Greg Johnson was a dedicated bureau investigator. He walked around the blood soaked living room that had once belonged to the Wilson family. He had been through the files and photographs of the crime scene and accepted the fact that Jeremy Wilson had been killed on the living room couch. An axe, with Jeremy's wife's fingerprints, had been recovered from the scene. Jeremy's wife, Celia, and their 9 year old son, Rob, were missing.
The house was dark, save for the small ray of light provided by Greg's penlight. He made his way up the carpeted staircase into Rob's bedroom. It was a typical 9 year old's room. Posters of Scooby Doo and Superman decorated the walls and Pokemon playing cards were strung out on his bed. On the wall, next to the bed was a small bulletin board with a single picture tacked into the center. Upon closer inspection, the picture was a child's drawing of a black barn in the middle of a forest. Inside the opening of the barn, Greg thought that he could make out bodies and faces contorted into a large pile.
He remembered a black barn when he assisted the local authorities in searching a five mile radius surrounding the Wilson house. He had seen the barn in the distance, but he had assumed that the barn had already been searched. Dejavu rattled his senses like an alarm clock. He usually felt this way when he discovered something important. He was seldom wrong.
He called Sheriff Brookes on his way to the black barn. He cringed as he realized that it was almost midnight. The sheriff answered the phone on the third ring. "Hello."
"Sheriff, Greg Johnson. I'm on my way to that black barn about five miles east of the Wilson house." Greg gave the sheriff a moment to gather his senses. "I think that the Wilson woman may have taken Rob there. I can't explain it right now, but could you meet me there?"
The sheriff yawned, "black barn? Son, there ain't anything going on there. That's Roger Brown's old place."
"I understand that, but it's just a feeling I have. Can you meet me?"
Greg thought the sheriff had hung up. "Alright, I'll be there after I get dressed."
"Thanks Sheriff."
Fog began to settle in the valley. Greg switched from low beams to high beams, trying to decide which gave him greater visibility. He settled on the low beams. He drove carefully through the milky haze and began to think that he was lost. A mailbox next to the road proclaimed that R. Brown lived in the area. He pulled the Jeep to the side and press checked his pistol. Satisfied that he was ready for action, he made his way down a dirt lane next to the mailbox.
He had interviewed several residents; they all had one thing in common to say about the case. Celia Wilson was crazy. He heard stories of the abuse that she would deal out to poor Rob who frequently showed up to school with bruises on his arms and legs. Medical record verified that Rob had suffered a laceration to his head from a bike fall. Jeremy was a small mousy man, the type that you would expect to do your taxes. He definitely didn't wear the pants in the Wilson household. He had seen it many times; the wife loses her mind and kills her husband for the insurance money. Something hadn't gone according to plan for her this time.
Greg wasn't a backwoods type of guy. He preferred the city life to the country living. Every twig that snapped and animal that made a noise in the woods made him jump. It wouldn't have been so bad if he could have seen more than three feet in front of him, but the fog made it impossible.
He heard a low growl coming from somewhere within the fog, he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. He slowly removed his pistol from the holster and turned a complete circle. He continued walking down the dirt trail. He quickened his pace when he decided that the growls were coming from behind him. More than likely it was the farmer's hound dog, but he wasn't taking any chances.
The black barn loomed over him and he checked once more behind to see if anything was following him. The fog dissipated around the barn. He could see up to twenty yards around him. He shown his pin light into the barn entrance and was met with blackness. He moved toward the opening and heard another growl, this time it was much closer. He spun around and saw a large dog sitting at the edge of the fog. It was difficult to see, but appeared to be a German Shepard. It watched him and didn't move. He watched it a moment longer and backed up to the barn. He glanced inside and gave the dog one last look. The dog was ten feet closer than it had been a moment ago, but was still sitting down, watching him.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the sheriff's number. He almost dropped the phone when he realized that the dog was ten feet closer than it had been before, still sitting and still staring. There was no phone signal in the valley, he pocketed the phone and stepped into the barn. He shined the light in different directions. At first he didn't see anything but an old tractor that had probably been sitting there for years. He had nearly forgot about the dog and looked to the entrance of the barn. The dog was gone.
"What the hell we doing out here?"
Greg nearly dropped his gun as the sheriff walked through the entrance. "Damnit, you scared the hell out of me!"
The sheriff stood a great deal taller than Greg and probably outweighed him by 50 pounds. Greg thought that they grew them big down here. Even the women were big. Greg felt somewhat at ease with the sheriff present. He briefly thought about telling him about the dog, but decided not to.
"What is it that you wanted to show me?"
He had almost forgotten the reason why he had called the sheriff. He took one last look around the barn and stopped the light on a red piece of cloth on the hayloft. He moved to the ladder. "I see something up there, I'm going to check it out."
He put the pin light in his mouth and climbed the ten foot ladder. He reached the top and looked across the loft. His suspicions had been correct. The unrecognizable body of a boy lay sprawled across the rafters, blood dripped from his head onto the planks below him. To the boy's immediate left, a woman was pinned to the walls with nails through her hands and feet. Her lifeless body hung limp. Greg was glad that he couldn't see the facial features of either victim. It had always bothered him to see the eyes of the dead.
"They're up here Sheriff."
Not hearing a response, he grabbed the pin light from his mouth and shined it down below him. Apparently a crowd had gathered while he had been distracted by the bodies. Several of the townsfolk had arrived while he wasn't looking. All in all, he thought there were 15-20 people standing below him. The sheriff moved toward him. He didn't realize until it was too late that the sheriff was holding a pitchfork. The clues fell into place just before the sheriff drove the pitchfork into his ribs and flung him to the ground.
Greg wondered if anyone would ever find his body. He closed his eyes for the last time.