Chapter 1: Death in the Hollow
The corpse of Matilda Greaves lay in the center of her one-room cottage, illuminated by the flickering glow of half-burned candles. The old woman’s body was twisted, her face frozen in an expression of shock and agony. Her lips were parted, as if she had tried to scream, but no sound had escaped.
Detective Henry Vale stood in the doorway, his trained eyes scanning the scene.
A cauldron sat on the wooden table, its contents congealed into a dark, sticky mess. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling. Shelves lined with glass jars—filled with substances ranging from harmless lavender to unidentified powders—cast eerie shadows against the stone walls.
The air smelled of decay and something else. Sulfur.
“She had enemies,” muttered Sergeant Louisa Crane, standing beside him. “Half the town thought she was a real witch.”
“They feared her?” Vale asked, crouching near the body. He noticed the deep, purplish tinge on her fingertips. Poison, perhaps?
Crane snorted. “Superstitious nonsense. But they also hated her. She knew things about people—things she wasn’t afraid to say out loud.”
Vale’s fingers hovered over a small wooden doll on the table. A crude effigy with pins stuck in its arms and legs. A name scrawled on its base: Edgar Blunt.
The mayor.
“Looks like Matilda had her own list of enemies,” Vale said, straightening. “Let’s find out which one of them wanted her dead.”
Chapter 2: The Town That Hides Secrets
The townspeople of Black Hollow were already whispering when Vale and Crane arrived in the village square. Eyes darted away, doors shut quietly as they passed.
“Lovely place,” Crane muttered. “Like something out of a horror novel.”
Vale didn’t disagree. The town was ancient, the streets too narrow, the buildings too close together. A place where secrets had nowhere to hide—except when everyone agreed to keep them buried.
Edgar Blunt, the mayor, was waiting for them outside the town hall, his face pale beneath the glow of a streetlamp. “Detective,” he greeted, voice strained. “What’s this about Matilda?”
“She was murdered,” Vale said bluntly.
Blunt stiffened. “Murdered? I thought she just… collapsed.”
Vale pulled out the wooden doll. “Recognize this?”
Blunt’s eyes widened. “Is that—? Good God.” He stepped back. “I never had anything to do with that woman. She—she was a menace.”
Vale studied him. “You seem nervous, Mayor. Why?”
Blunt exhaled sharply. “Because you don’t understand what she was capable of. That woman… she knew things. My affairs, my dealings—things she shouldn’t have known.”
Crane crossed her arms. “And did you want her silenced?”
Blunt scoffed. “I didn’t need to. She already sealed her fate. She had too many enemies.”
Vale pocketed the doll. “Give me some names.”
Blunt hesitated, then sighed. “Margaret Langley. Her husband was seeing Matilda for ‘cures’—Margaret didn’t like that. Nathaniel Crowe—the vicar—always called her a devil worshipper. And Tobias Finch… well, let’s just say he owed Matilda a debt he never repaid.”
Three names. Three possible motives.
Vale and Crane exchanged a glance. The hunt was on.
Chapter 3: A Debt Unpaid
Tobias Finch’s blacksmith shop was a cluttered mess of half-forged iron and the acrid scent of burning metal. The man himself was broad-shouldered, his face marked with old scars, his hands calloused from years of work.
“Matilda’s dead,” Vale said.
Finch’s hammer stilled mid-strike. He didn’t look up. “I heard.”
“You owed her money,” Vale continued. “How much?”
Finch placed the hammer down with deliberate care. “More than I could afford.”
“And now she’s dead,” Crane said. “Convenient.”
Finch let out a bitter laugh. “You think I killed her? You don’t know Matilda. She didn’t need knives or poison. She could ruin you with words alone.”
“Did she threaten you?” Vale pressed.
Finch hesitated. “Not in so many words. But she knew things about me. Things from before I came to Black Hollow.”
Vale narrowed his eyes. “Your past?”
Finch exhaled through his nose. “Not something I like to talk about.”
“Where were you last night?” Crane asked.
“Working. Ask anyone.”
Vale noted the tension in Finch’s posture. The blacksmith was hiding something—but was it murder?
“One more thing,” Vale said, showing him the wooden doll. “Did Matilda make one of these for you?”
Finch swallowed. “She made one for everyone.”
Chapter 4: A Prayer for the Damned
The church loomed over the town like a silent guardian. Inside, the scent of burning wax filled the air. Nathaniel Crowe, the vicar, was kneeling at the altar, hands clasped in prayer.
“Father Crowe,” Vale said, approaching.
The vicar lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, his expression wary. “Detective.”
“You called Matilda a devil worshipper,” Vale said. “Did you believe she was evil?”
Crowe’s fingers tightened. “She meddled in things no human should. She poisoned minds with her so-called magic.”
Vale tilted his head. “Sounds like you wanted her gone.”
Crowe’s expression darkened. “Wanting someone gone and committing murder are two very different things.”
“Where were you last night?” Crane asked.
“In this church. Praying.”
“For forgiveness?”
Crowe’s gaze turned sharp. “For the town’s sins.”
Vale wasn’t sure if Crowe was capable of murder, but one thing was clear—he feared Matilda even in death.
Then he noticed something. A small black mark on the vicar’s sleeve. A smear of soot.
Like the kind found in Matilda’s cottage.
Chapter 5: The Witch’s Revenge
The pieces fell into place as Vale studied the evidence. Matilda hadn’t died from poison or strangulation—her cause of death had been far stranger.
A slow-acting toxin, slipped into her tea. One that mimicked natural death. A poison derived from belladonna—deadly nightshade.
And there was only one person in Black Hollow who had the knowledge to use it.
Margaret Langley.
They found her in her home, packing a bag. The moment she saw Vale, she knew.
“You killed her,” Vale said.
Margaret’s hands trembled. “She destroyed my marriage. My husband—he went to her instead of me.”
“So you poisoned her,” Crane said.
Margaret’s expression turned cold. “She knew. She knew and she still drank the tea.”
Vale frowned. “Why would she do that?”
Margaret’s lips curled in a bitter smile. “She told me, just before she died. ‘I saw it in the bones. This is how it ends for me.’”
Vale felt a shiver run down his spine. Matilda had known she was going to die.
And she had let it happen.
Epilogue: The Curse Lives On
Matilda was buried on the outskirts of town. Few attended the funeral.
But that night, Black Hollow whispered with fear.
Because Margaret Langley was found in her bed, cold and lifeless.
A single wooden doll rested on her pillow.
And her name was carved into its base.
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