I am the former police chief of a small town in North Carolina. A town where not much goes on, the department’s district is about 3 square miles and I never had more then 5 officers under me my whole career.
In 35 years I only ever delt with two real threats to my community, however, I believe it may benefit the greater public to have knowledge of these tragic events. I have taken the liberty of changing the names of people and places for reasons that will soon become clear.
Back in 86, when a spree of murders forever stained this town’s name and left a once cheerful community in perpetual fear. A man, who I had once considered a friend, kidnapped and murdered 13 townsfolk. His name was Joel Williams: The Butcher of Hollow Pines. He was smart about it; he targeted children mostly, but some unsuspecting adults as well, people jogging on the outskirts of town and such. There was a murder once a month, like clockwork. The victims were usually stabbed to death but sometimes shot. I suspect those were the victims that put up more of a fight than Williams was prepared for.
Me and my men could never pin him but everyone knew. The department was vastly underequipped to deal with a serial killer. Williams attended the same church as I; he had the guts to keep showing his smug face well into the killings, knowing I could do nothing about it.
But there was something I could do…
One night, the town gathered together. I had left my badge at home that night. We went to the bastard’s home and killed him. I left him hogtied in the house before we set it ablaze. The fire department listed the cause as unknown, but nothing about that night was unknown. The fire chief himself had lit the match. We all knew what needed to be done and we were willing to keep a secret.
I made a tragic mistake that night; one I have yet to forgive myself for. We checked the house, I was sure Williams had been alone. Little did I know, his wife and new born were hiding in the attic.
A firemen found the child behind the house. Evidently, her mother had sandwiched her between two pillows and tied them together with a sheet before tossing her out the window. The mother did not make it out. We had killed her along with her husband.
Some folks thought we should kill the child as well, but I wouldn’t allow it. I left her at an orphanage not far from town. Shortly after that, she ended up back in Hollow Pines. Her new family, the Millers, knew exactly who she was. They named her Alexandra and kept her real identity a secret to everyone except me. Anne Miller, her now mother came to me one day and made me promise, (if I were outlived her), to tell her daughter the truth of where she came from. Her husband Bill didn’t think Alex should ever know. I wasn’t sure I disagreed with him, but I promised her regardless.
All went back to normal for a time; the murders had stopped as everyone knew they would. The years passed and when Alex was old enough, she began attending the same church as me and my family. The same church her father once attended. She was polite but rather quiet, and she would usually sit in the pew furthest back, just as Williams did. She always came by herself; when asked she told me her parents weren’t religious. I could never figure out why she was religious.
My son, Steven, had taken a liking to her as they were around the same age. I forbade him from dating her. He obeyed despite me never telling him why.
One day, I found out she was walking to church each Sunday. Anne worked weekends and Bill would not drive her for whatever reason. When I offered to start driving her there myself she very reluctantly agreed. The way she was acting gave me the impression that she really didn’t want me to but couldn’t think of a reason to say no. The first morning I came to pick her up, I found out why.
I knocked on the door heard a male voice yell “Come in!”
Upon entering the house I was met with the distinct smell of alcohol. Beer cans and other trash littered the floor. Bill Miller sat back in a recliner, paying me no mind. He had a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other while he watched some reality show. The floor seemed to have become his ashtray.
Alex walked down the stairs with a ashamed look on her face. She was wearing a dress with her black hair done up in a bun. She had clearly spent a minute putting herself together and she looked out of place in that house.
For most of the ride she sat in the passenger seat with her head. I decided try and lighten the mood by asking her how school was going but instead of answering she told me that her and her mother tried their best to clean up around the house, but neither of them had the time and Bill wasn’t inclined to clean up after himself.
After a moment of silence I told her it wasn’t her fault and I wasn’t going to judge her by the state of her house. That didn’t seem to cheer her up much.
Out of nowhere she said “Sometimes I wish he would just die. I mean, he’s just a burden on mom anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. The rest of the drive was silent.
When Alex finished high school, she got a job as a janitor for a store in town. In the weeks after she became a little more cheerful. She talked to people more and her social skills seemed to improved. I was happy to see her smile for once. Mopping floors was not something I ever thought would bring someone joy like that. After a year and a half, she was able to buy herself a beater car. She loved it despite the fact it broke down at least once a month.
The day came when Alex’s mother passed away in a car accident. She was devasted as you would expect. To make matters worse, the news got out that her mother was impaired by alcohol when the crash occurred.
One night, at around 9pm, I heard someone knocking at my door. I opened it to find Alex in tears with a black eye. She told me someone at work named Tyler had snatched her keys before asking if her car had been wired to be blow-to-start yet. She didn’t answer, so he went outside and locked the keys in her car. He told her he was just making sure she didn’t end up like her mother. Alex then pulled out her pocket knife and stabbed Tyler in the arm. In response, he punched her in the face and ran off.
“If he didn’t put his hand up it would’ve been his throat.” She told me.
That night I sent her home crying worse than when she came. Due to my position, she didn’t face any legal consequences for her actions though I made it clear to her she very well could have.
After that, Alex went back to being a shy, quiet girl who was barely able to hold a conversation. I felt terrible for her.
The time came when I decided I had to make good on my word. After church services, I stopped her in the parking lot. She was well aware she had been adopted but hearing who her biological parents were came was a shock to her. The Butcher of Hollow Pines was well known. I told her the whole story but left out my involvement in it. When I finished, she stared at me blankly for a moment before tears began to form in her blue eyes. She sat down on the pavement and started sobbing. I stood there in silence, letting her let it out. Maybe 20 minutes went by before she calmed down. She stood up and looked at me with blood shot eyes.
“I’ll never be normal.” She said before getting in her car and driving home.
Except she didn’t go home, Bill Miller reported her missing the next day.
A month goes by, me and my men are unable to find even a trace of her. Her car was a very common model, leading to us receiving many leads that lead nowhere. We assembled search teams for the surrounding woodlands. I feared but fully expected her body to be found out there. Another month passes, still nothing.
I rolled into the station parking lot, an hour early to work, as usual. I got out of my truck and was immediately hit with a smell. A dead smell. I had a gut feeling, one that told me this wasn’t an animal. I drew my service revolver.
It was Tyler. He was dead, resting against the backdoor of the station. He had been stabbed well over a hundred times. His eyes were missing and he was covered in dry blood. An envelope had been nailed to his forehead. It was addressed to me directly. With a gloved hand, I ripped it from the corpse and opened it. It read as follows:
‘Chief Myers, I’m sure you know I didn’t go home that day. I went to visit where they killed my father. And I found him there, alive. Well, maybe not alive, but he was there. He told me you killed him. I’m not mad at you though, I think you did the right thing, I think he’s a terrible person. But I think I’m… also a terrible person. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I’ve never really fit in, people always thought I was weird. You were always kind to me but I know you felt the same way. I stayed with my father for a while, I don’t even know how long. But even now that I’ve left him, I still hear him whispering to me. I don’t think you can understand what’s happen to me but that’s not the point. I’m telling you this so you know that you and your family will live, but you need to let me do what I have to do. – Alex.’
This was all my fault. This was the life I had given her.
I let the letter fall to the ground. I knew her handwriting, there was no doubt Alex had wrote it. She clearly intended to kill again, but who would be her next victim? After a moment of thought, I knew who the target was. I jumped in my truck and headed to the Miller’s house.
When I arrived, the front door was open. I drew my service revolver and entered the house. The place had only become more of a dump since my last visit. Bill Miller was seated in his recliner as usual, but his throat had been cut wide open. His head tilted off to the side as he stared blankly into the abyss, blood covered his beer belly, and his arms hung limp on each side.
I had little sympathy for him.
“Alex!” I called. No reply. Instead, I felt a knife blade pierce my back. I fell to the floor. looking up, I saw Alex standing over me.
“I told you to let me be.” She said.
I drew of gun on her. “You knew I couldn’t do that.”
“I had hope.” She said before making her way outside.
My vison was blurry, I felt cold and I wanted nothing more than to sit there and die. But that wasn’t an option. I pulled myself up, fighting through the pain and fatigue. I heard my truck door shut, she was trying to get away.
I stumbled out the door in time to see her take off. Despite barely being able to make out a sight picture, I landed a 357 Magnum in one of the rear tires. She lost control of the vehicle and spun off the road, hitting a tree.
The front end was mangled and the vehicle was smoking. I radioed for Fire and EMS as I limped over. Upon opening the driver’s side door I found Alex to be missing. However, the windshield had been shattered. I found her in the grass, 15 feet from the wreckage. She had been ejected from the vehicle upon impact. She was clearly dead, her neck having been broken.
As the adrenaline began to fade and the blood loss caught up to me, I sat down next to her body. The world was getting darker. I could hear the sirens in the distance but I doubted they would get me in time. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe that’s what I deserved. Maybe if I hadn’t taken the law into my own hands all those years ago, that girl could’ve had a normal life despite her father. Maybe I could’ve found a way to get him by the book.
As you’ve probably figured out, they did get to me in time though just barely. I spent several months hospitalized for the damage done to my internal organs. I remained chief for some time although I no longer considered myself a man worthy of the position. Finally I relinquished the title to my son, who I feel has adjusted to the role quite well.
As far as I am aware, the Williams family ended with Alexandra.
In the years that followed this incident, the press died down and the town slowly went back to what it was: quiet and peaceful. An unimpressive, unassuming town that most will drive right through without a second thought.
Credit: Kevin Smith
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