Chapter 4: The House by the Maples

Dan Harper’s house sat way out at the far western edge of Maple Heights—really, it was already past town lines. A wide pond separated him from the rest of the homes, and to the west stretched a patch of maple woods, fifteen or twenty acres thick. When the crime happened, it was the dead heat of summer: the pond was covered in lily pads, and the maple grove was a solid wall of green.

So, even though the yard was awash in blood that night, nobody in town knew.

Not until the early morning, when a child’s shrill cries woke the neighborhood. Grandpa Jim, living this side of the pond, figured Dan Harper’s wife, Lila, was just scolding the boy again, so he didn’t think much of it. But at sunrise, when he opened his door, he saw Dan Harper’s gate wide open and Dan’s son, Benny—barely able to walk—sitting on the doorstep, covered in blood and bawling his lungs out.

Looking inside, he saw dark red blood streaming out of the main room, pooling halfway across the yard, the whole place buzzing with flies…

That’s right—the feeling at the scene could only be summed up in four words: blood everywhere.

That morning, word spread like wildfire—on porch swings, over mugs of diner coffee, at the gas station counter. Folks whispered it to each other, their voices quivering: “You hear what happened out at the Harper place?” “Lord, I always knew something was off about that Joe Barnes.” The horror seeped into every wooden slat and weathered picket fence in town.