by J. L. Hickey
It Was Born in the Darkness of the Wood
J.L. Hickey
© Copyright J.L. Hickey 2021
Black Rose Writing | Texas
© 2021 by J.L. Hickey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-665-4
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
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This book is dedicated to my family, and to the authors that kept me sane with their beautiful stories: Stephen King, Ruth Ware, Gillian Flynn, and BA Paris. Thank you.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Recommended Reading
Dedication
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
FIFTY-THREE
FIFTY-FOUR
FIFTY-FIVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
BRW INFO
ONE
Officer Clent Moore approached the residence of Dennis and Nora Simmons with his partner, Vanessa Velasquez, in tow. The call was for a routine welfare check, the homeowner’s son called in, he hadn’t heard from them in a few days, and he began to worry. The house sat on the infamous Orr Rd, a beautiful two-story country home with a large white deck-like porch that wrapped around the house. The estate also came with a few acres of land surrounding it, and it sat far back from the country road atop a small knoll. Clent knew he was dealing with wealthy folk, the scarlet red 2019 BMW M6 G-Power Hurricane in the driveway was a dead giveaway. He stepped cautiously up the icy porch, gripping the handrail for good measure.
“Watch your step,” He spoke to his partner. “Steps are frozen.” He knocked three times on the front door. “Guess they can afford that BMW parked out front, but not any salt for their approach?”
“Guess not, I’ll try not to slip,” his partner Vanessa Velasquez gripped the handrail herself after almost losing her balance on a small patch of ice. Vanessa was fresh out of the academy, mid-twenties, well-toned physique. Her straight black hair was pulled neatly back in a ponytail underneath her uniformed hat. It was Vanessa’s second week on the Emmett County Police Force, eager to learn and excited to be by the side of a twenty-five-year veteran. She was lucky enough to be partnered with Officer Moore, whose partner he’d spent the majority of his career with had just retired and moved out west to sunny Cali.
“Cold as hell out here. I don’t think I will ever get used to these Michigan winters,” Velasquez’s teeth clattered from the cold.
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Tonight might be your first big storm,” Clent grinned. This winter’s been tame so far. She had no idea what’s in store for this winter.
Clent probably has forgotten more than Vanessa thought she’d ever know about being an officer of the law. Clent was decorated, he knew his way around just about anything the beat could toss at him. His presence alone was enough to make any drunken knucklehead think twice about throwing hands. Clent stood six-two with a solid toned frame, intimidating with his broad shoulders and forearms thick as dumbells. Clent was the only black officer on the force, and there were times where he got shit for it out in the predominantly white Trump-loving country folk. He was smart, collected, and experienced enough to know to defuse tense situations.
“Always this quiet out here in the country?” Vanessa’s eyes shifted to the night sky. “Never get sick of these country stars.” She was a city girl, born and raised in Miami, Florida. They didn’t have stars like this in the city; the street lights were too bright.
“Usually peaceful,” Clent responded, looking the house up and down for any signs of life. “Nearest house is almost a mile down the road both sides, and one of em’ is vacant,” Clent knocked again, this time harder. “Pretty isolated out here.”
“Seems like it,” Vanessa replied.
“Police! Anyone home?” Clent wiggled the handle to the door, locked. “Most of the calls we get out here are drunken kids getting into trouble. They like to come in from town out here in the sticks and disrupt the folk around here. Idiot teens like to hang in the woods, smoke dope, trespass where they shouldn’t. Always sneaking into the old Leveille Murder house too, you know, because of the history, just city kids doing dumb city kid shit.”
“Nothing attracts dumb kids like a murder house, and underaged drinking,” Vanessa smirked. She’d heard the stories about the abandoned Leveille house when she took the job on the force. She was in her last year of college when the murder happened. She remembered the news coverage, the murder reached her social media timelines, due to the brutality of the crime. The story went national.
“Yep,” Clent shook his head. “
Wish they’d tear it down. Couple times a year, we gotta come out here and break up dumb teens trespassing on the property, spooking themselves stupid. Somebody from Detroit snatched up the place, pays for its upkeep during the summer. I hear they want to turn it into a haunted Bed and Breakfast or Air BNB.”
Clent knocked again.
“No one’s answering,” said Vanessa.
“Hmmm,” Clent grunted. “First welfare check?” he asked.
“Yep,” Vanessa stepped back off the porch, she studied the two-story country home. It looks to have been renovated many times over the years resulting in a very modern aesthetic. She let her eyes drift around the outside of the house, examining for anything out of the ordinary, a jarred window perhaps, any sort of sign of a breaking and entering. Everything appeared quiet. There was one light on in the second-story window, but the shades were drawn, there was no immediate movement.
“These tend to be simple, in and out. Make sure residents are fine,” Clent replied, knocking once again. This time he also rang the doorbell. “Waste of gas and time, nothing out here but farmers and rich folk. Doctors, lawyers, those types. I mean, look at this place, you think half a mill for a house this size and the land? Not on our salary,” Clent huffed. “We get shot at for a living, and I can barely pay rent at for my modest three bedroom rent to own.”
“Right,” Vanessa replied bluntly. “You mean to tell me you signed up for the money?”
“Did you?” He walked down the porch, making his way to the front windows. “So, first welfare check, good. Tell me what you see, what we know. Time for a quiz, rookie.”
“Well, someone’s definitely home,” Vanessa pointed to the car in the driveway. “Lights on upstairs as well.”
“Yep,” Clent nodded.
“The son from out of state called in the Welfare check,” she went on. “It’s been three days since he has spoken to his parents. They speak daily, very out of character for them to go that long without a call. Or so, he says.”
“Yep,” Clent replied.
“Maybe they both caught something, got ill. Just not feeling well enough to check-in?” Vanessa wasn’t sure, she was musing out loud. ”No signs of disturbance on the exterior of the home. Doesn’t seem like any foul play.”
“Maybe,” Clent checked his watch, it was just after ten pm. The moon was full and hung high in the country sky, adding barely enough natural light to see their way around the yard. A soft dusting of snow had covered the frozen earth, showing no fresh footprints anywhere. Clent approached the front doublewide window, where a small opening between the shades peered into the home. He flashed his Maglite into the house.
H heard footsteps rummaging about from within the home.
“I heard something,” said Vanessa.
“Yep,” Clent nodded again. He saw movement too, briefly. Someone darted across the living room. “We woke someone up.”
The front door opened a sliver, just large enough for a young man to stick out his disheveled face. Clent took mental notes: the man stood roughly five-eight, one hundred and sixty pounds, with shaggy brown hair, a few days of stubble on his face. He had dark brown troubling eyes, the sort of eyes that left Clent a bit uneasy. He was taking a mental picture of the man. He could see his wardrobe through the small crack of the door, a dark blue pullover hoodie, and baggy grey sweatpants. Bright blue running shoes, dirty, old, even the laces were stained brown. The young man looked fit, not in a muscular way, more like a runner. He was trim, with skinny forearms that held the door tight.
“Officers?” The man spoke, his voice low as if he had just awakened from a heavy sleep. His eyes heavy, sunken into his face like he’d come off a booze-filled weekend bender.
“Sir, are you the homeowner?” Clent stepped up onto the porch, facing the gentlemen, looking him square in the eyes. He knew he wasn’t the owner. Too young to be a college student’s father.
“No,” he answered plainly. “Why are you here? Everything is fine; I don’t need any help.”
“What’s your name, sir?” Vanessa asked, shining her flashlight towards the man, blinding him.
“Bob,” he said plainly. Putting his hands up to block the beam. “Turn that off, please?”
“Last name?” Vanessa averted the flashlight off his face and towards his feet.
“Williams,” Bob answered.
“Bob Williams, huh?” Clent added. “Short for Robert?”
“Just Bob,” he added again.
“Identification?” Clent asked.
“Sorry,” Bob frowned. “I misplaced my wallet. Been without my I.D. for a week now.”
“Hmmm,” Clent frowned. “And where did you say the homeowners were?”
“I didn’t,” Bob said plainly.
“Okay?” Vanessa added, growing impatient with his bluntness. “Can we speak to them? We’re here on a welfare check from their son.”
“Wish you could,” Bob said. “They are not home. I woke up this morning to an empty house.”
“I’m sorry?” Clent laughed smugly. “You telling me, you’re here in their house, and have no clue where the homeowners are? What’s your relation to the Simmons, Bob?”
“Friend of Dennis,” Bob answered.
“Dennis Simmons?” asked Vanessa.
“Yes,” Bob said.
“Mind if we look around?” asked Clent.
“I suppose not,” Bob opened the front door and swayed his body from blocking the home, allowing the officers inside. He was pleasant enough. Replying with short, fast answers, but calm and collected. He did not appear nervous or under distress—all things Clent mentally noted. Yet his eyes, there was something shifty about the hollowness of them.
Before entering, Clent squared off with the man. He easily outweighed him by about forty, maybe even fifty pounds had a few inches on him as well. Clent was maybe getting up there in years, but he spent his off days in the gym. He had a regiment, ate healthily, and trained five times a week, took care of himself. He could hang if he needed to. Physically, Bob posed no threat.
“Let me hit the lights,” Bob said. His hands ran up the side of the wall fingering for the switch. There was a faint click before the living room came to life.
“Nice place,” Clent studied the living room. Wall-mounted flat-screen had to be a sixty-inches easily. There was a fancy dark-brown leather couch, two matching recliners, a small end table with a lamp on it between them. Hardwood floors, beautiful artesian rug laid out at the center, a glass coffee table pulled the room together. Very clean, extremely clean. The house smelled fresh, fresh linen with a hint of vanilla. Clent was impressed. It did not look like anyone lived in the home, almost staged for inspection. “…and clean as a whistle. You smell that, Vanessa?”
“Smells like Bleach,” she replied.
“Yep,” Clent nodded.
“Yes, Nora keeps a wonderful home,” Bob replied. ”Cleans a lot.”
“How do you say you know Dennis and Nora again?” asked Vanessa. She walked herself into the kitchen, eyeing the details of the home. She found the light switch on the left-hand side of the threshold. A high chandelier hung from the center of the kitchen brought the room to life. Much like the room before, the kitchen was spotless. Not a single dirty dish in the sink, the counters freshly wiped down, not a single smear on them. The bleach smell was almost overwhelming in the kitchen. The stove looked brand new, hardly used. Too clean.
“As I said, a friend of Dennis. We share a love for old cars. He’d asked me to come up for a weekend to help him work on a project. Said he would pay me and let me stay with them for a week or two.”
“Cars aye?” Vanessa frowned.<
br />
“How long have you known each other?” asked Clent
“About four months,” Bob replied.
“I’m going to look around, you stay with Bob,” Clent nodded towards his partner. “That okay with you, Bob?”
“If it pleases you, Officer,” Bob answered. He showed no emotion.
Bob made his way into the kitchen where Vanessa was observing the contents of the kitchen fridge.
“Can I get you something, officer?” Asked Bob. “A drink? Coffee?”
“No, I’m fine,” Vanessa answered. ”You don’t look well, feeling okay?” In the brighter light, the paleness in Bob’s face was evident. She noticed the awkwardness of his eyes as well, the vacantness of them, they were dark brown, yet they had a murky like film that set in them.
“Yes, I am well,” he replied.
“Any idea where the Simmons went?” Vanessa asked.
“Not really,” Bob answered.
“Strange, though, no?” Vanessa frowned.
“I suppose so,” Bob answered. He took a seat at the dinner table, never breaking eye contact with Vanessa.
“So, how long have you been a guest at the house?”
“About four days.”
“Any idea why the Simmons aren’t answering their phone?”
“No, ma’am. Did they not take them with them? Perhaps they are here? The phones I mean.”
“Well, the problem, Bob, is that it’s not just today that they haven’t been answering? Their son, Duncan? Do you know him?”
“No.”
“I see,” She said. “Well, he hasn’t spoken to them in a few days. Which you see is weird. Because Duncan is very close with his parents, they talk daily. Sometimes multiple times a day.”
“I see,” Bob replied plainly.
“No note? No nothing? You have no idea where the Simmons are? Just left you alone in their home?” Vanessa frowned.