Chapter 3 - Whispers in the Dirt
Life at the Vance homestead was filled with hard work and quiet peace. The cabin sat at the edge of the dense pine forest, framed by the jagged peaks of the mountains. Inside, it smelled of pine needles, woodsmoke, and baking bread.
Within three weeks, Leia had transformed the small household. She mended Lily's clothes, taught the girl her letters, and cooked meals that made Callum sit back in his chair with a deep, contented sigh every evening. In return, Callum brought her a pair of sturdy, soft leather boots he had purchased from the dry goods store—boots that fit perfectly and bore no wires.
Yet, despite the peace, something unsettled the air around Dry Hollow.
Brutus was a calm dog, but every evening as the sun dipped behind the mountains, he would wander to the edge of the southern ridge. He would stand there, his heavy head raised high, scenting the wind, letting out low, resonant rumbles that shook his massive chest.
"He's been doing that for a week," Callum said one evening, leaning against the doorframe, watching the dog. He held two cups of warm tea, handing one to Leia.
"Is he sensing wolves?" Leia asked, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
"No," Callum murmured, his face darkening slightly. "Wolves don't make him act like this. Brutus was bred as a guard dog back East before I brought him out here. He knows the scent of blood. And he knows the scent of men."
Dry Hollow was changing. Strangers in dark wool coats and low-brimmed fedoras had begun appearing at the town's saloons. They didn't look like homesteaders or miners. They spoke in low, accented hushes and carried high-caliber revolvers under their coats. Rumors were swirling through town about a powerful syndicate—a Mafia family from Chicago—extending its reach into the West.
One morning, while Callum was at the sawmill and Leia was walking back from the creek with a bucket of water, Brutus suddenly bolted into the timber.
"Brutus! Come back!" Leia called out, setting the heavy iron bucket down.
The dog did not obey. He barked—a sharp, booming sound that echoed through the trees like thunder.
Fear spiked in Leia's chest, but concern for the dog won over. She pulled her apron tight and ran into the thick brush, her new boots pressing firm against the damp pine needles.
She found Brutus two hundred yards deep in a neglected ravine—a desolate spot covered in overgrown thorn bushes and fallen timber where loggers hadn't trodden in years. The ground here was soft, black dirt, choked with dead leaves.
Brutus was digging frantically. His heavy paws threw massive clumps of dirt into the air. He was growling softly, whining with an urgency Leia had never heard before.
"Brutus! Stop it! What is it?" Leia shouted, coming closer.
Then, the wind shifted. A faint, sickening odor filled the air—the metallic scent of old blood and freshly turned earth.
Leia froze. She looked down at the hole Brutus was opening.
Protruding from the dark soil was a hand.
It was a small, delicate woman's hand. The fingernails were painted a deep crimson, though scratched and caked with mud. On the ring finger sat a massive platinum ring set with an uncut emerald that caught the thin shaft of sunlight filtering through the canopy.
Leia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream.
May you like
The fingers moved.
A faint, suffocating gasp whispered from beneath the earth.
