Chapter 2 - THE BLOOD ON THE MAYOR’S HANDS
The forest descended into absolute chaos.
Women screamed, men swore, and the air in the underground cellar grew thick with horror as Thomas Miller’s heartbroken wails echoed up through the iron trapdoor.
Sheriff Cobb stood at the edge of the pit, his flashlight shaking so violently that the beam bounced wildly across the trees. "He wasn't in the river," Cobb muttered, his voice hollow with shock. "All this time... we were searching the current, and he was under our feet."
Out in the shadows, Mayor Vance took a slow step backward, his boots sinking silently into the damp moss. His knuckles were white around the brass handle of the antique key in his pocket. He wasn't supposed to find this, Vance thought, his pulse hammering in his ears. Silas was supposed to rot in the asylum, and that damn dog was supposed to starve on its chain.
"VANCE!"
A roar tore through the trees.
It wasn't a human voice. It was a low, gut-wrenching growl that vibrated through the earth.
Vance froze.
Goliath stood at the top of the cellar steps. The black dog’s lips pulled back over razor-sharp teeth, dripping saliva. His dark eyes, which had looked so human and mournful moments before, were now lit with an ancient, murderous fury.
The beast didn't bark. It launched itself forward.
"LOOK OUT!" someone yelled.
Vance panicked. He threw his lantern blindly at the advancing monster. The glass shattered against a pine tree, igniting a burst of orange flame that momentarily startled the hound. Vance turned and bolted into the dark forest, crashing through thorn bushes and branches, his expensive suit tearing to shreds.
"Mayor? Mayor Vance!" Sheriff Cobb shouted, turning away from the cellar. "Where are you going?!"
Goliath leapt over the burning brush, his massive body moving like a shadow through the woods. The sound of his dragged chain cut through the silence—clink-clink-clink—a terrifying herald of vengeance.
In the cellar, Thomas emerged from the dark hole. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale as death, holding his lost son’s faded backpack to his chest. He looked around wildly.
"Where is he?" Thomas demanded, his voice dangerously calm.
"Who?" the Sheriff asked, terrified. "Tom, you need to step back. We need a forensics team from the city—"
"WHERE IS VANCE?!" Thomas screamed, stepping into the Sheriff’s space.
"He... he ran toward the river when the dog snapped!" a villager stammered, pointing into the deep woods. "The dog went after him!"
Thomas looked down at the earth. He saw the sharp imprints of Vance's dress shoes in the mud, side by side with the massive paw prints of the black dog. And next to the foot tracks, lying in the dirt where Vance had dropped it during his flight, was a silver fountain pen engraved with the initials: E.V. - Mayor.
Thomas picked it up. His hands stopped shaking. A cold, lethal clarity settled over him.
"He knew," Thomas whispered. "The land the old cellar sits on... Vance bought it three years ago."
The villagers gasped.
"No, that's impossible," Sheriff Cobb stuttered, defensive. "Everett Vance is the biggest benefactor in this town! He paid for the search teams! He funded your mortgage after Toby went missing, Tom!"
"He didn't fund my mortgage out of charity," Thomas said, his voice dropping an octave, laced with venom. "He bought my silence. He kept me close so I wouldn't ask questions."
Thomas grabbed a heavy ax resting against a woodpile near the cellar opening. He didn't wait for the Sheriff. He sprinted into the woods, following the sound of snapping branches and distant, terrified screams.
Deep in the heart of Blackwood Forest, Mayor Vance was gasping for air. His lungs burned. He had lost his shoes in the mud, his feet bloody from sharp rocks. Up ahead, the roaring waters of the Blackwood River cut off his path—a hundred-foot drop over jagged rocks and churning foam.
He was trapped.
Vance turned, backing up to the edge of the cliff.
Out of the mist, the black hound emerged. Goliath walked slowly, his heavy head low, his chain leaving a deep groove in the mud. The dog didn't rush. He knew his prey had nowhere to run.
"Get back, you filthy beast!" Vance shrieked, pulling a small silver pocket knife from his vest. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped it. "I should have shot you two years ago! I should have poisoned your meat!"
Goliath stopped five feet away. The dog tilted its head, its dark eyes locking onto Vance's face.
Two years ago.
Flashback: A stormy night. A little boy chasing a loose puppy into the old sawmill. The door slamming shut. Mayor Vance standing over the trapdoor, holding a leather bag of money meant for an illegal land-bribing deal. The boy had seen the money. The boy had seen the local sheriff's badge inside the bag. Vance couldn't let the boy leave. He locked him in the root cellar, intending to figure out what to do later. But Old Silas's dog—Goliath—had witnessed it all. The dog had fought to break its chain, barking madly at the Mayor, trying to protect the boy. Vance had beaten the dog with an iron rod, breaking its ribs, and chained it to the fence, leaving it to starve.
For two years, the dog had survived on scraps thrown by pitying villagers, barking frantically at anyone who passed, trying to tell the town that the monster wasn't in the forest—the monster was wearing a suit.
"You're just an animal!" Vance screamed at the cliff’s edge. "Nobody will believe a brute like you!"
CRACK!
A heavy wooden branch shattered against the back of Vance’s knees.
Vance shrieked, collapsing into the dirt. He rolled over, clutching his shattered legs, to see Thomas Miller standing over him. Thomas's eyes were completely dead of emotion, the heavy ax resting on his shoulder.
"Where is my son, Everett?" Thomas asked.
Vance coughed, blood spilling over his lip. "Thomas... listen to me. It was an accident! Silas... old Silas took him! I tried to save him, I swear!"
Thomas raised the ax.
"WAIT!" Vance sobbed, crawling backward toward the roaring edge of the waterfall. "He's not dead! Toby isn't dead!"
Thomas froze. The ax hovered in the cold air. "What did you just say?"
Vance caught his breath, realizing he had just handed away his only bargaining chip. "He... he wasn't in the cellar when Silas was taken to the asylum six months ago. Someone took him out. Someone bought him."
Thomas’s blood ran cold. "Bought him?"
Before Vance could speak another word, a deafening BANG shattered the night.
A bullet struck Vance right in the center of his chest.
Vance’s eyes went wide. Blood pooled rapidly across his white shirt. He gasped once, lost his footing on the slippery mud of the cliff edge, and fell backward into the roaring darkness of the Blackwood River below.
Thomas spun around.
Standing in the trees twenty yards away, holding a smoking rifle, was Sheriff Cobb.
"He was lying, Tom," Cobb said, his voice trembling as he stepped forward, lowering the rifle. "He was trying to play mind games with you. I had to take the shot. He was going to drag you down with him."
Thomas looked at the Sheriff. Then he looked at the ground.
Lying in the mud where Vance had been sitting was a small leather-bound notebook that had fallen from the Mayor's coat.
And standing beside Thomas, Goliath looked up at Sheriff Cobb and unleashed a howl of pure, unadulterated horror.
May you like
Because Goliath wasn't staring at the dead Mayor.
Goliath was staring at the Sheriff’s boots.
