The Stranger in the Woods

by Kiersten Modglin

  Copyright © 2019 by Kiersten Modglin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Editing by: Three Owls Editing

  Cover Design by: Alora Kate with Cover Kraze

  Formatting by: Tadpole Designs

  Contents

  ABOUT CRIMSON FALLS

  2018

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE CRIMSON FALLS NOVELLA SERIES

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY KIERSTEN MODGLIN

  For the fans—old and new—for supporting this crazy dreamer in the land of crazy dreams.

  ABOUT CRIMSON FALLS

  The worst place to be in early October is the town of Crimson Falls.

  In the late 1800’s, two brothers stumbled upon an unnamed village, surrounded by thick forest and fresh water to keep them protected and alive. The brothers were cruel men who wanted a home to call their own. In their darkest hour, the brothers slaughtered the villagers, dumping their bodies over the waterfall at the edge of town. People say the water ran red for weeks, giving the town its terrible name.

  Ever since that horrible anniversary, Crimson Falls is haunted by its past with a present filled with violence and danger. Every October is filled with fear...and for good reason. On October 13th, the dreaded Founders Day, all the town’s crime comes to a head. And by the 14th, fewer will be alive than before.

  Crimson Falls is a fictional town, created and shared by 8 mystery, suspense, and thriller authors. Each novella paints a picture about life in Crimson Falls and the insanity that takes place leading up to Founders Day.

  Do you dare to read them all?

  2018

  CHAPTER ONE

  PRESENT DAY

  When asked to describe her success in one word, Arlie Montgomery had chosen ironic. The interviewer had thought she was being funny, and so she'd laughed along, but in reality it was ironic. All of it. Her entire life had been ironic, but especially her career. For six years, Arlie had worked, unsuccessfully, as an author, trying every new marketing tactic to garner a buzz for her thrillers. She did book tours where a handful of enthusiastic people might show up. She kept her social media up to date. She read books to perfect her craft. She scrutinized every single plot point.

  But, in the end, it hadn't worked. No one wanted to read thrillers from a female; her publisher had continually suggested re-releasing the books and all future works under a pen name. Again, it was ironic, because if she'd listened, if she’d chosen to use a pen name, the very thing that had catapulted her career to its greatest height would've done nothing for AJ Montgomery.

  Of course, the most ironic part was that the greatest success of her life, the thing she'd longed for for years, the thing she’d sworn over and over she would do anything for, was only made possible by the greatest tragedy of her life.

  Growing up in a town like Crimson Falls, Arlie had always been obsessed with horror stories, thrillers, and suspense. It fascinated her, especially when things worse than the movies she watched and books she read were happening in her hometown. She was desensitized to the terror of it all at a young age. Where most children were scared, Arlie was fascinated.

  So, when she married Brett, a man from a town a few miles north, Arlie convinced him to move to the town she'd always called home, and he'd agreed. Most of the time, Crimson Falls was just like any other town. They had festivals and schools and town hall meetings and a big Christmas tree lighting in December. But October, specifically the week surrounding Founders Day, was different. In a town that so many believed to be cursed by its ancestors, Founders Day was never a cause for celebration. Instead, it was a day where the crime rate grew higher every year. People knew some wouldn't make it to the next day. Citizens would die, they'd be robbed and attacked, all because of the curse. The curse. Arlie had watched and read enough horror to know that rumors of a curse, rather than any actual curse, were enough to do the damage she'd seen done. After all, at the end of the day, the crimes were committed by people. People were always the ones to fear. There was nothing supernatural about October thirteenth, just evil people using it as an excuse to be their worst selves.

  On the day of her husband's death, a death that made national news, a man named Norman Gates—again, ironic, right?— came into Brett's office building in the next town over with a gun. He killed four people before going after her husband’s assistant. Brett stepped in, saving her life and ultimately stopping Norman from killing the hundreds of others in the building, but he was murdered in the struggle. He'd been made into a national hero. People from all over the world had written her letters and attended his funeral. For a while, he was mentioned daily on every major news channel, and so, of course, was his widow: Arlie Montgomery.

  It only took a few Google searches of her name for people to realize she was an author, and so, success eventually ensued. People became fascinated with Arlie, wanting to know all they could about her life and, as a result, her books. It was instant. Overnight, she'd become a bestseller. Her books were getting mentioned every place she could hope for, and the money had begun to pour in. There couldn't have been a better time, as she struggled to make ends meet until her husband's life insurance hit. And though it was all she'd ever dreamed of, in the midst of a tragedy, none of the success seemed to matter. Her publisher was thrilled, her agent elated. All at once, the world seemed to know her name, and it seemed to be forgotten that she was still a grieving woman who'd lost the love of her life.

  While he was alive, Brett had been her biggest champion, pushing her to write more, believing in her while release after release tanked. If he could've seen her, she knew he'd be so proud. But she would've given it all up, been a struggling author for the rest of her life, just to have him back. Brett was what mattered, and the clouded vision of chasing her dreams had let her forget that.

  So, that day, as she approached the two-year anniversary of her loss, Arlie drove the quiet outskirts of Crimson Falls. Grief was quiet. Lonely. Success in a field that was primarily done alone was also mind-numbingly seclusive. So, surrounded by sadness and horror, and expected to write about both as if they weren't her entire life, Arlie sometimes needed the escape that came with leaving her town and driving around in silence. Pretending for a moment that she was on her way home to Brett. That he'd be waiting with glass of wine and supper, ready to hear about her day.

  Like the year before, as she approached the anniversary of his death, Arlie was forced to reflect on all that had change
d in her life since that horrible day. In truth, everything had changed. Everything and nothing. She was still in the same house. She still wore the same perfume. She still made coffee in the morning and ate a piece of chocolate every night. Her life, the routine of it all, was unchanged. But nothing was the same. Brett was gone. She was more alone than she’d ever been. She had more money than she could ever have dreamed of. The only book she’d released since Brett’s death, the one she’d written in her last days with him, not knowing they were the last days, was an instant success. She had, by all standards, made it. She was regarded as the town celebrity. She had everything she ever wanted, but she would never feel that way. The tragedy outweighed any triumph, and she could never think about her happiness without being held down by the guilt she felt for the way her success had come about.

  She slammed on her brakes. Staring out into the foggy woods, out of the corner of her eye, she saw something shimmering in the distance. Was it just a trick of light? It was hard to see anything in the shadowy woods, but her headlights were definitely bouncing off something on the overcast day. Was it a sign? A piece of trash? A person? It moved, and she slowed the car down further, watching. It was a person; she could tell as she drove a bit closer. Someone standing off in the field, a reflective vest on. She wasn't sure why she chose to stop because everything in her screamed that she should keep moving, but she couldn't. The man stood by the tree line, still several yards from her, watching. He wasn't moving, just staring into space as if in a trance.

  "Are you okay?" she shouted, rolling down her window.

  She wasn't sure if he'd heard her at first, though he turned to look at her slowly. After a few seconds of facing her direction, she watched his outline head her way. She should've felt fear, but it was only curiosity in her gut until he reached her car. His face and clothes were filthy, covered in dust, but his piercing eyes burned into her. He didn't speak right away, just stood there, staring at her with a strange, empty expression.

  "Hello," she said, keeping her finger hovering over the button in case she needed to roll the window up suddenly. "Are you okay?"

  "Who are you?" he asked, his voice gravelly as if he needed to cough.

  "I'm…I'm Arlie. Are you from Crimson Falls?" They were on the outskirts of the town, still a good thirty miles from the nearest surrounding city, so she assumed he must be. But in a town the size of Crimson Falls, any unfamiliar face like his was far from common.

  He shook his head. "I don't know."

  "What do you mean you don't know?" she asked, sensing his ominous tone.

  He touched his temple as if in pain, turning his head so she could see the blood that stretched across his scalp and cascaded down over his ear. "I…I woke up out there. Where did you say I am?"

  "Well, you’re near Crimson Falls,” she said, feeling skeptical. “But, I’ve never seen you around here before. Are you hurt?”

  He touched his forehead where the wound was and winced. “I must’ve hit my head. How far to the nearest hospital?”

  “Thirty minutes away, at least. The closest one is in Arbordale. I can take you to see Doctor Phillips, though. He’s fantastic. He can at least look you over and make sure you’re…you know, not dying.”

  He scowled at her. “Gee, thanks.”

  “Climb in,” she said. “It’s not far.”

  He hesitated, looking into her car. “I don’t know…”

  “Oh, come on, I’m hardly dangerous to you. I’m trying to be a good citizen.”

  “How do you know I’m not dangerous?” he asked, his question making her skin crawl. Before she could change her mind, he pulled open the door and climbed in the car. She glanced at the wound again. It was a long, dark gash from his upper left temple to the tip of his ear, a small piece of skin from his scalp hung loosely like a flap. It was a wonder he was alive.

  “That looks really bad. I’m not sure how you’re conscious right now.”

  He winced, flipping down the mirror and looking at the cut while breathing through gritted teeth. “I kind of wish I wasn’t.”

  “What do you do?” she asked, putting the car in drive and heading for the town’s limit. “Some kind of construction?”

  He looked down at his clothes, pulling the vest out and staring down at its reflective tape. “Yeah, I guess so.” Aside from the vest, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, not what she assumed would be typical clothes for a laborer, but what did she know? Brett was never a hard labor kind of guy.

  “You guess so?”

  “I don’t remember,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding agitated. “I honestly don’t remember anything.”

  “You don’t remember anything at all? Your name? Where you’re from?”

  “Nothing,” he confirmed. “Guess I took one hell of a pounding to the head, huh?”

  She nodded, gripping the wheel tighter. Suddenly, she was nervous. What had she been thinking, picking up a stranger? For all she knew, this man was planning to hurt her or steal her car. Her gaze fell to her purse quickly, where her black leather wallet could be seen easily. He flipped the mirror closed. "Do you have a napkin or something? I'm getting blood on your seat."

  "In the console," she said with a sharp nod. He lifted the lid, pulling out a napkin and holding it to his head with a sharp inhale.

  "Ouch," he said stiffly.

  "You're probably going to need stitches." She glanced his way. "Dr. Phillips may end up sending you to Arbordale anyway."

  He groaned. "As long as he can give me some pain meds, I'll be fine. God, this hurts, and I can’t seem to get it to stop bleeding." He paused, looking at the napkin. "Thank you, by the way. For picking me up. I have no idea how I ended up out there."

  "You're welcome," she said, surprised by his sudden politeness. "So, you really don't remember anything?"

  He shook his head. "It's…fuzzy. I feel like it's right there," he touched a place on the opposite side of his head, "but I just can't reach it. It'll come back, though, I'm sure." He looked her way. "Right?"

  She nodded, her jaw tight. "Of course. Sure, it will."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Arlie led the stranger into Doctor Phillips' office, a small, Southern home in downtown Crimson Falls. "Good morning, Miss Roberta," she greeted the receptionist.

  "Good morning, Arlie," she said. "How are you today? Did you have an appointment?"

  "No," Arlie answered. "We have a bit of an emergency."

  "Oh my," Roberta said, standing up as she saw the man and noticed his wound. "You certainly do. Let me get the doctor." She hurried around from behind her desk, her footsteps echoing in the quiet old house, and knocked on the wooden door. Within a few moments, Doctor Phillips’ gray head popped out of the door, his glasses falling down his nose as they so often did.

  “Well, hello, Arlie. This is a pleasant surprise. Or, well, not so pleasant, it looks like,” he said, staring at the stranger. “What happened?”

  “He doesn’t know,” Arlie answered for him. “I found him out off of River Road. His head looks pretty bad. I thought it’d be better to bring him here rather than trying to make it to Arbordale.”

  The doctor stepped back, slipping gloves onto his hands from a box on the wall. “Come on in here,” he said. “Let’s get a look and see how deep it is.” The man walked into the small room and Arlie took a seat outside of his office, watching as the door closed behind him.

  “So, who was he?” Roberta asked. “I’ve never seen him around here.”

  “I…I don’t know, actually,” Arlie answered. “I think he’s having a bit of memory loss from his wound. He doesn’t seem to remember anything.”

  “How very strange,” Roberta said, her mouse-like voice even higher than usual. “I’m sure the doctor will get him all fixed up. It was nice of you to stop, though I’m not sure it was the safest plan.”

  Arlie nodded. “Yeah, well, it’s October third. Nothing’s safe around here right now.” She tried to smile, though she knew it came out stiff
and she looked away. Roberta’s voice grew quieter as she spoke again.

  “How are you holding up, love? I know we’re getting closer to…” She trailed off. It wasn’t like she needed to say it. Each day that the anniversary drew nearer, Arlie could feel it in her bones. Another year had passed where she hadn’t seen her husband’s face, another year without his touch or hearing his voice. But, then again, she was hardly alone in her grief. Not in Crimson Falls, anyway. October thirteenth was a day where everyone was grieving. They’d all lost, and no one’s grief was any larger than another’s.

  “One day at a time, right?” Arlie asked, because what else was there to say? “I’m just ready for this month to be over.”

  “Aren’t we all?” Roberta said grimly. Just then, the door opened and Doctor Phillips walked out. He disappeared down a hallway, and Arlie looked into the room, where the stranger sat on the table.

  “You okay in there?” she asked.

  He smirked. “Getting there, I think.”

  "I'm going to get him bandaged," the doctor said, rounding the corner with a roll of gauze and tape in his hand. "But he's going to need to get staples." He smirked at the stranger. "You just got lucky enough with that placement that I can't help you. I can stop the bleeding as much as possible to hold you over until you get there." He walked back into the room, leaving the door open this time, and within a few moments, walked back out. This time, the man was behind him, gauze wrapped around his scalp to cover the wound.