Chapter Fifteen: More Deaths Are Needed

“Officer Ryan.”

Peter lifted the police tape and stepped into his cousin Louis’s living room.

Outside the room, a crowd of curious neighbors had gathered, and several police cars were parked nearby.

Peter approached Officer Ryan and asked, “What happened?”

“We received a report from one of Louis’s neighbors, who said they heard screams coming from here,” Officer Ryan explained, pointing to a pool of blood in the living room. “When we arrived, Louis and his wife were nowhere to be found. The scene only showed bloodstains and signs of a struggle.”

Peter frowned, surveying the surroundings. “So, it’s likely that something bad happened to Louis and his wife.”

“There’s a strong possibility,” Ryan nodded. “We need to analyze the blood evidence.”

He patted Peter on the shoulder. “But it’s also possible they were kidnapped. It might not be as grim as it seems. We’ll find them soon, dead or alive.”

Peter nodded, lost in thought.

Clark had mentioned seeing little Terry at Louis’s house.

Peter himself had visited the burial site and confirmed the soil had been disturbed.

In other words, little Terry, buried by Vanessa in the body farm, had returned home like the resurrected son of old White in ‘The Monkey’s Paw.’

Had little Terry, now a walking corpse, killed Louis and his wife?

Peter had witnessed the ferocity of Bill’s hunting dogs after they turned into the undead.

But if it was little Terry, where were the bodies?

Even if he tore his parents’ corpses apart, there would still be remains left at the scene. It was impossible for everything to vanish.

Gazing at the dark sky outside, Peter felt an expanding aura of malevolence spreading over the area.

After exchanging a few words with Officer Ryan, he turned and left.

Not long after Peter departed, a figure stood at a distance, staring at Louis’s house.

Father Norma, the priest who had officiated Louis’s son’s funeral, had been observing everything from the crowd.

Only after the police left did he turn and walk away.

Driving his car, the frail priest coughed as he slowed down.

Once his coughing subsided, he stopped the car and pulled out some medication by the roadside.

Suffering from lung cancer, his life was on a countdown, sustained only by expensive drugs.

“I’m almost there,” he whispered to himself once calm returned, starting the car again.

The vehicle halted in front of a dilapidated blue house.

The shutters hung in tatters, and vines decades old crawled over the walls, their tiny roots nearly fracturing the surface.

A cold wind stirred fallen leaves on the porch, rattling a tangled wind chime into a chaotic clatter. Two gray cats, startled by the noise, leapt from the steps and fled toward the back of the house.

Father Norma pushed open the door, tossed his car keys onto the table, and entered his study.

Locking the door behind him, he forcefully pushed aside a bookshelf.

Behind it, an entrance to a basement appeared.

He descended the steps slowly.

The basement was dim and reeked of decay. In the center stood an altar.

On it lay a thick black tome bound in human skin.

To cure his terminal illness, he had forsaken faith in God and turned to dark forces.

This black magic book was his lifeline.

Within its pages were spells to control the undead, explaining how he commanded the walking dead.

Indeed, he could control the reanimated corpses.

When he discovered the swamp outside town where bodies could be resurrected as the undead, he shared the secret.

Sure enough, some who believed in resurrection buried their dead there.

The result: corpses turned into zombies under his command.

“This isn’t enough. I must convert more,” he hissed, his expression twisted with greed.

The more dark creatures he controlled, the stronger he became, increasing his chances of curing himself.

“More deaths are needed!”

His dark gaze fixed on the calendar on the wall.

A date was marked with a large red X.

…

“Are you okay, Peter?”

At Kent Farm, Jonathan asked with concern.

“I’m fine, just a lot has been happening lately.”

Peter stood by the window in the living room, watching the cows graze lazily in the pasture.

After returning from Louis’s house, his expression had grown somber.

“I heard about what happened at Louis’s. Tragedy seems to follow them.”

Jonathan assumed Peter was saddened by his cousin Louis’s plight.

In truth, Peter felt little emotional attachment to Louis’s family.

But who was behind this?

That suspicious priest?

Peter had already used his super speed to search the priest’s residence but found nothing suspicious.

Should he arrest and interrogate the man?

After questioning, to avoid exposing his abilities, should he eliminate him?

“Jonathan, do you know Father Norma from the church?” Peter stopped his wandering thoughts and asked.

“Not really, but I’ve heard he has a good reputation,” Jonathan replied after some thought. “He’s been the host of the annual Harvest Festival for years. Speaking of which, the festival is coming up soon. If you want to learn more about him, you could talk to him during the event.”

The “Harvest Festival” was Smorewell’s annual celebration.

Its origins dated back to the 17th century, when Puritan settlers in the town held festivities to thank God for a bountiful harvest.

During the festival, people wore traditional clothing and engaged in various activities such as “bread grabbing” or “apple stalls.”

“Harvest Festival?”

Hearing Jonathan mention it was imminent, Peter instinctively glanced at his wristwatch, forgetting it was no ordinary timepiece.

“Yes, Clark and Azoo are probably looking forward to it,” Jonathan added.

…

“Very much so.”

After driving home, Peter asked the two boys about their thoughts on the Harvest Festival.

They both expressed eager anticipation in unison.

“Dad, what does ‘bread grabbing’ mean?” Azoo asked curiously. “Is it about a bunch of people fighting over a loaf of bread?”

“Yes,” Peter replied. “Young people toss bread into the air, and others try their best to catch it.”

Clark blinked with curiosity. “What about the ‘apple stall’?”

Peter ruffled his hair. “The ‘apple stall’ is where people sell their apples, which are usually made into apple sauce or pies. Are you interested?”

“Yes, Godfather.”

Clark was clearly intrigued by the apple stall and was already considering how to get Godfather to teach him to make apple pie.