“Do you, by chance, still have those journals?” Hadley inquired, leaning both arms on the table. “Her notes might contain valuable information that could help us understand what happened on specific dates.”
“My Sarah wasn’t around when Missy Claymont went missing.” Martin's eyebrows drew together, wariness settling over his features. "Her journals won’t help you. Besides, those are private. Sarah's thoughts and dreams.”
“I understand that, Mr. Cox,” Hadley assured him, softening her tone. "And I wouldn't ask if I didn't think they could be important. Sometimes, an outside perspective can identify patterns that aren't immediately obvious. There might be something in those journals that connects to other cases—something no one has pieced together yet.”
The mention of other investigations hung between them, though she hadn’t been explicitly referring to her brother. Unfortunately, she couldn’t rule out Emily Esten from the list of eight potentially linked victims. Not yet. After a long moment, Martin pushed his chair back, the legs scraping against the linoleum floor.
“Wait here,” Martin said reluctantly, rising with the careful movements of a man whose joints protested sudden changes.
He disappeared down a hallway, his footsteps fading. Hadley used the brief respite to drain her coffee down the sink. She had made it a rule very early on in her career that she would never drink a beverage in someone’s house when working on an investigation. She rinsed out the coffee mug and set it in the sink before returning to her seat.
Minutes passed before Martin reentered the kitchen, carrying two floral cardboard boxes. He set them on the table with reverent care, removing the lid to the top one. Inside were at least a dozen leather-bound journals, each one labeled with a year in neat handwriting.
“I promise to bring them safely back.” Hadley placed her hand gently over his. “I give you my word that no harm will come to Sarah’s writings.”
Martin simply nodded, seeming to accept her pledge. He quietly replaced the lid on the box, his fingertips lingering on the faded floral pattern.
“There's one more thing,” Hadley said as she picked up the boxes before walking from the kitchen into the living room. “I'd like to walk your property, particularly the area that borders the festival grounds. Would that be all right?”
“Sure, but you’ll need to be mindful of the sinkholes in the back fields if you go over that far.” Martin stepped in front of her, opening the screen door for her to step out on the porch. “Just be careful, Hadley. It is harvesting season.”
Hadley walked down the steps, the wind chimes covering the sound of the creaks. She’d heard his warning, but it brought to mind a question that had formed many, many years ago.
“Mr. Cox?” Hadley turned around, holding the two boxes close to her midsection. He had let the screen door close behind him before coming to stand at the top of the steps. “I am curious about something.”
“What’s that, dear?”
“If you and the locals truly believe there is something to theThreshing Man, why would he take those young women from the woods? Wouldn’t he wait to take them from the fields?” Hadley tilted her head to the side as she studied him. “After all, isn’t that part of the story?”
“What makes you think that he didn’t lure them there? When the fields go quiet…well, that’s when you need to worry. Besides, it’s not like anyone ever found their bodies in those woods, is it?”
Hadley had never thought about it in that context. Not so much in the folklore sense, but the fact that whoever had abducted those young women had to have a place to disposeof their bodies.Maybe they had gone about the previous investigations the wrong way.
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Cox,” Hadley said before lifting the boxes slightly to emphasize her next point. “I’ll get these back to you as soon as I can.”
Martin’s gaze drifted past her shoulder toward the single planted cornfield. His expression shifted, becoming unreadable yet unmistakably troubled. For a moment, he seemed to be searching for something specific, though when Hadley followed his line of sight, she saw nothing but rows of corn swaying gently in the breeze.
The golden-tinged sunlight caught the side of his face, deepening the lines around his eyes and mouth. In that moment, he looked older than his years, as if the land itself had extracted some vital essence from him over the decades of working its soil.
“Be careful out there, Hadley,” Martin warned softly. “Some things in this world don't care about badges or guns.”
7
Hadley Dawkins
October 2025
Saturday – 8:57am
The thick stretch of woods between Martin Cox's property and the festival grounds swallowed sound in a way that heightened Hadley’s awareness. The shadows pooled unnaturally between the trees, as if the ancient roots were attempting to crawl their way out of the ground. The deeper she advanced, the more the air became charged with something she couldn't name yet somehow still recognized from childhood nightmares.
A rare ray of sunlight penetrated the canopy, catching on a spider's web stretched between two branches. The delicate structure glimmered momentarily before vanishing as a cloud passed overhead. The trees seemed to exhale around her, branches complaining about the wind she barely felt against her skin anymore
Hadley finally came to a stop when she caught sight of the festival grounds. Workers hammered the frames of woodenbooths into place, their rhythmic pounding giving life to an almost ambivalent heartbeat. Strings of unlit bulbs were being strung between poles, and a small Ferris wheel was under construction, its skeletal frame rising against the sky.The scene should have been cheerful, preparations for a community celebration, yet she got the sense that they were just going through the motions.
Hadley remained in place, wondering if this spot was where the abductor stood that night. Had he chosen Missy, or had he merely waited for any young woman to stray too far alone?
Unable to answer her own questions just yet, Hadley drew her phone from her pocket. She pulled up the digital copy of Missy's case file.
