33. Ethan
Ethan
The moment we pulled into my apartment parking lot, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Pulling off my helmet, I saw it was a call from Jake. Calder saw the name too and grumbled under his breath. Those boys, even though they had never met, were just not going to get along.
“Hey Jake,” I said, answering the call despite the glare from Calder. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to let you know that the local police reached out to the paper,” he said, sounding more than a little irritated. “Apparently they don’t want us to run a story about the murders at the maze last night.”
“Really? Why not?” I tried to sound annoyed even though I was secretly relieved.
“Don’t know,” Jake huffed. “They didn’t give a reason. And when I pushed back, they went over my head to the editor. So now, if I want to keep my job, I don’t have a choice.”
“So, there’s just no article going out?”
“Oh no, there is, but get this.” His voice lowered, like he was trying not to be overheard. “They forced me to report that the victims had died of exposure. It already went out with this morning’s paper.”
I made a mental note to grab one on the way back to Calder’s place. “Huh. Maybe they just want to investigate? Or they don’t want to alarm people?”
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on,” Jake said flatly.
“Then what’s going on?”
He let out a long sigh. “Ethan… you know I care about you and I don’t want to seem like an asshole…”
I took a deep breath, already knowing what was coming.
“But that guy you’re seeing… the one that seems a little too connected to all this… I think he’s behind it. I think they’re blackmailing the police.”
I forced myself to laugh although I wasn’t sure it sounded convincing. “Really, Jake? That’s your angle? Blackmailing the police?”
There was a pause on the line. I could almost see Jake's frustrated expression through the phone.
"You think I'm being ridiculous," he said finally.
"Kind of, yeah." I glanced at Calder, who was leaning against his bike, arms crossed, clearly trying not to look like he was eavesdropping. "Look, Jake, I appreciate your concern, but Calder's a mechanic, not some criminal mastermind with police connections."
"Then how do you explain him always showing up exactly when you need help? The timing is too perfect."
I rolled my eyes even though Jake couldn't see me. "Maybe he just cares about me?"
"Think about it," Jake pressed. "The police are hiding the real cause of death, and your boyfriend shows up right when all this starts happening. He knows things he shouldn't know. He's secretive. He's protective to the point of controlling. Classic signs of someone involved in something illegal."
I glanced at Calder, who was standing rigidly, clearly able to hear every word through the phone. His jaw was clenched tight, that muscle in his cheek twitching dangerously.
"I need to go," I said, not bothering to hide my irritation.
"Wait, Ethan—" Jake's voice turned urgent. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re right, Jake,” I said. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t trust the guy.”
“Well, you’re allowed to be wrong.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
“Anything else I need to know?” I asked, wanting this conversation to be over with. “Work related stuff?”
“No,” Jake replied flatly. “Just that trick-or-treating is cancelled this year. And there’s a curfew in place for anyone under eighteen.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“Sure.”
Then the line went dead. “Well, the city cancelled trick-or-treating this year,” I said, looking up from my phone.
“Not surprising,” Calder replied, looking more irritated than I’d seen him in a long time.”
My phone buzzed again. But this time it was a message from my mother.
“Oh, and it looks like Mom is gonna be in town tomorrow afternoon. Leave it to her to show up on a holiday and during a crisis. She gives me a hard time about being a reporter and then doesn’t bat an eye when there’s a murderer on the loose in her vacation spot. ”
Calder's eyes narrowed as he looked at my phone. "Great. Just what we need right now."
I pocketed my phone with a sigh. "She means well. She just has terrible timing."
"And terrible judgment," Calder muttered. "Coming to a town with an active serial killer."
"To be fair, she doesn't know that part." I gestured toward my building. "Let's get that box and get out of here. I don't want to stay any longer than necessary."
The walk to my apartment felt like crossing a minefield. Every shadow seemed to stretch a little too long, every sound made me flinch. Calder stayed close behind me, his body radiating tension like a coiled spring. When we reached my door, I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking slightly.
"I've got it," Calder said gently, taking the keys from me.
Inside, my apartment felt foreign, like it belonged to someone else. It had only been a few days since I'd stayed here, but it felt like a lifetime. The place smelled musty and unlived-in, nothing like the warm, spicy scent of Calder's home that I'd already started thinking of as mine.
"Under the bed," I said, leading him to my bedroom.
I knelt down and pulled out a large banker’s box. It was heavier than I remembered, weighted down with fourteen years of obsession and grief. My fingers trembled as I pulled off the lid.
"You okay?" Calder asked, his hand warm on my shoulder.
"Not really,” I replied, taking a deep breath. “This box… it’s full of too many memories, too many sleepless nights. And too many nightmares that I’ve tried to forget.”
Calder squeezed my shoulder. “I’m right here, pup.”
Inside the box were newspaper clippings, photocopied police reports, maps marked with red ink, photographs I’d collected, and dozens of handwritten notes.
It was my life's work, my obsession, hidden away where no one could judge me for it.
I'd promised my therapist I would let it go, that I'd stop trying to solve my father's murder and move on with my life. I'd lied.
"This is everything," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Everything I've collected about the attacks. My father's murder, similar cases in New England, patterns I've noticed."
Calder's expression was unreadable as he looked at the contents. "You've been tracking this thing for fourteen years."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway.
"I had to. No one believed me about what I saw.
They all thought I was traumatized, making things up to cope.
" I pulled out a folder of newspaper clippings.
"But I wasn't the only one who saw something they couldn't explain. Other victims, other witnesses... they were just smart enough to keep quiet about it. That or they didn’t understand what they saw.”
Calder reached into the box and pulled out a map with red ink marking attack sites. "These are all connected?"
"I think so. They all seemed to have unexplained attack patterns or things that didn’t fit a normal animal attack. Some of them have the same MO too with the heart missing.”
Calder took the map from me, studying it intently, his brows furrowed in concentration.
"Some of these attacks go back decades," he murmured, his finger tracing a line of red marks that stretched from northern Maine down through New Hampshire and Massachusetts. "You think it's the same creature all this time?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe it's multiple creatures of the same kind. Or maybe..." I hesitated, pulling out a notebook filled with my scrawled theories. "Maybe it lives a long time. Longer than humans."
“Or they’re family,” Calder added, flipping through the notes. “A killing tradition passed down from father to son.”
I stopped, turning to face him. “I… I hadn’t considered that.”
“How would you know?” Calder asked, giving me a shrug. “My sources know of a monster that caused problems back in the sixties. But he was older and would most likely be dead by now. However, we have no idea if he managed to have any children or if he passed on his bloodlust.”
“Wait a second,” I gasped, suddenly remembering something. “I think I know what you’re talking about!”
I dug through the box furiously, locating a small box near the very bottom.
Pulling the lid off, I saw it was filled with photos, small square vintage prints from way back in the day.
Some of them were of mountain landscapes and some were forests with strange figures in the distance.
But this one had always stuck out to me because it looked so real.
“Here it is!” I said, pulling out a small sepia photo of a creature with glowing eyes. “This is the oldest one I ever found. I honestly thought it was fake for the longest time.” I flipped the photo over and began to read.
“November twenty second. Nineteen sixty-seven.
I don't know what it was, but it killed Daisy, our best milk cow.
I shot it twice and it didn't seem to notice.
The sheriff came out and said it was a coyote attack and that I must've missed my shot.
He's a damn fool. I've never missed a shot in my life.
It came back last night and I managed to get a photo of it.
But the family is coming up for Thanksgiving tomorrow, so I'll take a copy of this photo down to the sheriff after that.
I just hope that monster, whatever it is, doesn't come back.
I'm not sure my shotgun will be enough to stop it.”
I lifted my gaze to Calder. I expected to see surprise or shock on his face, but instead I saw understanding.
“Thanksgiving day of nineteen sixty-seven was the first incident we have on record,” he said softly, taking the photo for a closer look. “I didn’t know there was a photograph though.”
“Nobody does except me,” I said, stepping up beside him. “I found it at an estate sale in the bottom of an old shoebox. Nobody thought anything of it. I was half convinced it was just a costume or an art project.”
“Ethan… I can’t believe you found this,” Calder said, staring at the photo with an intensity that made me shiver. “This might be the only photo of this monster that has ever existed.”
“Uh… no it’s not.” I reached into the box, pulling out a solid handful of photos that all contained monsters.
“I’ve found tons of them.” I reached inside the banker’s box, pulling out larger items. “I’ve got police sketches, reports, and even a few more modern photographs.
Although I usually don’t keep anything after ninety-nine.
Digital alterations were getting too good for me to trust them anymore. ”
Calder flipped through the photos, his jaw hanging open.
“Some of them are obviously taxidermy or costumes,” I added. “But more than a few defy explanation.”
“My god…” Calder muttered, still rifling through everything. “You’ve found more than I ever thought possible. We… We’ve been so careful.”
“Careful?”
He nodded. “To keep it hidden. To keep it a secret.” He stared up at me, his hands full of photos, sketches, and reports. “But this box… it could prove to the entire world that monsters are… real.”
I thought he’d look excited or maybe awestruck. But instead Calder seemed almost… scared.