Chapter 7: Nightfall and Old Sins

After school in the afternoon, Ellie’s grandfather came to pick her up.

He pulled up in a battered Ford, the engine rattling like a box of loose change. His eyes were sharp, scanning the playground before settling on me.

I had met the old man in my last life. He seemed kind.

Back then, I’d thought his slow drawl and gentle manner were signs of harmlessness. Now I wasn’t so sure.

His clothes were shabby, but he doted on his granddaughter.

His overalls were patched, boots muddy from a day in the woods. But the way he spoke to Ellie was soft, almost tender.

Because the school is halfway up the mountain, the road is steep.

Most parents sent their kids on foot, but William Barnes made the climb every single day, rain or shine.

Other kids don’t have parents picking them up, but Ellie’s grandfather is always on time, waiting outside the school.

He’d lean against the rusted hood, arms crossed, not saying much to the other parents. Folks gave him a wide berth.

Don’t underestimate this old man in his seventies—he’s very strong.

His hands looked like they could snap a two-by-four, veins roped beneath the skin. Despite his age, there was something dangerous about him, something that made you want to keep your distance.

"Ellie, did you listen to the teacher today? Didn’t fight with your classmates, right?"

His voice was gruff but affectionate, like he was used to having the last word.

Ellie’s nose turned red.

"Jamie poured ink all over my head."

Her voice was small, almost childlike. She cast her gaze down at her scuffed sneakers.

The old man immediately glanced at Jamie, his eyes changing instantly.

The look he gave Jamie would freeze boiling water. Jamie shrank back, his bravado evaporating.

The kind look turned sharp in a second—even I, a grown woman, felt uneasy.

I’d seen that kind of switch before—in men who’d done things they didn’t want to talk about.

"Grandpa Barnes, it was all a misunderstanding. I’ve already apologized to Ellie."

Jamie quickly explained, and the coldness in the old man’s eyes faded. He doted on and scolded Ellie:

"Kids always have misunderstandings. Just apologize and it’s over."

His tone softened, ruffling Ellie’s hair as if nothing had happened. The switch was quick, too quick.

Ellie nodded hard, then introduced me to her grandfather:

"Grandpa, this is our volunteer teacher, Ms. Harper. You’ve met before."

She clung to his sleeve, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. The performance was flawless.

The old man quickly wiped his hands and reached out to me.

"Ms. Harper, the other day I was in a hurry picking up the child and didn’t greet you. Sorry about that."

He offered his hand, callused and stained. The skin was rough, split from years of hard work—or something rougher.

I noticed his hands were covered in dried, peeling blood and was stunned.

The red stains stood out stark against the gray dirt under his nails. My stomach twisted.

The old man quickly, awkwardly, rubbed his hands again.

He seemed embarrassed, wiping them against his overalls, avoiding my eyes.

"We mountain folks aren’t as clean as city people. I just skinned a wild rabbit this afternoon and didn’t have time to wash the blood off."

He laughed, but the sound was hollow. It didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I smiled awkwardly and shook hands with him.

His grip was firm—too firm—and lingered a second too long. I had to fight the urge to pull away.

The old man then asked me:

"Ms. Harper, you must get along well with Mr. Warner, right?"

The question was casual, but there was a weight to it, like he was testing me.

"Not bad. Why?"

I kept my tone light, but my mind raced.

The old man scratched his head awkwardly.

He looked suddenly sheepish, eyes darting to the ground.

"We were classmates. I bullied him a lot in school. Now Ellie is in his school, I’m afraid my old classmate might pick on her."

His words sounded innocent, but I heard the threat underneath.

"So could I trouble Ms. Harper to say a good word for us, and ask him to look after Ellie?"

He tried to soften the request with a smile, but it came out lopsided.

"Mm... sure, I’ll talk to Mr. Warner."

I lied through my teeth. No way was I getting in the middle of this.

"But sir, that’s not necessary. As teachers, we treat all students as our own kids."

I added quickly, hoping to end the conversation before it got any weirder.

Hearing my words, the old man’s eyes suddenly reddened. He sent Ellie away and said to me:

His voice dropped, thick with emotion. "Ms. Harper, I’m old but not blind. I can guess what Ellie goes through at school. You don’t need to comfort me."

"Ellie is a good child. Mr. Warner doesn’t want to see me, so only you can help put in a word. Please."

He clasped my hand, squeezing tight. I nodded, forcing a smile, eager to get away.

After the old man left, Mr. Warner immediately came out of the school and pulled me over to wash my hands.

He all but dragged me to the rusty sink out back, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected someone to follow.

Suspicious, I asked what was wrong.

My voice was a whisper, but the tension between us felt like a live wire.

He whispered nervously to me:

His words came out in a rush, barely above a whisper.

"He killed someone."

I was stunned on the spot.

The world seemed to tilt, my stomach dropping out. I gripped the edge of the sink, heart pounding.

"Killed someone?"

The words hung in the air, unbelievable but somehow not surprising.

Mr. Warner, panting, fetched a basin of water for me.

He splashed cold water over my hands, scrubbing them with a bar of lye soap that stung my knuckles. His own hands shook.

"When we were young, the law wasn’t so strict, and in the mountains, no one cared. So William Barnes didn’t go to jail."

So Ellie’s grandfather was called William Barnes.

His name was legend in these parts, spoken in low tones around bonfires. Now I knew why.

The principal continued:

"He was poor back then. He kidnapped a family of three, ate all their food, then dismembered them. The youngest was only two."

The details came out in fits and starts, his voice shaking. I felt bile rise in my throat.

I shuddered all over.

A cold sweat broke out across my back. The gentle grandpa act was just that—an act. The truth was darker than I ever imagined.

No wonder William Barnes’s eyes were so cold and frightening just now.

I’d always chalked it up to hardship. Turns out, it was something much worse.

"Didn’t anyone call the police?"

It seemed impossible. In my hometown, a rumor like that would have had the whole county up in arms.

"Call the cops for what? It happened so many years ago, the evidence is gone, all the witnesses are dead. I only heard about it later."

His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. The old rules of silence still held sway here.

As he spoke, Mr. Warner suddenly reminded me:

"I’m telling you because you’re young and won’t be here long. Don’t tell anyone else."

His gaze was pleading. I nodded, the weight of the secret heavy on my chest.

"William Barnes once said, he doesn’t care if he kills three or more. I’m taking a risk telling you, understand?"

I nodded blankly.

Now I understood why Mr. Warner was so nervous when I asked about Ellie.

With someone so dangerous, anyone would avoid them if they could.

"Mr. Warner, there’s one thing I still don’t get. If everyone knows her grandfather is like this, why are there still students bullying Ellie?"

I couldn’t make sense of it. Why poke the bear?

"This is the only elementary school in these hills, covering a dozen small towns. Some people just don’t know, you get it?"

Most families here kept to themselves. News traveled slow, and sometimes, not at all.

Mr. Warner handed me a towel and continued:

"Still the same advice: stay away from Ellie as much as you can. Your volunteer period is almost over. Don’t think too much, don’t ask too much. It’s not good for you."

He pressed the towel into my hands, his voice gentle, but the warning was clear.

When he finished, it was as if a heavy stone had fallen from Mr. Warner’s heart—he relaxed a lot.

He rolled his shoulders, letting out a long breath. For the first time all week, he looked lighter.

"Yes, I’ll be leaving in a few days."

The thought was bittersweet. I’d once wanted to stay here forever. Now, I couldn’t wait to go.

"Where are you going, Mr. Warner?"

He paused, looking out at the trees swaying in the wind.

"I should have retired long ago, but there was no principal, so I held on till now. Time to go back to town and enjoy life."

He smiled wistfully, as if the world outside these hills might finally welcome him home.

After speaking, Mr. Warner left, still reminding me not to repeat today’s conversation.

I watched him go, the sun glinting off his thinning hair. The secrets of these mountains were his burden, but now they were mine too.

I listened, chilled to the bone.

The wind picked up, rattling the windows. The shadows grew longer as dusk settled in.

I never imagined this tiny, remote school hid so much.

From the outside, it looked like any other backwoods schoolhouse—brick, chipped paint, playground rusting out back. But the truth was stranger than fiction.

Looks like I really need to be careful in the future.

From now on, I would keep my head down, do my job, and leave. No more heroics.

I must not get involved in Ellie’s affairs at all.

After hearing all this, I didn’t want to go back to the village, because where I lived was not far from Ellie’s trailer.

The thought of passing by that run-down trailer after dark sent a chill through me. I triple-checked the locks on my door that night.

Having died once in my last life, now I’m truly afraid of death.

You only get so many second chances. I wasn’t about to waste mine.

But in the middle of the night, a sudden message reached my ears:

There was a murder in the nearby Maple Hollow.

The news crackled over the ancient radio on my nightstand, the announcer’s voice tight with fear. It felt like the whole mountain was holding its breath.

The body was found by a local chopping wood in the forest—already dismembered.

All the blood had been drained. The estimated time of death was about a day ago.

Sheriff’s tape ringed the site by morning, but everyone in town already knew. The story would be whispered from porch to porch, over black coffee and biscuits.

I felt my scalp tingle instantly, immediately thinking of the blood on William Barnes’s hands that afternoon, and what Mr. Warner had said.

I shivered beneath my blanket, the image of those stained hands burning into my memory. Something told me this was no coincidence.

I hurriedly picked up my phone, found a spot with signal, and called Mr. Warner.

I held my breath as the call rang. Out here, cell reception was a luxury; you had to stand by the old oak near the bus stop just to get a bar.

The call wouldn’t go through.

Each failed attempt made my heart pound faster. Panic clawed up my throat.

My heart was in my throat, my body trembling.

My knees went weak, hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone.

At that moment, the school’s rusty iron gate suddenly clanged loudly.

The sound jolted me upright, heart thudding in my chest. Someone was outside, and it was far too late for visitors.

Nervously, I called out, asking who it was.

My voice sounded small in the darkness, swallowed up by the thick silence outside.

A familiar voice sounded from outside:

"It’s me, Ms. Harper. Open the door."

William Barnes.

William Barnes was outside the door.

His voice was calm, almost friendly. But I could hear something in it—a quiet menace, maybe, or just the weight of too many secrets.

I immediately grabbed a nearby broom handle and cautiously approached the door.

It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it felt better than nothing. My hands were slick with sweat as I crept closer.

"Mr. Barnes, what’s the matter? The school rules say we can’t open the door at night."

My voice wobbled, but I tried to keep it steady. The doorknob rattled under his grip.

"Oh, it’s nothing. I heard there was a murder in Maple Hollow and was afraid the killer might escape to the school, so I came to check if you’re alright, Ms. Harper."

His words oozed concern, but my skin crawled. I pressed myself against the wall, heart racing.

"I’m fine, thank you for your concern."

I tightened my grip on the broom, willing my knees not to buckle. Every instinct screamed at me to keep the door shut.

"It’s nothing to worry about, but I think it’s not safe for you to be alone at the school. How about I escort you home?"

He sounded so reasonable, so neighborly—like a good old boy looking out for the new teacher. But I remembered the blood, the stories, and the cold in his eyes.

"No need, I took self-defense classes in college. If a criminal..."

I let my voice trail off, hoping he’d get the hint. My eyes darted to the baseball bat I kept by the desk, just in case. Out here, you learned to look after yourself. And tonight, I wasn’t taking any chances. But as I watched his shadow stretch across the porch, I wondered if even that would be enough.