Chapter 2: The Man in the Woods

CLARA

If I didn’t so desperately need this job, I would have tossed the folder back at Perkins and demanded that someone else do the interview.

Suddenly I realized that I hadn’t ~actually~ been given the baby job; I’d been given the one nobody else wanted because I was the newbie.

Great.

As it was, I didn’t have a choice. So I pulled on my big girl pants and gave the boss a thumbs-up.

“During the day. Will do. The last thing I need is to end up the next wolf or serial killer attack victim.”

“It’s also the last thing we need,” Mr. Perkins replied. “I don’t want to have to hire ~another~ new reporter. Now get on it.”

The boss returned to his office, and I spent an hour looking up this guy’s art.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit it was stunning.

The way Elias Franke painted light rivaled some of the bigger names like Thomas Kinkade and Charles Burchfield. But instead of waterfalls, quaint little towns, and lighthouses, all of his art featured moonlit forests and predatory eyes.

“Wow. This guy really likes his wolves,” I muttered, apparently loud enough that Jason heard me.

He swiveled around in his chair and glanced at my computer screen. “We all saw that spotlight coming up on the schedule and hoped anyone else would get it.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with him?”

Jason shook his head. “No, not really. He’s weird, but that’s artists for you. Last year we’d all have clamored to get the easy assignment. But—”

“But now that there might be a serial killer in the woods, nobody wants to risk it. You don’t think this Franke dude ~is~ the serial killer, do you?”

Jason looked at me like I was some kind of crazy person.

“I mean, he lives in the woods,” I added. “Nobody knows much about him. It might just be two plus two.”

Honestly, I really shouldn’t have even brought up the implication, because saying the words out loud made my legs feel like jelly.

~Am I really going to be interviewing a murderer?~

“Eh, even if he is, you should be perfectly safe. The killer has only gone for young women, not middle-aged women.”

My eyes narrowed and my lips pursed in disgust.

“Middle-aged?” I growled, sending as much venom through my stare as I could manage. “Excuse you! I don’t think ~you’d~ be in any danger then, either. I can guarantee you’re older than me, you asshole.”

Jason held up both hands in a please-calm-the-hell-down gesture and rolled his chair back a few inches.

“Okay, okay, perhaps that wasn’t my brightest attempt at making you feel better about the whole thing. Just be careful.”

He spun his chair to face his computer, and I glanced down at my phone.

I guessed the time had come to make the phone call.

I triple-checked the number before pressing “call.” For some stupid reason, my hands felt sweaty with nerves while it rang.

How many times had I called to set up interviews during my ten years at ~The Sun~? This should be old freaking hat. I blamed the conversation with Jason and wiped my palms on my pants repeatedly.

“Hello?”

The voice was deep and gruff, full of gravel with an edge of annoyance.

I took a deep breath and put on my customer service voice.

“Hello, Mr. Franke. This is Clara Parks with ~The Melville Times.~ I’m calling to set up an interview for your artist spotlight.”

“Three p.m. today, my house. I’ve already given the address to your boss. Don’t be late. You have one hour.”

Before I could ask any more questions or even thank him, a dial tone rang in my ear.

Had he ~hung up on me~?

“Asshole artist,” I grumbled under my breath.

If I’d been anxious about the interview before, now I was simply dreading it.

***

I paused at the turn that would take me into the woods.

They seemed so dark, despite it being midday.

At this moment, I hated even more that Elias hadn’t given me a chance to suggest we meet somewhere in town.

“I should have called him back like a boss bitch,” I grumbled, but it was far too late for that.

The road, if you could call it that, was littered with potholes that threatened to take out my already-crappy car’s axles repeatedly. I did my best to dodge the largest ones, but I’d bet this pavement hadn’t been maintained since it was laid.

The sound of the city faded away to an intense silence broken only by my engine.

“Well, Clara, you’ve done it. You’ve managed to drive yourself into a horror movie,” I said, hunched over my steering wheel as I traveled through the misty woods.

The trees felt threatening, despite being straight, tall, and green—evergreens that defied the season—not like the dead and gnarled ones you see in movies.

How, you may ask, did I end up in this town, driving a piece-of-garbage car into the creepy murder woods?

I married my high school sweetheart—that’s how.

His name was Grant Mason, and once upon a time, he was the quarterback—aka, the most popular guy in school.

I was a stupid, lovesick puppy and lauded as “so lucky!” when we ended up together in our junior year.

But that was fifteen years ago—and what seemed like an entire lifetime.

Let me tell you something about high school quarterbacks whose only goal in life is to go pro: ninety-nine percent of them aren’t going to make it, and when they don’t even make the college team, well—not all of them are able to pivot to anything other than alcohol.

I woke up, but it took a long, long time and innumerable beatings. And when the rose-colored glasses finally shattered, I had no friends, no money, no relationship with my family—especially after losing my mom—and a whole lot of baggage.

Grant won the house, the car, and even the dog in the divorce in exchange for my name being wiped from his surprise gambling debts.

I got a whopping one thousand five hundred dollars, which I spent on a shitbox car and the down payment on an apartment three states away.

And why Melville, of all places? It was my mother’s hometown—and I knew my father’s family lived here too.

But I wasn’t sure they even knew I existed. My mother took off when she was pregnant with me, and if they had ever tried to find us, I never heard about it.

Then again, my mother had never spoken about my father or his family.

The only time she had was when I’d turned eighteen and begged her to tell me something—anything.

She’d given me a few scraps: that she’d left him, that it was for the best, that I didn’t need to know more.

And now she was gone, taking whatever truth she’d known with her.

I could only imagine that she’d gone through the same kind of hell I had.

But hey, at least I got free. I had my own place where nobody was going to beat me for finishing the milk. In a couple of weeks, I’d be rid of the last of my bruises and could forget the past entirely.

I tried not to let the memories cloud my vision.

This was a new life. A new adventure. And I definitely wasn’t going to visit a murderer in his cabin in the woods. Just a boring interview with an eccentric artist.

I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the road.

The worst part of the drive, honestly, was the movement I kept seeing out of the corner of my eye.

It was most likely deer, squirrels, or even wind in the trees—though convincing myself of that was nearly impossible.

I knew it was stereotypical, but I kept imagining wolves jumping out of the trees and slamming into the side of my car.

Or a killer with beast-like instincts.

Or a pack of dogs trained to tear through flesh.

I have a creative imagination, okay?

I followed the twists and turns until the GPS directed me to turn onto a dirt road.

Praying for the suspension of my shitbox, I began driving down the pitted and rocky trail.

If I’d known I was going to have to travel roads like this, I would have bought a truck. Not that I’d had the money for one…

And then I saw it.

Standing in the sunlight fifty yards ahead was the massive form of a black wolf. It stared at my car as my brakes squealed.

I came to an abrupt stop and stared back at it, trying to decide what to do.

The damn thing was taller than my car, so I couldn’t just hope I’d win in a hood-to-pelt fight.

I blasted my horn in hopes that would scare it off.

But instead, the wolf stepped closer and bared its teeth.

My heart dropped right out of my chest into my stomach.

“Is it rabid? It has to be rabid.” The sound of my own voice did nothing to calm my fears.

The wolf took another step, jaws open in a full snarl.

Was the thin layer of glass and metal between me and that monster enough to keep it out? I wasn’t convinced.

To hell with the interview—I was getting out of there.

I threw my car in reverse and removed my foot from the brake just as howling echoed through the trees around me.

Two more wolves appeared, one on either side of my car. These were marbled white, their fur shining in the dappled forest sunlight.

They launched themselves at the black wolf, and all three went rolling into the trees.

~Screw this place.~

I searched the immediate path for anywhere wide enough to turn around. Seeing nothing, I slammed the car back into drive and flew up the dirt road.

My teeth slammed together as my tires bounced and rattled over the uneven ground, and my heart pounded.

Eventually, the path smoothed, and I drove out of the trees into a large clearing.

It was entirely fenced off with a large gate that had been left open, probably for my arrival.

The feeling here was entirely different than the creepy woods. Dry golden grasses swayed lazily in a soft breeze, and large carved stones lined the driveway up to a large cabin.

To the left of the cabin, a tidy garden was still clinging to life, and the back of the clearing held an orchard of leafless trees in quiet rows.

And to the right of the cabin stood two Jeeps in immaculate condition.

If not for them, I would have thought I’d stepped out of ~Scooby Doo~ into ~Little House on the Prairie.~

I parked behind one of the Jeeps and stepped out into the early-winter sunshine, feeling the anxiety begin to wash away.

My eyes closed, and I took deep breaths until my heart stopped pounding like a toddler with a drum set.

Once I had pushed the majority of the adrenaline out of my bloodstream, I opened my eyes and set my jaw. I was ready.

The cabin looked solid and lived-in, made of dark logs with a wraparound porch and a stack of firewood near the door. The windows were clean but shut tight, and the scent of distant woodsmoke and pine filled the air.

If I had such a peaceful, beautiful piece of land, I wouldn’t want to leave it either.

I tucked my notebook and recorder under my arm and strolled up to the maroon front door—or at least, I tried.

The gravel path to Elias’s cabin was not made for heels. I wobbled with every step, silently cursing my decision not to wear flats today. But I reached the porch without breaking my ankles, which was a win.

A quick glance at my watch told me I was a bit early, but not as early as I thought I’d be.

“Good thing I didn’t trust the GPS estimate,” I muttered and gave the door three solid knocks.

At first, there was no response.

The cabin ~was~ pretty large; maybe I hadn’t knocked loud enough?

I raised my hand to knock again, but before my knuckles made contact with the metal, the door swung open to reveal an absolute beast of a man.