Quiet, hardworking, and always willing to lend a hand. But now, here he was, lying lifeless in the dirt, his life extinguished in a way that sent a chill down her spine.
Minutes later, the sound of sirens sliced through the thick fog, and Sheriff Cole arrived, her face set in that implacable expression that Emma had come to recognize over the past few days. Behind her was Lucas, his sharp eyes scanning the scene as he approached. Emma stepped back as they began their work, Sheriff Cole kneeling beside the body, her hands already moving with practiced efficiency as she examined the scene.
Lucas turned to her, his brow furrowed. "You found him?"
Emma nodded, her voice shaky. "I was just on my walk... I didn't expect to see this. Not here. Not today."
Sheriff Cole looked up, her expression unreadable. "We'll need to take you in for questioning, Emma. Just routine, but I have to ask you a few questions."
Emma nodded numbly. She didn't feel angry, didn't feel betrayedâjust exhausted by the weight of everything that had happened since the killings had started. She understood why they had to ask. In a town this small, everyone was a suspect, whether they were involved or not.
As the sheriff and Lucas discussed the body, Emma drifted back toward the bakery, her mind whirling. It was impossible to shake the feeling that something in the town had shifted, that whatever had been happening in the shadows for the past two years was starting to spill out into the light. Each murder, each loss, was like a ripple that spread out further, reaching everyone in its path.
Lucas stood off to one side, watching as the body was carefully examined. He was aware of the unease that was slowly seeping into the town, but this murder felt different. There was a precision to it that set it apart from the othersâan eerie consistency that was starting to form in the pattern of the killings. Six months, every time. That was the pattern that had emerged. And now, just as he thought things might be settling down, they had escalated again.
"What do we have, Cole?" Lucas asked, stepping closer to the sheriff.
She stood, dusting off her knees, her eyes never leaving the body. "Michael Ward. Local mason. Looks like a clean killâno sign of struggle. But the way he's been left..." She paused, considering. "It's deliberate. Almost staged. Same as the others. This killer doesn't just want to kill. He wants to send a message."
Lucas nodded, his eyes scanning the body. There was something in the way the man was positionedâfacedown in the dirt, arms spread out like a star, the blood pooling around him in a dark, unnatural halo. The killer had done this before, and the message wasn't just for the victim.
It was for the town.
"I'll take the body in for an autopsy," Sheriff Cole said, snapping Lucas out of his thoughts. "But we need to start asking questions. The killer's getting bolder. This is happening closer to town than ever before."
Lucas's mind immediately turned toward the people he had met in the past few days. The townsfolk who had been so kind to him, so welcoming, but now seemed so full of hidden depths. He couldn't shake the suspicion that one of them was hiding something. Everyone had secrets in Ashwood. And secrets were dangerous.
"Do we have anyone who might have seen something?" Lucas asked, his voice low.
"Not yet," Cole replied, her eyes narrowing. "But we're going to ask. There's always someone who knows something, even if they don't want to admit it. I'm guessing it won't be long before someone comes forward with something useful."
As the coroner's van pulled away with Michael Ward's body, Lucas felt a growing sense of dread settle in his stomach. This wasn't just a murder anymore. It was a message, and the killer was getting more brazen with each passing day.
They had to catch him. Before the town was swallowed whole.
The investigation unfolded with a tension that grew thicker with each passing hour. Lucas spent the afternoon speaking with townsfolk, trying to piece together Michael's life. He was a quiet man, no known enemies, but there was something odd in the way everyone talked about him. No one had seen him the night before. No one had heard anything unusual.
It wasn't until later that afternoon, when Lucas returned to Emma's bakery for some much-needed coffee, that things started to take an unexpected turn.
Emma was behind the counter, her movements stiff, her eyes distant. When Lucas walked in, she greeted him with a small, forced smile. "Back again?" she asked, her voice barely hiding the exhaustion.
"Just needed some air," Lucas replied, taking a seat at the counter. "And some coffee."
She nodded and quickly poured him a cup, her hands shaking slightly as she set it in front of him. There was a silence between them, the kind that made Lucas feel like there was something more beneath the surface, something she wasn't saying. He had sensed it the moment he walked inâEmma was different now, guarded in a way she hadn't been before.
"You're thinking about Michael, aren't you?" Lucas asked, his voice quiet.
Emma's eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, he saw something flicker thereâa shadow of fear. She quickly looked away, focusing on the stack of pastries in front of her. "Everyone is thinking about him, Lucas. He's... he's just another victim in a string of deaths. What's left to think?"
"Maybe it's not just about the deaths," Lucas said, leaning forward slightly. "Maybe it's about the people who remain. The ones who don't want to admit something's wrong."
Emma's hands froze on the pastry tray. For a moment, she said nothing, her face pale. Then she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe you're right," she said, her eyes filled with an unspoken fear. "But I don't know what to do anymore. We're all caught in this web, Lucas. I just don't know how to get out."
As he looked at Emma, Lucas couldn't shake the feeling that her own secrets were tangled up in this messâthat she knew more than she was letting on. The deeper he dug, the more tangled everything became. Ashwood's history, the murders, the peopleâeverything was connected, and Lucas was only beginning to see the threads.
But one thing was certain: the killer wasn't finished yet. And as the fog continued to roll in over Ashwood, Lucas felt the weight of the town's dark secrets pressing in on him, threatening to crush him under their weight.