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Hogg Darn Secrets

The Past

I t had been days since Joan first saw the little girl, and she couldn’t get the image out of her mind. A child that young, barefoot, filthy, and alone in the middle of nowhere; it didn’t sit right with her. She’d reported it to the sheriff’s department, but nothing had come of it. Deputy Berger had brushed off her concerns as if she’d imagined the whole thing.

His attitude hadn’t satisfied Joan. No child should be wandering alone in this harsh environment. There were rattlesnakes and mountain lions, and in packs, even coyotes could be a threat. She tried to keep an eye out for the girl after that, but there was no sign of her. Still, the image lingered of the small, frightened, hungry child.

Then there were the sounds. Ever since that strange encounter, Joan had noticed barking and howling coming from the direction of the old Tanner homestead. The noise had an edge to it, almost desperate, like the animals were crying out in pain or fear. It wasn’t normal. The howling would start every evening at feeding time and stretch on for an hour, a low, mournful sound that chilled her to the bone.

The unease gnawed at her, mixing with her frustration over Deputy Berger’s lack of action. But she had other things to focus on. It was Tuesday, and in three days, she’d see her granddaughter, Willow. That was her comfort. She could feel Willow’s arms around her, grounding her, giving a reprieve from the dark and troubling thoughts that plagued her.

Joan glanced at her new puppy, who was dozing in the shade.

“I’ll keep you close until I know more about those dogs,” she murmured, glancing toward the far-off homestead.

The barking made her uneasy, though the source was still far enough away not to be a direct threat—yet.

When she’d returned from picking up the puppy at the airport, she found her shed broken into and a few tools missing. It didn’t take much guessing to figure out who was responsible. The new family at the Tanner place, the Hoggs as she would learn, were trouble, plain and simple. Joan had heard enough from Berger’s warning, but seeing the damage and missing items confirmed it for her. She hadn’t even bothered calling the sheriff this time. Nothing would be done.

Still, it gnawed at her. She wasn’t the type to sit by and do nothing. She believed in helping people, especially children like the little girl she’d seen. In her mind it was atonement for her granddaughter Willow, and she would pay for the remainder of her life. If her neighbors were stealing from her, maybe meeting them face-to-face would set some boundaries. If she introduced herself, she might get a better sense of what was happening out there, and if the girl needed help.

With that thought, she packed up a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies for the kids and loaded them in her truck, Lucy, for the short drive over. The road was rough, narrow, and lined with scraggly bushes that whipped against the side of the old paint. Lucy grumbled beneath her as the wheels rolled over the ruts and rocks in the dirt road, but the familiar sound calmed Joan’s nerves.

The homestead appeared ahead, and Joan’s stomach tightened. The house, if you could call it that, was more of a crumbling shack with patches of tarps and rusted metal sheets thrown together to cover holes. Old vehicle tires rested on the roof to keep it from blowing away. Dog kennels, poorly constructed, were scattered across the yard, their chain-link doors barely held together. The barking had only grown louder as she approached, a cacophony of yelps and cries from the dozens of dogs crammed into the tiny spaces.

Her heart sank. This was worse than she’d imagined.

A man appeared from around the side of the barn, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He was short and stocky, with grimy jeans and an oil-stained shirt. His eyes narrowed against the sun. His hair was long and greasy, his face scruffy and unshaven. He stopped in his tracks, anger radiating off him in waves.

“What do you want?” he called, his voice rough as gravel. A large brindle-colored dog stood by his side.

Joan studied the canine. He was a muscular, compact force of nature, all sinewy strength beneath a coat of multi-colored stripes that gave it a wild, feral look. Its wide, powerful chest led to a thick neck that seemed to bunch with tension, as if barely holding back its aggression. Sharp amber eyes glared out from beneath a low brow, alert and distrustful, completely predatory, almost daring her to challenge. Scars peppered its face and shoulders, tokens of countless fights, each one etched into its short, bristling fur. Its lips pulled back in a low, menacing snarl, exposing slightly yellowed teeth that gleamed with a promise of violence.

Joan stepped away from the truck, balancing the plate of cookies in her hand, forcing a smile she didn’t feel.

“I’m your neighbor, Joan Morgan. I live down the road.” She held the plate out slightly. “Thought I’d come by, introduce myself, and bring cookies for the kids.”

The man’s eyes flicked to the plate, then back to her face. He didn’t move. From behind him, a woman emerged, thin and gaunt, her dress hanging loosely from her small frame. Her head was down, and she barely glanced at Joan before retreating toward the house. A small figure clung to her skirt. It was the hungry little girl. Her wide eyes locked onto Joan’s for a moment, and she shook her head sharply before she, too, disappeared behind the woman.

“You want to please my kids, huh?” the man sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, we don’t need nothin’ from you.”

Joan’s forced smile faltered.

“I just wanted to say hello. You know, in case you ever need anything.”

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted the shotgun on his shoulder. The brindle’s low growl gained force with its owner’s tone.

“We won’t ever need your help. And your damn cookies can go in the trash for all I care.”

The boys appeared. Four of them, the youngest about fourteen, each with the same hostile glare. Dirt and grime seemed embedded into their very being. They didn’t say anything, just stood there, arms crossed, watching her like a pack of wolves waiting for the signal to attack.

Joan swallowed, her grip tightening on the plate. This was a mistake. She should have stayed home. She hadn’t realized the depth of the hostility here, the danger lurking just beneath the surface. Deputy Berger had tried to warn her.

“Well,” she said, her voice quiet but steady, “if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

The man grunted, his face twisting into a sneer as he jerked his head toward the driveway.

“Get off my land.”

Joan didn’t argue. She turned and climbed back into Lucy, setting the plate on the passenger seat. She started the truck and backed out slowly, keeping her eyes straight ahead. She could feel their gazes burning into her as she drove away.

In the rearview mirror, the crumbling homestead disappeared behind a cloud of dust. She didn’t need to see it to know the kind of people living there. Trouble.

As soon as she was out of sight, Joan let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her hands shook slightly in anger as she gripped the wheel.

“I’m a damn fool,” she muttered to herself. “I should’ve known better.”

She would later learn she’d trespassed on the Hogg family’s homestead and Jeb Hogg was the leader of the pack.