No man in that room was willing to start talking; in fact, they were there to hear what Jackson had to say, but even he didn't seem ready to speak.
The sheriff took a deep breath, removed his hat, placed it on the table, and began:
"What I'm about to say must remain between us, at least for now. I can't even imagine how much worse things would get if anyone else finds out."
Adam suddenly spoke:"Jackson, you're scaring me."
The truth was, Adam had never seen that dark look in the eyes of the man he admired so much, someone he thought was unshakable.
"All this crap started before you or Steven were even born. It was during Mayor Carl's first term. You know he began his political career here and never left. Red Hollow was a mess of a town for its size—crimes of all kinds happened here: kidnappings, disappearances, trafficking, robbery, murder… Carl promised to clean it all up, like any mayor would. I wasn't sheriff yet, but I was on my way there. Actually, it was because of Carl that I became sheriff.
We had different methods back then—I mean, a criminal or murderer had no rights, no chance to commit the crime again, if you know what I mean. Of course, these things were done under the table, and to some extent, it worked."
Jackson paused, and Steven asked, as if he already knew the answer:"Are you saying you 'got rid' of them?"
Jackson raised an eyebrow:"Yeah, let's say that. But the thing is, even with those methods, things didn't improve. Actually, they got worse. I remember one day, a little girl named Chantal went missing. She was only six—a sweet girl. Her parents were desperate, especially because they knew that since she was Black, the county wouldn't care much. But not me, not Carl. We did unimaginable things to find her.
We even worked with some drug dealers back then. Because drugs are one thing, but harming a defenseless child? That's punishable even among criminals. I'm not sure if that's where it all started, but I know it was then that we realized Red Hollow had turned into a piece of hell—and we? We were condemned to live in it.
We searched for Chantal for six days, until we got an anonymous tip saying that a societal outcast had been seen with her. We looked everywhere, and someone finally said he used to hide in an old crypt structure in the cemetery—some fancy catacomb of someone important from another era. Carl went with us. I didn't like it then, but today I see how necessary it was.
I remember it like it was yesterday—we entered that small stone mausoleum, and in the middle was an elevated tomb, like the kind Popes are buried in, you know? On top of it was the poor little girl, one shoe missing, socks, and her school uniform—he had taken her right after school, around dusk. He wasn't there. It seemed like he had just been, but when we broke in, there was no trace. Chantal was ice-cold, no pulse, gray. Rope marks on her wrists, but nothing deep—she hadn't been tied up long.
We eventually identified the man—his name was Will Rudson. He fled into the woods but took at least five bullets. I know because my men didn't miss. He left a massive blood trail, but even so, we never found him. Still, we were sure he was dead—there was no way he could be alive.
Chantal seemed dead, as I said, but somehow, she woke up. Weak, but alive… or so it seemed."
Kowalski adjusted his glasses. He knew this story well, but it still gave him chills every time he heard it—as if some terrible sensation was unlocked in him.
"Seemed alive? I don't get it," Adam said, confused, already fearing the worst.
"Well, we took her to the hospital and informed the family. But we still needed to find Will—or rather, his body. The family insisted on taking Chantal home. We agreed. We weren't equipped to talk to a child anyway—different times, you know.
We let her go home with them and spent the rest of the night searching for Will's body. We had to find him. But nothing. The forest near the cemetery wasn't dense or wide, and still, we found no trace. The blood trail ended near a tiny lake. Some firefighters even went in to search, but the water barely reached their waists—nothing there.
The town was in chaos. Will had become a major problem—linked to several disappearances. And you know what? He had no pattern, no police record. These things had been happening for two years, but his parents were well-connected and covered everything up. When they died in an accident, things got worse. No more protection. He got sloppy. He wasn't a molester—God knows, if he were, I'd have killed him myself—but his victims were either never found or dumped dead in some hole.
We returned from the search with no hope, no answers, no body. So we decided it was time to speak with little Chantal. We went to her house around 3 p.m., rang the bell, knocked, but no one answered. A neighbor said she heard screams during the night and even called the police but regretted it and didn't report it. She didn't check on the family either—assumed it was a celebration for Chantal's return.
We broke down the door. The house reeked of iron. It wasn't hard to find the bodies—her mother, father, and grandmother were all in the kitchen, torn apart.
We searched the entire house for Chantal. We'd brought a young detective with us, and she helped. Just as we were about to give up, Katy—the detective—found the girl under her bed, unconscious, covered in blood. We thought she'd witnessed everything and hid in fear. We tried to wake her, but she was unresponsive. Since we'd seen this before, we thought it was normal.
We left her and Detective Kate at the hospital and resumed searching for Will Rudson. Even though there was no way he could be alive, we thought he'd done it. The search intensified. Even civilians and dealers joined in.
I got a call from the hospital around nightfall. Chantal had woken up. I left a cop in charge of the Will search and rushed over.
The hospital was chaos. Nurses were panicked. A cop and two guards stood at Chantal's door. I insisted on going in—they said it was dangerous. I didn't listen.
When I pushed the door open, the scene was horrific. I can't even describe it fully—as a Christian, you never expect to witness such a thing. Chantal was crouched over Kate's mutilated body. Her mouth, her teeth—everything was drenched in blood. I've been hunting since I was eleven, and maybe I didn't see things clearly back then, but this was different. That sweet little girl… was a predator. And Kate? Poor Kate… was her prey. Her fourth prey."
"Wait—you're saying that little girl killed her whole family? And the detective too??" Abrax was in disbelief.
Jackson continued:
"I didn't know how to react. If it had been an adult, I would've arrested them or shot them if they resisted. But she was smiling—with those… things… fangs. Looked like saber-tooth tips—smaller maybe, but terrifying nonetheless.
An old priest from the town heard about it. His church wasn't far from the hospital. He was very old, Irish like his successor. He said he'd seen similar cases in other cities, even countries. He believed it was a demonic manifestation and claimed he knew how to handle it. I would've stopped him—but after seeing what she could do, I realized Chantal wasn't in that body anymore.
You should've seen how she moved—how she came at us. The priest handed me a strange gun—like an old hunting rifle, like the one my father had—with silver bullets. I shot her in the legs, but Olsen, even old, took the gun and blew her head off right there, in that hospital room.
Then he said we needed to burn the body—to ensure the 'demon' didn't return. I didn't know how I'd explain this to the others—or to Carl—but I didn't have to. Because later that night, one of my officers found Will. He attacked and killed the cop… but later, that same officer rose from the morgue table and tried to kill others. He found a gun with silver bullets and shot himself."
"Wait, wait. What happened to Chantal? And who the hell was that priest??" Steven asked.
"The priest's name was Olsen. Old school. He said he'd seen this before—called it a form of demonic possession. Said only certain weapons and rituals could end it. If I hadn't seen it myself, I'd think it was madness. But after Chantal attacked like that, I knew she wasn't a child anymore.
And after what happened with that officer… I knew one thing for sure: only silver can stop those things.
And after that night, everything got worse. It was as if those… things felt free, confident, to walk among us and turn people into monsters just like themselves."