Arthur Jenkins

He didn’t do it for fame, and he didn’t want to get caught. No, Tom had always been careful, methodical. To him, it was never about the thrill of the chase or the risk of getting caught. It was about control. It was about feeding that part of him that couldn’t be satisfied by the simple life of a sheriff and family man. His need had started years ago, long before he donned the badge. But once he had the power, it only grew, festering beneath the surface.

When the disappearances happened, Tom made sure to steer the investigations just enough. “Probably passed through,” he’d say, or, “Might’ve moved on without telling anyone.” He was a master at keeping the town calm, at assuring them there was nothing to fear. And why would they suspect him? He was the very man they trusted most.

Tom’s family never knew, of course. To Karen, he was the devoted husband who never missed a dinner. To his kids, he was the dad who always showed up to their games, who kissed them goodnight and made them feel safe. He played his roles so well, compartmentalizing his life with terrifying ease. But late at night, when the house was quiet and his family asleep, that darkness crept back in. He’d slip out, leaving Karen unaware, and satisfy the urge that never seemed to fade.

The disappearances were few and far between—never more than once a year. He knew how to spread them out, to keep suspicion at bay. But each time, it was harder to stop, harder to resist the pull. And now, Tom was starting to feel the walls closing in. Maybe it was his conscience—if he still had one. Or maybe it was just the creeping paranoia that, one day, he’d slip up. Someone would catch on. Maybe it would be his deputy, a rookie too green to let things slide. Or worse, maybe Karen would notice something—a stain on his shirt, a late-night drive he couldn’t explain.

Tom looked out at the quiet town, the sun fully up now, casting light on the sleepy streets of Ridgeview. For a moment, his jaw clenched. How much longer could he keep it hidden? How many more nights could he sneak out, feeding the monster inside him, before someone noticed?

He finished his coffee and set the cup down, the smile returning to his face as he greeted a passerby with a wave. But underneath, the dread gnawed at him. He knew the truth—Tom Weller wasn’t just hiding a secret.

Tom was well-liked here. He’d been elected sheriff five times in a row, with hardly any opposition. Folks saw him as dependable, steady—someone they could trust. His wife, Karen, and their two kids were part of the town’s fabric, woven into every community event, from church picnics to high school football games. To the people of Ridgeview, the Weller family was perfect, and Tom was the man who kept their little corner of the world safe.

But Tom wasn’t the man they thought he was.

Behind the steady gaze and reassuring smile, Tom carried a secret—a secret so dark, so deeply buried, that not even his family knew the truth. Every day, he wore his uniform like armor, a shield to protect him from the weight of what he’d done, from the past that threatened to tear everything apart.

As he stood there, watching the town come to life, he couldn’t help but feel the familiar tug of dread creeping into his chest. It was only a matter of time before the past caught up with him. He knew that. Secrets, no matter how well hidden, had a way of surfacing.

And when his did, everything he’d built—his family, his reputation, his life—would come crashing down.

Jackson had always been a boy under his mother’s protective wing. His mother, Emily, had raised him alone, shielding him from the harshness of the world. She doted on him, giving him everything he wanted, no matter how unreasonable. As Jackson grew older, he began to believe that the world revolved around him. His mother had taught him, though unintentionally, that he was untouchable.

By the time he was an adult, Jackson couldn’t keep a job. Whenever a boss gave him instructions he didn’t like or a colleague made a comment that rubbed him the wrong way, he’d lash out. His temper would flare, turning every minor conflict into a fight. Time after time, Jackson found himself fired, sometimes even arrested, yet his mother always bailed him out, cleaned up his messes, and assured him it wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault.

Emily, now worn down and exhausted, tried harder to reason with him, but Jackson didn’t listen. He didn’t need to—he’d never needed to. The outside world was against him, and as long as his mother was there, he believed he didn’t have to change.

One evening, after yet another incident at work that resulted in his dismissal, Jackson returned home in a rage. His mother tried to calm him down, but something in her voice—perhaps it was a hint of disappointment—set him off. His rage boiled over, and in that moment, Jackson snapped. He lunged at her, fists flying without thought or reason.

The aftermath was horrific. When he finally came back to his senses, blood covered the room, and his mother lay motionless on the floor, her once-kind eyes frozen in terror. Jackson stared in disbelief at what he had done, but for the first time in his life, there was no one to save him from himself.