IV

He knew the rules. He and everyone else in town. There wasn’t a single household that didn’t. If they wanted to ignore the rules—pretend they didn’t exist—that’s up to them. But they still followed.

If someone went missing in the woods, they were gone. No use looking for them. Sheriff Sheckle knew that. He knew it better than anybody. Hell, he lost his own child to those damn woods and not a single soul disagreed when he’d said it. Missing for a week and shows up sick, it’s the goddamn woods.

Never go in them alone, they said. Never go whistling, never go at night. Sheriff Sheckle tried to follow the rules. He really did. He’d tried to deputize others, but when they heard the job he was about to do everyone had an excuse. They had to plow their fields. They had to brush their horses. They had to shovel the pig shit.

So he went alone. He carried a rifle and two pistols, all loaded. He trekked through the woods around the Fletcher farm from dawn until just before dusk, never staying until the sun touched the horizon. By that point, he was already halfway home.

And it still felt like he was pushing too far.

The further into the woods he ventured, the tighter he held his weapons. The quicker his head swiveled. The more anxious his horse would become. Eventually he had to leave it at the farm and walk through on foot, but no matter how desperate he became there was no sign of Sheryl Fletcher.

On March 10th he had an appointment in Fredericksburg, and along the way he’d mentioned the search for Sheryl to anyone he passed. Most of them had heard by now, the old woman had disappeared sometime after her husband had died. Most of them believed she was long dead herself, but each one agreed to come to him with news.

He’d sent word to James Fletcher on the murder of his father and the disappearance of his mother. It would arrive in a few days, and he suspected that James would make the trip to Virginia the following week.

For another seven days Sheriff Sheckle searched the Fletcher property and woods. From dawn until just before dusk, every day. Every crunch under his boots made the sheriff flinch, every birdsong that went quiet ran a shiver up his spine. Every cool breeze that rustled the leaves, Sheriff Sheckle instinctively crouched, and aimed his rifle.

There was never any sign of Sheryl Fletcher.

—

Two weeks after the incident, on March 17th, still with no progress, and no word from James, Caroline Landry had sent her daughter Eveline to invite Sheriff Sheckle and his boy over for supper, and they accepted.

The ride to the Landry farm was longer than the ride to the Fletcher’s. He and Thomas wrapped themselves in wool coats preparing for another helping of snow. The last time he’d made a trip beyond his search, down to Richmond a week before, he’d been shivering the entire way there and back with the steady flakes.

Emmett’s eldest, Matthew, welcomed them at the gate. He was smaller than the sheriff remembered him being. Sickly, almost. The boy looked too thin for his age, and for the food his momma cooked.

“You, all right, son?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Matthew responded. The sheriff noted his voice was hoarse, something to ask Emmett about later.

They rode up to the house. The sheriff made sure to drop a sack of apples outside the slave quarters when nobody was looking. As he rode away, he caught a black hand worm its way out of the decrepit doorway and pull them inside.

“Jim! Wonderful to see you again,” Caroline said. She approached and grazed his shoulder, blood soaking her apron. “Won’t be too much longer now.”

Emmett stood from his table stiffly and shook his hand. “Appreciate you coming. Any word on Sheryl?”

“Emmett!” Caroline cried.

“What?”

“It’s not polite to—”

“Quite all right, Mrs. Landry. No, not a word or a sighting yet on Mrs. Fletcher. I’ve been combing the woods for weeks, and nothing.”

“Who’s gone with you?” Emmett asked.

“No one,” Matthew responded. Sheriff Sheckle snapped his neck in the direction of the young man. He felt his eyes widen and his heart beat just a little faster.

“He’s right, no one. How’d you know that?”

“Just rumor that you been asking around the town. Heard from Oliver Thrice that his old man tried to make an excuse about pig shit.”

“Well, he didn’t just try. He did make an excuse about pig shit, but it’s valid. A man has got to work, and he’s gotta take care of his own before he can take care of another. I respect it.”

“So you went out there alone?” Emmett asked. The sheriff caught Lee peeking around the corner of his bedroom, watching them intently.

“I did. Went in armed, nothing to worry about.”

“One rifle, two pistols?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All loaded?”

“I carried them capped, yes. I wasn’t going out there without proper protection, but I couldn’t not go out either.”

“I understand that, but—”

“Pa?” Lee called. “Did you want to show him the thing?”

The room paused. Caroline’s spoon stopped stirring, Matthew stopped scratching at the

table. Eveline stopped stoking the fire, and Emmett appeared to stop breathing.

“Thomas, why don’t you go into the bedroom with Lee?” Emmett suggested. “Eveline, you too please.”

“But—” Eveline tried to argue.

“Eveline, go into the room and shut the door.” Emmett leaned into Matthew. “You, too. Keep an eye on them,” he whispered, eyeing the sheriff. Matthew nodded, and as he rose the sheriff noticed that in his hand was a pistol. The same from Hardy Fletcher’s barn.

All four children tucked themselves into the bedroom. Matthew looked back and nodded to the sheriff, and shut the door.

“Is he sick?”

“Matthew? I’m not sure. He doesn’t seem to have an appetite, barely eats right now,” Emmett said. “I tried forcing him, it all came back up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure he’ll be okay.” There was a quiver to his voice. The sheriff had heard it before, in his own, when his own child was ill.

“Why did you send them away? What is it we need to talk about?”

“You went into those woods alone, yes? Knowing all the stories and knowing everything that might be happening?”

“Emmett, those stories are just stories. Let me tell you, every time I heard something move in those woods my barrel was pointing in that direction. I almost took the head off of a fox once. This thing was pure black, I thought it was a wolf until I realized its size.”

“You were in quite a hurry to get off the farm when me and my boy were there.”

“I was, there had been at least one murder and a woman missing. I didn’t want to stay there any more than either of you did.”

“But you kept going back.”

“Sheryl is still missing. We’re looking for a body now, I suspect. As we have been suspecting, I suppose. I haven’t yet heard from James about burial arrangements, we can hope she made her way to him, but I have my doubts.

Emmett nodded in agreement. He turned his back to the sheriff. “Hosea? Could you come in here?” he called.

An older black man came from the far bedroom. Jim recognized him, though it had been years since they had last seen each other. The wrinkles deepened and spread, his eyes sank a little further back into his head, and his lips had thinned. He cradled something in his hands.

“Master Jim, a pleasure to see you again,” he said.

Jim rose from his seat and extended a palm. Hosea shook his head, and Jim dropped it. “Fair enough. Good to see you again too, Hosea. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, yes it has. Nearly ten years if I’m not mistaken?”

“Something like that. What have you got in your hands?”

Unwrapping the cloth he had around the object gingerly, Hosea placed it on the table. A web, one might call it. Twigs tied together in a circle held together by a thread that crosses through the center. Over and over again, until it dripped down one way where small animal bones dangled.

“What the hell is that?” the sheriff asked.

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Caroline said.

“You remember the rules I told you two when you were kids?” Hosea asked. “The ones the late Master Landry nearly cut my tongue for? Long may he rest.”

“Sure,” Sheriff Sheckle said. “But those are just to scare the kids, right? Everybody knows them.”

“No, sir, they ain’t. Master Emmett, I told Lee them rules just this month, after you and Master Matthew came back from the Fletcher farm.”

“That’s fine, Hosea,” Emmett brushed a hand through the air. “I figured you would do that. If for nothing else it’s still good advice, don’t want to be attacked by a bear unarmed or have wolves approach without light in the middle of the night. Don’t want to attract the attention of killers in the woods by whistling, neither.”

“But those rules ain’t for killers, sir. Those rules are for the woods. And this here? You know as well as I this came from the woods.”

Sheriff Sheckle took a pistol and edged around the artifact. He nudged it back and forth across the table, listening to the bones crackle across the wood, and watched as the piece warped itself around the twigs held together by loose string. A brief image flashed through his mind, of bringing the butt of his pistol down on the twigs, splintering them. It made him queasy.

“Who found it?” he asked.

“Eveline, sir. She went off into the woods by her lonesome. The young Zella was supposed to be with her, going out to pick up mushrooms and poke greens and the like. They got separated, Zella don’t know how and neither does Mistress Eveline. The young woman found this in a field she’d never been to before.”

The sheriff continued to poke and prod at the bones. There was a force drawing at his arms, pulling them toward it. He wanted to touch it.

Emmett grabbed his hand, pulling him back. “I know you want to, but I suggest you don’t,” he said. “The rest of us wanted to. We kept taking it from each other. I gave it to Hosea for safekeeping until you came.”

“Sirs, if I might interrupt,” Hosea said gingerly. “I relate to the desire to understand what this ornament might be, but I suggest we cast it into the fire. Be rid of it. There should be no benefit to us holding it in the home. Whether or not it is what I think it is, it would do us no good. Cast it away.”

“Well, hold on,” the sheriff said. “I’ve got a dead man, a missing woman, and now a bone charm. And this twine, is that the same as was in the barn?”

“It is,” Emmett said. “The same twine, I mean, but it ain’t hard to come by. Caroline makes twine, I’m sure Sheryl might have as well. For all I know, my sister could have made this in childhood and now my child finds it now. Don’t mean it come from the woods.”

“No, but it’s suspicious, ain’t it? Hardy died and his guns were strung up. You and your boy find a half pig in the woods, which I never found by the way. Now you find this charm out there in a field strung together with what looks to be the same twine—same shade—is that hemp, you think?”

“Probably. Looks to be.”

“And we just want to throw it in the fire?”

“Yes,” Hosea said.

“No,” came a cry from the bedroom. The door swung open and all four children poured out of the room. “No, don’t burn it,” Lee said.

“Boy, if you don’t—”

“Please don’t burn it!” he screamed. The boy ran up to the table and snatched the ornament, running back into his room. Before he could shut the door fully Matthew slid a hand inside and took it from him.

“That’s enough!” Emmett yelled. “We’re not going to burn it. Not until I figure out what to do.”

“Sir, I really think—”

“No, Hosea. That’s enough. We don’t burn the piece, it will reside on my mantle next to my father’s musket until I deem otherwise. Is that clear?”

Murmurs of hesitant agreement echoed through the room. Jim nodded to his friend, relieved he would not have to bring the object home with him. Emmett took the charm from Matthew and stuck it above the fireplace. He turned to the small crowd watching him. “Let’s eat.”

—

The supper itself was warm. Filling. Sheriff Sheckle ate what his stomach allowed and left the rest to his growing boy. He watched the Landry clan carefully. Matthew barely touched his stew, more interested in watching the water fall off his spoon than putting anything in his stomach. Lee, on the other hand, was ravenous. As he should be. He bared his teeth at the sight of salted pork, and when his bowl was empty he turned to his brother’s, who paid no mind when the youngest Landry took it without a word.

Emmett was lost in his own food. He didn’t so much as look up during the meal, focused entirely on the slow bubbling in front of him. The water, thick with potatoes and turnips, onions and pork was all he cared for. Eveline, the sheriff noticed, kept her eyes on the window. Every once in a while she would bring the spoon to her mouth but miss, and spill onto her dress. If she cared, she didn’t show it.

And Caroline. Poor Caroline. Nearly in tears the entire night. She hardly looked to her husband, keeping her attention on her children. When Eveline spilled her stew, she would clean it up. When Lee brought the bowl to his mouth rather than use a spoon, she corrected him. And she rubbed Matthew’s shoulders as he refused to eat until he pushed her away.

“I’m sorry it became… vile,” Emmett said, as they stood outside in the darkness. The light from the house didn’t seem so welcoming anymore, hardly capable of extending beyond the stoop. The sheriff felt it a paler light, rather than a warm one. His son wrapped himself in the wool and was already facing toward home.

“It’s quite all right. Distressing times, Emmett. Though part of me believes perhaps we should listen to Hosea’s warnings, and burn the damn thing.”

“That might be the case, but we’ll have to see.”

“Are you sure it’s best to keep it there?” the sheriff asked. “I remember when old Wynn taught us how to shoot that thing. Remember when he would run against the barn doors, having us play as young soldiers?”

“I do. He would take pieces of my grandmother’s quilts and hang them in the trees, use them for target practice.” A laugh escaped Emmett’s lips. The first real sign of joy all night. “I think it will be fine there. If the damn thing is cursed, daddy’ll protect us.”

“Just take care of yourself, Emmett.”

“You as well.”

They clasped hands and Sheriff Sheckle climbed atop his horse. He turned to wave back to the Landry household, but found the door already closed. Thomas was halfway down the drive before he had a chance to turn back.

“Father, what was that about?” he asked.

“I’m not sure, son. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a room with Emmett that he’d lost control of. Never seen his boys act that way either.”

“Eveline was trying to tell me her brothers been acting strange recently,” Thomas said. “Said they been talking in their sleep and such, Matthew been sleeping real late into the morning.”

“Son, Matthew’s sick. Not sure what with, but he doesn’t look real good.”

“Like Theodore was sick?”

“Maybe, I have no way of knowing. If so, we best pray for Emmett, but I have a thought we might need to be praying anyway.”

They made their way to the main road. The woods around them were dead. Not a sound stirred from them, and as Sheriff Sheckle rode beside his son his hand lay firmly on one of his two pistols.

“Thomas, I want you to ride a little faster,” he said.

“Why?”

Jim didn’t answer. He kicked his horse and his boy followed.

They advanced from a gait to a trot, and faster into a canter. By the time they passed the Fletcher’s farm Jim Sheckle and his son were at a full gallop. He pushed them hard, not stopping until they were outside their home and didn’t bother to put the horses in their small barn. He tied them up outside the house, ushered his boy—the last of his kin—inside, put a chair in front of the door and sat opposite it with a pistol aimed.

Sheriff Sheckle didn’t move all night. He remained there, frozen in fear of whatever might be following. His son lay under the table, eventually falling asleep to the crackling of a fire he’d started at the behest of his father. He made sure to stock the hearth with enough logs to last until sunrise.

The sheriff didn’t have to pull his trigger that night. Not on either of his pistols. Nothing followed him home. In fact, nothing followed him off the farm. What lived on Landry land remained on Landry land, and while it may have watched Sheriff Sheckle and his boy escape, it did not pursue. The sheriff knew this, he felt it deep in his heart, and his heart hurt for the Landry clan.