Black

By Cory Rowe

Acheron, GA. When Sheriff Paul Adams is confronted with the murder of well-liked local Eve Collins, suspicions soon turn to Sullivan Gates, a man rumoured to have killed his own parents.  Together with Eve’s husband Jesse and her mother Dawn, Adams is determined to track down the killer.

But even stranger things than murder are afoot. A misty chill has fallen on the town, the grey skies seem to swirl ominously above. Whispers spread of inhuman creatures stalking the woods outside town, and strange ritual chanting in the dead of night. Residents seem to go missing, more by the day, without leaving behind a trace.

What is the link between the death of Eve Collins and the unsettling, unnatural occurrences in Acheron? What is it that prowls the woods beyond the town? Who, or what, is behind these disappearances? Adams is determined to get to the bottom of this, but will he ­ — or any of them ­ — make it out alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781649790538

Cory Rowe

Cory Rowe was born to a military family which enabled him to travel and live in other countries and cultures. Most memorable was his time living in the United Kingdom where he developed an appreciation for rich history and the supernatural. His love for writing began as a teenager where he began many manuscripts before finally starting what would eventually be Black in his mid-twenties. Now, a decade later, he is realizing his dream of having his work published to share with the world.

Book preview

About the Author

Cory Rowe was born to a military family which enabled him to travel and live in other countries and cultures. Most memorable was his time living in the United Kingdom where he developed an appreciation for rich history and the supernatural. His love for writing began as a teenager where he began many manuscripts before finally starting what would eventually be Black in his mid-twenties. Now, a decade later, he is realizing his dream of having his work published to share with the world.

Dedication

For my friends, Bobby Ray King and Jesse Clayton Sager.

Copyright Information ©

Cory Rowe 2023

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Rowe, Cory

Black

ISBN 9781647503994 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781649790781 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781649790538 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023901332

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Chapter One

Paul Adams was a grizzled man. He was harsh and direct but kind to most. The younger adults in town called him Sheriff Paul. Paul’s facial hair was discolored from years of drinking coffee and smoking tobacco. The wiry, reddish-gray beard was accented by out-of-place rust-colored hair that circled his mouth. Rarely seen without his Stetson and old, worn duster, Paul’s garb was reminiscent of the Old West style; a recently bygone era—still somewhat prevalent with older men. Paul was immediately recognizable by the inhabitants of Acheron. Despite his old-fashioned aesthetic, people took him very seriously. Not only was he the most well-known resident, but also the tallest. Paul was as kind as he was imposing, despite the tough motif. Being the sheriff of Acheron, Georgia was the most enjoyable job Paul had ever had.

Paul served in the US Navy before his days as a sheriff. A stint that included him among the unlucky few to see battle during the short-lived Spanish-American War. It had been twelve years since he retired, and eleven since he came to Acheron. Of all the terrible things he had seen, sitting next to Eve Collins while she lay, presumably dying, was the worst. He just arrived at the home of Dr. Harold, whose morning was otherwise spent trying to stop the bleeding from Eve’s abdomen. Only moments before had the doctor left her for the brief time it took to get to the sheriff’s station, and then to hastily shuffle back to his office.

Eve was alive, barely. While Paul cared for her, Dr. Harold saw to finding Eve’s husband and mother. They must’ve expected her home a long while ago, Paul thought. He wondered why neither, yet, came looking for her.

Eve was weak and confused. Paul felt she wouldn’t last the day. Several attempts to discern who had stabbed her came up with no concrete results. Eve instead asked for her husband, Jesse. Paul recognized the confusion. It was a symptom of being near death. The pain, weakness, and morphine caused her to speak unintelligibly. Besides the word Jesse, nothing she said seemed to be of relevance. The helplessness Paul felt as he watched her struggle was not unfamiliar, but rather a feeling that he had intentionally forgotten. Eve wasn’t a soldier; rather a young woman who hadn’t sought out battle. She had no intention of putting herself in danger, and yet she would die. Paul wiped tears from his eyes as he remembered the awkward, freckled little girl when he first came to Acheron. Her makeup now covered her freckles, but tears had washed streaks of her foundation away exposing several orange dots along her cheeks.

The room was silent except for Eve’s shallow and labored breaths. Paul pressed his finger into her neck. He waited nearly ten seconds before he felt a meager bump from her jugular. A sigh in relief flicked the bristles of Paul’s mustache. Still, he knew that she didn’t have much time. He just didn’t want to be the one sitting next to her when she passed—at least not by himself.

Murder was not something that Paul often dealt with; very rarely in Acheron, in fact. Naturally, he wondered who stabbed Eve, and most importantly, why? The sound of the front door being thrown open cut through the silence. Paul expected to see Eve’s husband Jesse burst through the doors. He wanted Jesse to rush in and see that Eve was undoubtedly near death. Like ripping a bandage off a wound; sparing Paul the task of vocalizing her current condition. Just as Paul heard a commotion in the front of the house, Jesse, as expected, ran into the room. The sound must have startled Eve. Her grip tightened around Paul’s hand. Jesse completely disregarded the sheriff and rushed to the opposite side of the bed. Paul, who had watched Eve dying for longer than he could stand, gladly stood and left the room. Jesse said nothing as Paul headed into the hallway—not intending to be rude, but rather Paul had gone unnoticed in Jesse’s panic. He thought nothing of Jesse’s disinterest. He knew the feeling. He knew how singular the focus of a distressed person could be. Jesse knelt by the bed while Paul watched from the hallway, recalling a similar situation he had endured years before. Even though he couldn’t hear Jesse, he could feel the sorrow in his quiet words. For nearly half an hour Jesse rested his head next to Eve’s. He spoke to her even after her body relaxed and shallow breaths ceased. Jesse raised himself up and laid his head on her chest; not for any reason, it was instinctive. There was nothing else he could think to do. Knowing that she was gone felt like fear. He couldn’t fathom leaving her. There was nothing for him away from the side of her bed.

The house again fell silent, and again, the silence was broken as Eve’s mother came hurriedly through the doorway. Jesse lifted his head; his eyes bloodshot, and his face nearly unrecognizable; cheeks flushed and swollen. Dawn felt her legs quiver and weaken. She melted to the floor as her head dropped into her hands. Dawn then reared back, pounding the floor with her closed fist. The feeling of losing a child, no matter how old, saddled her with immense sadness. She knew why she had been asked to come to Dr. Harold’s house. She knew that someone hurt her daughter, or at least she assumed, as all mothers do, that the worst had happened.

Watching Dawn brought fresh tears to Jesse’s eyes. He grieved for himself, and now too for his mother-in-law. She hadn’t the chance to consider that she still had Jesse—not yet anyway. She loved Jesse for many reasons, but mostly because of how much he meant to Eve. Dawn drew her happiness from them. She loved nothing more than to watch them interact. Jesse had now lost his spouse at a young age, Just as Dawn and his own mother before him.

Jesse stood from the bed and walked over to Dawn. She was beautiful for her age, as beautiful as Eve in her younger years. Stripes of gray ran through her faded auburn hair. Jesse sat beside her on the cold wooden floor. Dawn’s arms dropped to her sides as she fell into Jesse. He wished so badly that he could comfort her. He too was in pain, and only time could help either of them. The pair sat quietly on the floor, neither with a thought of what to do next. A few minutes passed before Jesse finally stood. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He couldn’t immediately figure out why. Perhaps it was being in the same room with his wife’s corpse, or worse yet, trying to imagine life past the present moment. Dawn looked up at Jesse. He stood and reached down to lift her from the floor. Once the pair were back on their feet, Jesse put his arm around Dawn and led her out of the room.

Paul sat patiently in the waiting area. Dawn looked up to see Paul’s kind and sorrowful face, and unintended look on Paul’s part to which he took notice. He attempted awkwardly to present a static countenance, but his mouth twitched uncertainly. A smile, although polite, just seemed inappropriate. The morning sunlight and a pair of wooden chairs filled the otherwise empty room. Both Jesse and Dawn looked at Paul. He scanned the pair’s faces before averting his eyes to the floor.

Paul stood to greet them, but not one of them knew what to say. Paul decided to forego the impersonal handshake and instead opened his arms to embrace Dawn. He then put his arm out, signaling for them to take a seat and accidently dropping his Stetson Prospector’s hat that had been wedged in his armpit. Dawn knelt to retrieve the hat from the floor, smiling timidly as she offered it back to him. Paul gently took the hat and held it to his chest. He smiled and nodded as if to say, thank you.

Let’s talk here unless someone comes in. It’ll save us a trip to the station, Paul said as he turned to put his hand out to Jesse. Jesse looked up at Paul with a pained smile before he reached out and grasped Paul’s hand. Jesse took a seat next to Dawn. She reached over and clasped Jesse’s hand and placed it in her lap. The pair looked intently toward Paul.

I know you haven’t had time to let any of this sink in, he said sorrowfully. I tried to talk to Eve right before you got here, Jesse. She kept trying to say something. Her voice was too soft. I couldn’t make out what she meant to say. Paul fought back the tears as he recalled her desperate and feeble attempts to speak. She tugged on my coat a bit, and I put my ear down to her. Not much more than air come out, though. I didn’t get a name from her, but I have some ideas about where to start looking.

Both Dawn and Jesse knew exactly who Paul meant. Sully Gates was the first person assumed in any uncouth doings.

Someone found her right down the street from the Gates place. I can’t make snap judgments here, but we’re gonna check it out. Michael and I are going to the Gates place straight after I leave here, he said sternly. She must’ve been strong. She shouldn’t have survived long enough to make it here, let alone all morning.

Chapter Two

Paul swayed on the back of his old horse as they marched out of town. He imagined what he might do to Sully, assuming he hadn’t fled. Paul tried to stay collected, but that didn’t stop his mind from running wild. He pictured himself throwing Sully to the ground and stepping onto his chest as he drew the long, metal barrel of his Colt Percussion Revolver from its holster. He would press the gun hard against Sully’s head, even going so far as to visualize blood and brains spattering onto the dusty wooden boards of the front porch. Sully’s head would slam back against the wooden planks, the thud of this head, masked by the crack of the bullet. Paul chewed his bottom lip in unrestrained anticipation. He knew he could get away with it, and that no one would care if he killed Sully. His conscience was the only thing holding him back, and the many unanswered questions Sully would take with him. Not only for himself, but for Dawn and Jesse. However, if Sully were to admit to killing Eve, Paul couldn’t rule out ending his life.

Michael, the Sherriff’s Deputy, sat atop his own horse who trotted close behind. He was a short, stocky man who stood five feet four inches and almost as wide. His hair had begun to fall out which made him appear much older than twenty-six. Michael combed what locks remained over top of his balding scalp. The feeble and obvious attempt to cover the baren crown of his head was a testament to his insecure nature. In addition to Michael’s other shortcomings, he had a habit of over-explaining things. Which, unfortunately for him, was one of Paul’s pet peeves. Michael was not what one would think of as a lawman, but his tenacity and intelligence made him suitable enough for the job.

Michael peered over to Paul. Paul’s jaw clenched, and sweat rolled down the crevices of his aging face as he ground his teeth.

You okay, boss? Michael asked.

I’m just mad, Paul grumbled defensively. I was sure this son of a bitch killed his parents, but I couldn’t prove it. Eve would still be alive if he was locked away.

This wasn’t the pair’s first trip to Sully’s house. Everyone suspected Sully was to blame when Mr. and Mrs. Gates went missing. Nonetheless, Paul was never able to prove Sully had anything to do with their disappearance. No number of unexpected visits, coercion, or interrogation could get a word from him. Despite all other avenues being taken, no proper search of the home was ever performed. Paul wasn’t sure why he never went into the house. Subconsciously, or perhaps in a sense, intentionally, Paul didn’t want to deal with the repercussions of having proved Sully killed his parents. Acheron was affluent, and Paul had no intention of causing a stir in the town. The uppity inhabitants would question why nothing was done about Sully. A dull assumption, yes, Paul knew that. However, he also knew the nature of his fellow townspeople. Yes, the Gates were gone, but with no bodies Paul could spare himself the ensuing fiasco had he found them dead. Instead, he clung to a passable story of disappointed parents leaving their mentally handicapped son for a less restricting life elsewhere.

The men steered their horses onto a narrow path through the foliage. Broken stalks of high grass led them to a small clearing in front of the Gates house. The sheriff dismounted his horse, groaning as his feet hit the ground. Paul shook his leg out, trying to get rid of the nagging pain as he hobbled over to the front porch. The crossbar of the hitching post was brittle and dried. Either of the horses could easily break the post had they wanted. Creaks and cracks emanated from the wood as Paul pushed against the beam. There’s no point in tying the horses to this, Paul said.

Well, they’d think they were tied up, at least. Might keep’em from wandering off, Michael said with an upward inflection, as if asking permission from Paul to tie his horse to the fragile post. Paul looked up as if pondering the idea before lazily tossing the reins over the hitching post. There. Let’s see if they’re as dumb as you think they are, Paul said before turning to the steps of the porch.

Sully’s house was a large plantation-style home. Any house outside of town was relatively similar. Most served as cotton plantations sixty years prior. Although the Gates home had little land around the house itself, they owned the enormous field across the dirt path. Only a few years ago was the home in pristine condition. In the time since, Sully had done little to keep it that way. His father put great effort into keeping the land clean and beautiful. Colorful flowers adorned the fresh, dark soil surrounding the porch. The gazebo Sully’s father built stood over the