Chapter 4: Dark Rumors and a Town Divided

Back home, Grandma asked, "Did you see Dave? Is he still breathing?"

She waited by the screen door, her voice sharp with anxiety. The living room lamp glowed behind her, casting her shadow long and thin on the kitchen floor.

Grandpa shook his head. "No, Derek wouldn’t let me."

He dropped the basket on the counter, rubbing his hair, worry deep in his eyes.

Grandma huffed, "If he won’t let you see, he’s hiding something. Dave’s probably dead."

She folded her arms, lips pursed tight. In her world, suspicion was safer than trust.

Grandpa shook his head. "No, I heard Dave speak. He called me 'brother' through the glass. I wanted to go in, but Derek said his dad couldn’t be exposed to drafts, and I shouldn’t be the one to cause his death."

He sounded tired, defeated. He’d always prided himself on helping people, but this time, the problem was too tangled for a handshake or a kind word.

He sighed helplessly.

The room felt colder, silence thick between them. Grandma clattered dishes, her back turned but her ears sharp.

Grandma snorted. "That kid Derek doesn’t respect you at all. He just wanted to scare you off. Something’s definitely up."

She shot Grandpa a look over her shoulder, gaze sharp as a hawk’s. She never trusted folks who dodged a straight answer.

Grandpa replied, "What could be wrong? I heard Dave’s voice, so he must be alive."

He tried to sound confident, but even I could tell he didn’t believe it. He glanced at the old clock on the wall, the tick suddenly loud.

Grandma sneered, "Maybe he’s alive, but Derek’s just waiting for him to die."

Her words hung in the air, a dark cloud nobody could shake. She turned back to her work, banging a pot a little harder than needed.

Grandpa paused a moment. "If he really dies, then there’s no way to get the land."

He said it quietly, but everyone heard it. Out here, the rules were the rules, and breaking them came with a price.

Grandma’s face darkened. "Did you forget how folks used to keep the dead who wouldn’t stay buried?"

She turned, voice dropping almost to a whisper. The old stories always came back in moments like these.

At that, Grandpa’s eyes widened in fear.

His hands trembled, pipe clattering on the table. He’d heard those stories as a boy, and they’d never left him.

According to the old-timers, those who didn’t stay buried were fed human blood. If you poured blood into a dead person’s mouth for seven days straight, you could bring them back—not alive, not dead.

It was the kind of legend you only half-believed until the shadows grew long. Folks swore they’d seen it—right up until the sheriff came around and told them to keep quiet.

Grandpa muttered, "If Derek really does that, he’s worse than an animal."

His voice was hoarse, disgust and disbelief twisted together. He stared at the floor, jaw set like concrete.

Grandma said, "I’m just scared Derek can’t control it—and that thing will get out and hurt people."

She glanced at the locked back door, like she expected something to break through. Those stories always ended bad—someone missing, someone dead.

Grandpa’s face turned grim. "No, I have to go to Derek’s house again."

He stood, determination burning in his eyes. He wouldn’t let fear stop him from doing what was right.

Grandma stopped him. "Don’t rush. Wait for the land split tomorrow. Tell everyone and have the whole town go to Derek’s house. If Dave’s alive, give Derek the land in front of everyone. If not, and he’s turned into something that shouldn’t be, burn him."

She spoke with the cold practicality of someone who’s lived through hard years. Out here, when things went bad, you fixed them yourself—no waiting for help.

Grandpa nodded. "Alright."

He sat back down, the decision made. The kitchen clock ticked on, and for a moment, everything was still.