Page 20 of Whiteout

"The Huntsman is back to pass judgment on the people of Hemlock Hollow. Haven't you heard the stories?"

I turn to the bystander, my eyes widening. "What do you mean, 'he's back'?"

Just then, my breath hitches as I see a black body bag, being wheeled out on a stretcher. Two men load the body into the back of a van with "Coroner" printed on the side.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

The bystander, her eyes still glued to the scene playing out in front of us, replies, "The Huntsman has started his killing spree early this year. He's never taken a life before Christmas Eve, but it looks like he's breaking tradition this year."

The bystander's words echo in my mind. "The Huntsman is back to pass judgment." But it can't be. It's just an old legend, a scary story. My mind flashes to Kris. There's no way... But a seed of doubt has been planted. I need to find out more.

"Can you point me in the direction of the sheriff's office?" Iask the woman standing next to me

"Walk back to the bakery and take a left. It's a block down on the right."

"Thank you," I say and back away from the crowd, my eyes fixed on the van until it turns the corner and disappears from view. As I make my way through the crowd, people's voices buzz around me, speculating about the identity of the victim and the meaning of the Huntsman's early appearance.

I walk briskly, retracing my steps. I find the bakery and then take a left. I spot the sheriff's office down the street on the right, just like she said.

I step inside, the bell above the door jingling to announce my arrival. I walk through a short hallway and then straight into a cramped office space. A large desk sits in the middle, dominating the room with a couple of offices in the back. An older woman sits behind the desk, her eyes leave the computer screen she was focused on as I approach her.

"How can I help you, Miss?"

"Hi, I'm Ivy Anderson. I'm a podcaster, and I'm here in Hemlock Hollow doing some research. I understand there's a lot of historyand tradition in this town."

The woman regards me cautiously. "That's true, Miss Anderson. What is it exactly that you want to know?"

"Well, I couldn't help but overhear some folks talking about the Huntsman. It's quite a tale. I'm curious if there are any records or, perhaps, any actual sightings?"

"I can't claim to know all the details, but I do know it's a story that's been passed down through the generations. A sort of boogeyman of Hemlock Hollow, meant to keep people in line."

I take a seat in the chair in front of her desk. "But what about recent sightings? Has anyone ever actually seen him?"

Her expression shifts, becoming more guarded. "Now, that's hard to say. People claim to have spotted him from time to time, but it's hard to separate fact from fiction in small towns like these."

"And the body I saw being taken away? Is this the work of the Huntsman?"

Her eyes narrow, "I'm sorry, but we can't comment on an ongoing investigation or give out any information at this time. If you have any tips orinformation, feel free to leave your contact information, and someone will be in touch."

"Of course." I pause, hesitating before I decide to push a little further. "Could you at least tell me, is the Huntsman real, or just a legend?"

"All I can say is that the Huntsman is very real. He's been a part of this town's history for as long as anyone can remember. Now, if you don't have any more questions, I'll need you to please exit the building. It's my lunch break and with the sheriff out on a call, I'll have to lock up the building."

"Thank you for your time," I say, turning to leave the building. But an idea forms in my mind, and I push open the door to the sheriff's office without exiting. The bell jingles above me, masking the sound as I duck into the bathroom. I'll wait for her to leave for lunch and then take a look at what she was doing on her computer.

I don't have to wait long. Soon, I hear the front door open and close, followed by the turn of the lock. I step out cautiously and peek around the corner to make sure the coast is clear. Seeing no one, I hurry over to the desk. Moving the mouse, I bring the monitor back to life.

I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth. Staring back at me from the computer screenis a woman, her deep red hair falling around her face. She sits on a kitchen counter tied to the cabinet. A dish towel stuffed in her mouth, and the word "Whore" carved into her stomach.

Goosebumps spread across my skin as I recognize the position she's staged in. It's the same way Kris had me tied yesterday on his kitchen counter.

"Oh my God," I whisper, backing away from the desk.

I need to get out of here, now. I rush out of the sheriff's office, nearly colliding with a man entering the building. I mutter a quick apology and continue down the street, my mind racing.

I can't believe what I've just seen. The image of that woman, bound and marked, is seared into my brain. Could it be Kris? We barely know each other, but a killer? No, I don't think so. He was there this morning, and he offered me his bed last night. Surely, he wouldn't have done that if he planned on sneaking out to murder someone.

I quicken my pace, practically running down the street to the hardware store to find Kris. I need to see him, to confront him about what I've just seen.

---