Danvers Pointe— Episode Twelve

Last week: Jackson slipped into the mill. Darla refused to wait by the car. She found a hidden satchel—initials C.D. stamped on it. Her breath caught as she felt the sticky substance on the back.

Danvers Pointe, Massachusetts — 1938

She reached for it slowly, as if it might vanish. Her fingers touched the leather and brushed something sticky on the back.

She felt her stomach drop.

“Oh, God, no.” She breathed.

What if they came all this way and he was...

No, she couldn’t think like that. She picked it up and turned it over. The dark stain on the leather stared up at her.

She lifted it closer to see it better. The piney aroma hit her.

Sap.

She thought her knees might give out. She hugged the satchel to her chest and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

But this was just one clue in the mystery. Where was he?

Her fingers searched the worn leather. The initials were still there, faint but familiar. C.D.

Her throat tightened as she tried to swallow down the dread.

“Cody, where are you?” She whispered.

She opened it. It was hard to see, she moved in front of a window to capture any light she could.

Papers. Loose sheets. And a journal. Not pristine. Used. Edges worn. Ink smudged where someone had written quickly.

Not Cody’s handwriting. Whose, and why didn’t he have his satchel, he was never without it.

But he had been here. Not rumor. Not imagination. He had been in Danvers Pointe.

Inside this building. But why? Why did he hide his satchel? Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain someone inside would hear it.

She closed the flap and slipped the strap over her head.

Whatever was happening in there—whatever the man wouldn’t talk about—it involved her brother.

And she wasn’t staying outside.

She circled back toward the service lane, keeping low.

A hooded figure was moving across the open.

She stopped. Waited. Watched.

The gait was familiar.

Jackson. He was already headed back to the car.

She realized even if he had seen her brother, Jackson wouldn’t recognize him.

Darla crept toward the car to meet him.

He looked grim. She didn’t want to bring up a sore subject, but she could tell he was going through something. There was a war inside of him.

She heard him whispering for her as she rounded the corner.

As soon as he saw her, he shrunk a full two inches.

“Tell me you didn’t—”

She held up the satchel.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Outbuilding. Hidden.” She said, a sense of pride welled inside her.

She showed him the initials.

“He was here, Jackson. This is his, well, I don’t know whose journal this is, but—”

He reached out and took the book. She saw the tremor in his hands as he flipped the cover. She glanced up to his face, but he was intent on the book. The pages were full of esoteric markings. Runes?

“They’re looking for this,” he said holding it up to see it in the waning light. “They need it to... I don’t know exactly, to summon something, to open something.”

“What?”

“I heard them. They’re looking for a journal. Said they can’t finish without it.”

“Finish what?”

“I didn’t catch everything, just that this is important. Why did your brother have it?”

Her gaze flicked toward the mill. Why indeed? She slid the book back into the satchel and slipped it over her shoulder.

The sun finally lost its battle. One moment she could see the building and the area, then someone blew out the candle.

It took her eyes a bit to adjust to the new darkness. Overhead, large swathes of clouds obscured the sliver of a moon.

Lantern light flickered stronger now through the high windows.

“He’s in there. I know it,” she said.

“We can’t,” he said. “Too many people. They got chalk circles and runes carved into beams, looked like the ones in the book. It feels bad in there. Whole town’s in on it.”

"Not the whole town. Someone hid this." She held up the satchel.

Her pulse stuttered. The words raced through her mind.

Whole town.

Cody.

Summoning.

She knew he would stop her if she told him, so instead, she took off running toward the building.

Brush clawed at her legs and gravel ground together under her feet as she sprinted as fast as she could in the damn heels.

She didn’t have a plan, she was running on instinct and fear.

Fear for the last living person she had on this damn rock. She ran toward the building that held most of a creepy town that was going to try to open something and summon, what... a demon?

A slit of yellow light called her toward the side entrance. Was it calling, or warning? The question came too late. She slipped inside before Jackson could catch up.

The air was warmer within the mill, thick with the smell of fresh cut timber, kerosene and the tang of something metallic she couldn’t name.

It was more than the smells, the air was heavy, it weighed on her.

There was a palpable tension, like the building itself was holding its breath. She stayed to the back in the shadows, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening, but not get caught.

Figures in dark robes stood in a loose ring in the center of the floor. At least ten of them.

It seemed like the rest of the town stood around the edges watching. She recognized faces in the crowd.

The innkeeper. The storekeeper. Normal townsfolk faces. But this was anything but normal.

She’d read case notes and research about cults. How they sacrifice outsiders, how they seduce their members into doing the vilest acts in their perverse version "good".

She kept scanning faces.

Across the circle her breath caught.

Cody. Hood down, hair the same mess, stood like he belonged in the robe. Stared into the center.

Hello my friends. If you’re enjoying this content, please leave a comment.

I have several other stories that I hope to publish like this in the future. If you think someone in your friend circle might enjoy them, please send them a link.

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Thanks again for your support. Mike