Page 10

Ivy

I wake to the sound of knocking on my door. I throw the covers back and drag myself out of bed. When I open the door Kris is there. "I made breakfast if you'd like some."

"Thank you, I'll be right out." I need to pull myself together. A few minutes of splashing cold water on my face and running a brush through my hair, and I feel slightly more human.

As I step into the kitchen, the rich scent of freshly cooked pancakes greets me. Kris stands by the stove, flipping one with ease. He's shirtless, his jeans hanging low on his hips. His dark hair falls slightly over his eyes, and he glances up at me when I walk into the room.

He has already poured me a cup of coffee, and there's a stack of pancakes with butter and syrup waiting for me on the table .

My gaze drifts to the counter where he had tied me yesterday. My core clenches at the memory of him inside of me and I feel my face flush.

Kris catches me looking at the counter and raises an eyebrow, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“You look hungry this morning."

"I am. I'm so glad you made pancakes. I can't think of anything I'd want more right now." I try to match his smartass comment with my own. I sit down at the table across from him and pour syrup on my stack of pancakes. I take a bite, the warm, fluffy pancake melting in my mouth.

"Oh my God, these are amazing," I managed to get out between mouthfuls.

Kris takes a seat, watching me eat. I feel like he's seeing right through me. "I'm glad you like them. It's been a while since I cooked for someone."

"Well, I'm glad to be that someone. You know, I think this is the best breakfast I've had in a long time."

As we finish our pancakes, Kris starts clearing the dishes. "I'm planning to head into town after I get the kitchen cleaned up. I need to get the materials to fix that door to the rental cabin. Would you like to come with me?"

The mention of going into town certainly caught my attention. I've been mostly cooped up here in Kris's cabin, and the idea of exploring Hemlock Hollow and maybe even gathering some information for my podcast is exciting.

"I'd really like that. I'd love the chance to just walk around and talk to the locals. Maybe I'll discover some interesting gossip for my podcast."

"I can guarantee you'll find Hemlock Hollow interesting. It's not your typical small town."

"I can't wait to see it."

Forty minutes later, Kris pulls his truck into a parking spot in front of an old hardware store.

"Do you mind if I skip the hardware store and walk around town a bit?"

Kris opens his door, pausing to turn around and look at me.

"Not at all. Take your time. It might take me a while to get what I need. I'll find you when I'm finished."

I get out of the truck and wander down the street, taking in the small-town charm of Hemlock Hollow. The main street is lined with quaint shops all decked out in Christmas decor. There's a cozy-looking bookstore, a bakery with mouthwatering aromas wafting out, and a vintage clothing store that piques my interest.

As I walk further, I notice a small crowd gathering a few blocks down. My curiosity draws me toward them. As I make my way closer, I notice a sheriff's car blocking the street in front of the crowd.

A woman in the crowd turns to her friend and whispers, "It's happening again- it's the Huntsman. He's back."

The Huntsman? Here? No. It's all a work of fiction. A tale passed down from generation to generation, weaved of fear to keep the people on the straight and narrow. He isn't real.

I push my way through the growing crowd, trying to get a better view. I nudged a bystander standing beside me. "What's going on?"

"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?" I ask 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 history and 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 or information, 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 screen is 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.

I replay our encounters in my mind. The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that this couldn't be Kris. He's intense, yes, but there's a difference between passion and malice.

But what if it's not Kris? What if someone has been watching us? My blood runs cold as I recall the figure, I thought I had seen through the window of my cabin the first day I arrived. The broken lock on my cabin door. Could it be the same person? Someone jealous of our connection, or perhaps someone with a sick fantasy?

As I turn the corner, I spot his tall frame standing outside the hardware store, loading a large box into the back of his truck. Relief floods through me at the sight of him. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine, and a smile spreads across his face then falls into a look of concern.

"Cherry, what's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you."

"What happened? You look terrified. Did someone do something to you?"

I shake my head, "No, no one did anything to me. It's what I just saw. I just came from the sheriff's office. There was a body found, a woman. She'd been marked by the Huntsman." I pause, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition. "I saw a photo of her on their computer. She was tied up, and the way she was positioned..."

"Go on."

"She was tied to a kitchen counter, exactly like you had me yesterday. I need to know, Kris. Were you home all night? Did you leave at any point?"

"No, I didn't leave. After I left your room, I went to bed. That's where I stayed all night until I got up and made us breakfast."

"Whoever it was that broke into my cabin, what if it's the same person? What if he's been watching us? What if this all ties back to the missing women?"

Kris pulls me into a tight embrace. "Don't worry, you'll be fine, but we need to get back to my cabin."

"Oh my God, what do we do? Should we go to the police? Tell them someone's been watching us?" My heart is hammering in my chest as I start to panic.

"No, we're not going to the police. I'll fix the door to the rental, but I want you to stay with me, please. It's safer for you."

"But why is it safer? I don't understand what's going on here."

"Listen, I don't know what's going on either, but I'm not leaving you alone until I find out what's happening."

"Kris, I don't think you understand. The woman in those photos, it can't be a coincidence the way she was tied up. She was posed exactly how you had me tied up yesterday. She had a red wig on, the exact same shade and style as my hair." I pause a moment, trying to keep my emotions in check as I recall the details of the photo. "There was a towel in her mouth gagging her. Then someone carved the word 'Whore' into her stomach. It was horrific."

"That's why I need to get you back to my cabin. I can protect you there. I won't let anything happen to you, Cherry. You have to trust me."

"I do trust you, Kris. I just... I don't know what to think anymore. This town, the Huntsman, it's all so much to try and wrap my head around. I feel like I've stepped into one of the stories from my podcast, and I can't tell what's real and what's not. It can't be a coincidence that a woman was posed like that."

He leans closer to me across the truck seat. "I'm real. This pull to you that I feel is real. The rest, we'll figure it out. I won't let anything happen to you; I promise."

His words, though comforting, do little to calm my nerves. Is Kris hiding something? Or is he genuinely trying to protect me? My eyes dart to Kris, searching for any sign of the Huntsman. But the man sitting next to me is just Kris. No, it's not him, he was home with me all night.

Someone is watching me, watching us, and he's pissed.