Fair River Forest is Haunted

"Sonofafuck!" Sheriff Mitchell howled.  His service revolver clattered against the door.  It fired, and the sheriff sank to the ground, clutching his abdomen with his unscathed arm as he cursed. Grace marched toward the sheriff, her rifle trained on him.  Jane's whimpers in the background melded with the howl of the wind, as though the forest itself was mourning along with her.  The pitiful sounds set Grace's veins alight, white hot rage fueling her feet forward. The sheriff fumbled across the grass, his fingers arching toward the glint of silver peeking out between the crumpled blades.  Grace kicked the gun aside, away from his reach. It was the sheriff's turn to hold up a hand.  Such a pathetic, useless gesture, Grace almost felt sorry for him.  But she thought of Jane, reduced to that helpless position, and her anger rose once more, vanquishing any softer emotions. "Look, Grace, I ..." Sheriff Mitchell started. "Give me the key," Grace said....

The moonlight pierced through the clouds, carving silhouettes from the darkness.  A man stood toward the center of the clearing, staring down at a set of double doors that looked like the sort that might lead to a basement or storm shelter.  Strings of profanities poured from his mouth.  Even without his wide-brimmed hat, Grace knew it was Sheriff Mitchell. Keith crept forward, into the clearing.  Jane leaned in toward Grace, her breath warming Grace's frigid cheek.  "We surround him," Jane said.  "You go around the woods 'til you're opposite where my dad is.  I'll go halfway between." Grace nodded.  She shoved her phone, which she had been using as a flashlight, into her back pocket, and unholstered her shotgun.  Her heart thundered in her chest as she inched along the edge of the woods.  Each leaf that caught beneath the soft soles of her boots blared in her ears.  Were the sheriff not cursing so loudly, he would hear them for sur...

Inside the woods, the night was as black as pitch.  Although the moon and a smattering of stars had been visible when Jane, Grace, and Jane's father, Keith, stepped from Keith's rusted out Chevrolet pickup, the dense canopy of foliage overhead blotted out the sky.  Shadows rose and fell in the two beams of light provided by Jane's and Grace's flashlights, darting between trees, scuttling beneath the withered brown leaves coating the forest's floor. "You two should be back at the car," Keith said, his muttered words barely audible over the howl of the wind and the crunching of leaves beneath the trio's feet. Jane shivered.  She tugged at the zipper on her down jacket, but it was already as high up as it could go.  "I thought you didn't believe us," she said, breath billowing from her lips in a frosty cloud. "I don't.  Sheriff's not that kind of a person.  But it's not safe out here." An owl hooted, its sound deep and ...

Jane and Grace were the only two people remaining on the Zoom call.  Their friends had bowed out when it became clear that no one had new insights regarding Willow's location.   Jane's eyes widened.  She smacked her palm against her desk.  "Sheriff Mitchell.  He must be the one who kidnapped Willow and Collin." "Why do you say that?" Grace said. "When I called him to report Willow missing, something felt wrong about the conversation, and I finally figured out what it was.  When I said Willow was missing, he said something like, 'Wasn't she out with her boyfriend?'  How would he know that?" "Maybe he saw them in the gardens," Grace said. "And he told me that he couldn't open a missing person case for 24 hours, but I hadn't told him what time she went missing." "I feel like it's pretty common for people to call the sheriff sooner than 24 hours, though.  That one could be a guess." "It has to ...