Tragedy’s Wake

Trooper First Class Hathorn trudged along the forest path, following the lights strung into the trees every thirty feet along the way. The Resident Troopers who first passed through this way in the morning started setting them up after they called in for support. This case would not be wrapped up in a single day.

Hathorn scanned the trees warily. They were only about five miles east of Litchfield, but this was private land, and the owners had made a point of keeping it uninhabited for generations. It would be easy to think of it as a place where no one had set foot for centuries.

Of course, that wasn’t true, and that’s why the Connecticut State Police was carrying on an investigation. Last night, six teenagers had gotten over the fence and four hundred yards into the woods; early this morning, one made good his escape, reporting the deaths of the other five at the hands of an unknown assailant.

The first few troopers made an early foray with bloodhounds in an effort to find whomever might be left in the woods. When the first bodies were found, they called in backup for what promised to be a much larger investigation. As the nearest specialist in the Photography and Identification Unit, Hathorn was summoned to document everything that had been found.

Hathorn found Sergeant Upton in the remnants of the failed Puritan town that had drawn the teenagers’ attention in the first place. A dozen other troopers cased the area, intent upon their particular tasks. Hathorn only recognized Upton by the stripes on her sleeve, and introduced himself.

The strain told in Upton’s voice. “What we have here is a place with an ugly reputation that is off-limits to the public. On any night of the year, it brings the kids in. On Halloween, you can’t keep them away.”

Hathorn nodded. Upton continued, “This used to be a town called Ramah. This wall behind me was part of the Meeting-House. The town failed, and the forest reclaimed the land. The usual stories sprung up about it, and the usual interest among the kids followed. I’ve had to come in a dozen times to bring in kids trying to trespass on the property. Wish I’d been called in this time before they got across.”

He followed her around the corner, where the wall was mostly collapsed. Another light strung up in the trees illuminated the foundations of the Meeting-House. A crude lean-to clung to the largely intact southern wall, but Hathorn could see that this was a dead end. The structure was fifty years old at least, and showed no signs of recent habitation. It proved only that the fence had been more permeable over the last few decades than one had supposed.

Two of the bodies also lay in the foundations, one to his right, and the other at the opposite end of the foundation space, next to a well or tunnel dug straight down into the earth. Its left arm dangled into the hole.

Hathorn turned to Upton and said, “I guess this is where I need to start.”

She seemed glad to leave him to it. “We hope to find more of the bodies soon. So far, these are the only two we’ve been able to locate.” She cast her gaze about the site nervously, then  turned and left.

Hathorn started with the body to his right. Long used to grisly forensic photos, he was able to set aside his horror at the condition of the body, but only with difficulty. This one was worse than the condition of any car wreck victim he’d seen in his fifteen years in the unit. He found it difficult to believe that the damage had been caused by any human assailant, although he could not rule out the influence of drugs.

He took the required photos of the lean-to, even as his mind told him that this would prove irrelevant. He needed to get down on his haunches to take photos inside, and when he finished, he rose slowly to avoid a head rush.

As he tried to relax before advancing to the second body, he became aware of a worry pushing its way up to consciousness. Someone watched him, and he could not see where the other person or persons were.

Figuring he was reasonably safe with another dozen or so State Troopers on hand, he stepped forward to the second body. Judging from the bloody purse lying next to it, he concluded that this was one of the two girls in the group. The contents of the purse should simplify the identification of the body, unless it had been planted deliberately to confuse investigators. Hathorn found that unlikely.

While photographing the second body, his feeling of being observed only intensified. When he took pictures of the girl’s ruined arm pointing down into the hole, he thought he sensed movement below. At that, he needed to stand upright and calm his breathing. Surely the others had looked down there already. There couldn’t be anyone there.

Looked, perhaps, but not explored. If there were a traverse tunnel below, a killer or his victims might be waiting inside. He glanced down, but saw only darkness, although the darkness did not feel entirely empty.

He looked again at the ground beneath his feet. The hole had been lined with stone, but grooves in the earth beyond suggested the possibility that someone resisted being dragged into the hole. Checking his flash settings, he pointed his camera down and took a picture. In the burst of light, he spotted two skulls at the edge of the floor, which might have looked like stones in the glare of a flashlight. No other figures could be seen, but two shadows had been cast by something.

Hearing a rustling in the tree above him, he looked up and saw another shadow hurtling down upon him.

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