The meeting room in Town Hall was quieter than usual. Not the kind of silence that came with respect, but the tight-lipped tension of people too afraid to speak the truth aloud.
Mayor Ronald Myers stood at the head of the long oak table, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. The curtains were drawn, even though it was still broad daylight outside. That alone said enough.
He cleared his throat, his voice steady but eyes dark with fatigue.
"We are exactly twelve days from the Helldale Field Festival. And we cannot—under any circumstances—allow a repeat of last year."
A low murmur of agreement rolled through the room. Councilman Darnell, an older man with deep creases in his face, leaned forward.
"With all due respect, sir, people are still whispering. About the body behind the church fence. The one found last year the night after the festival. That wasn't an accident."
Ronald's jaw tensed.
"There was no official confirmation that the death was connected to foul play. We ruled it inconclusive."
Councilwoman Sharpe raised an eyebrow.
"You ruled it inconclusive, Mayor. But the people know something's wrong. That wasn't the first body. And it wasn't the last. Three deaths in the last five years, all around festival time. All mysteriously written off."
Murmurs turned to voices, voices to tension. The energy in the room shifted, cold and sharp.
"We have a killer in our town," Sharpe continued, voice rising slightly. "And either we acknowledge that, or we're complicit in what happens next."
Ronald's fist met the table—once, firmly. The room fell still.
"You think I don't lie awake at night knowing that?" he growled. "I've spent every year tightening security, reviewing every report, questioning every damn officer on the force. And all I have are shadows. No face. No pattern. Just fear."
He took a breath and straightened his jacket.
"But this year, things will be different. I've authorized a special patrol taskforce. Plainclothes officers in the crowd and immense surveillance We're monitoring every alley and backstreet. I want everything that happens at the festival go exactly the way we planned and I'm sure I've made myself clear on that".
"But at what cost sir?" Sharpe asked. "How long can we bury the truth before it starts clawing its way out?"
Ronald didn't answer.
Instead, he turned to the window—where the curtains remained shut—and wondered, briefly, what it would take for this town to finally open its eyes.