As I glanced at the lonely  highway, our only companions were the endless trees, nature, and her silent children. With a sigh, I fixed my unkempt auburn hair in the mirror; a result of my restless nap. Before our car finally rolled into Droughmont County, a worn out sign welcomed us to 'Droughmont County!’ It was the only welcoming sight in this eerie place. just a feeble attempt at friendliness in a place tainted by fear.

Droughmont, was a small and obscure county in Indiana, not known to the touring public or general public but it was  known to us agents for all the wrong reasons. 

Periodic murders by unknown suspects plagued the area, and the perpetrators often left cryptic clues, as if playing a sinister game. 

`,

This town felt lifeless, and its few residents gave us unfriendly stares filled with fear and disgust. it was clear, Outsiders weren't welcome, especially given the tragic history of agents sent here.

Over the past decade, ten pairs of agents had been dispatched to Droughmont County, with each partnership ending in tragedy. The most recent case, just over two years ago, involved Gasciogne's older sister, Debra, and her partner, Williams. The details of what transpired remained undisclosed to the public,and even us Agents, but it was rumored that Williams had killed Debra. Her death and Williams' descent into madness haunted the town.

I had initially hesitated to take on this case, given my fear of the place and its ominous history. But Gasciogne revealed the truth about his sister, and I couldn't abandon him. The car came to a stop in front of the Sheriff's office, where a few deputies and the aging Sheriff awaited. 

The Sheriff appeared somewhat friendly, but the deputies exuded tiredness and hostility. Their body language made it clear that more agents were unwelcome.

The sign above the Sheriff's office, like the town itself, seemed withered and dark, reflecting the weariness of the place and its cursed history.

Gascoigne brought the car to a stop, his hands gripping the wheel as he took a deep, steadying breath. I observed his quiet moment of preparation, meeting his gaze when he glanced my way. His worried smile and nod reassured me. “Are you ready?”

"Yes, I'm ready," I replied, my voice firm.

Exiting the car, we approached the deputies and the sheriff. I took the lead, displaying my FBI badge. Gascoigne mirrored my action.

"I'm Agent Malum, FBI, and this is my partner, Agent Gascoigne," I stated, my tone unwavering.

A young, scruffy deputy named Daniels squinted at our badges, his expression clouded with disdain. "We don't need your kind meddling in our business," he spat, his southern accent thick. The other deputies remained silent, their hostile glares speaking volumes.
      

The sheriff, an older man with a protruding belly, stained shirt, and a dirty beard, intervened. Adjusting his glasses, he regarded his deputy . "Now, now, Deputy Daniels. We're all law enforcement here. Let's not hold grudges against our... blessed guests," he said, his words laced with an unsettling blend of courtesy and suspicion.

Gascoigne's gaze shifted from me to the sheriff, awaiting his introduction.

The sheriff let out a chuckle that seemed almost rehearsed. "Oh, my golly, forgive me," he said with an unsettling grin, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "I am Sheriff Murkoff." He gestured toward his deputies, each of them bearing an eerie aura.

"And this here is Deputy Daniels, I believe you’ve met already.”  the sheriff continued, his voice taking on an oddly jovial tone. "A good ol' boy," he added, though there was something disconcerting about the way he said it.

 Deputy Daniels responded with a slow, deliberate nod, his movements slightly awkward. His appearance hinted at a tragic history, leaving us to wonder how he had ended up as a deputy.

his gaze vacant yet searching, drawled with disdain, "More of them FBI folks, huh? Don't trust a lick of what they say."

Gascoigne exchanged a tense glance with me, his jaw clenching slightly as Deputy Daniels continued to mutter to himself.

Deputy Rosen's features bore the peculiar deformation as Deputy Daniels and itqq

 was evident. His eyes, set a fraction too close, held a distant, searching gaze, their color a murky blend of hazel and gray. His cheeks, marked by shallow dimples, seemed to cave inward, giving his face a slightly distorted appearance.

His jawline was uncannly uneven, which created  an unsettling asymmetry. His lips, thin and tightly pressed, seldom revealed the secrets they held. Wisps of unruly hair clung desperately to his forehead.

Deputy Rosen's eyes narrowed as he assessed us, the outsiders.The FBI agents. His voice, low and laced with contempt, . "Y'all outsiders think you can waltz in here, pokin' your noses where they don't belong," he sneered, his words dripping with disdain. "Ain't no place for your kind in our business. Best turn around and skedaddle before you find yourselves in a mess y'all can't wiggle out of."

Gascoigne's patience evaporated, his voice turned icy. "This isn't a mere case; it's a vendetta. My sister was murdered here," he said, his British accent slicing through the tension like a blade. "Your indifference won't deter us. We have business in this damned town, and we intend to see it through, with or without your cooperation." His words, delivered coldly, left no room for doubt.

I observed Deputy Rosen's sudden lunge, and Gascoigne tensed beside me. Acting swiftly to prevent the situation from escalating further, I reached out towards Gascoigne, prepared to intervene. Before I could utter a word, Sheriff Murkoff swiftly stepped in front of me, defusing the tension with a calm yet unsettling demeanor.

"Now, now, folks," Sheriff Murkoff interjected smoothly, his voice carrying an eerie tranquility that contrasted sharply with the previous hostility. He turned his attention to Gascoigne, his gaze piercing. "Ah, Gascoigne, isn't it? I knew your sister, Debra. Such a shame, she was. So talented, so promising." His words hung in the air, the praise taking on a sinister undertone. "Tragic, the way she met her end. Such a shame indeed."  His tone remained cool, but there was a chilling edge to his words, leaving a lingering feeling of unease upon me.

Gascoigne's brows furrowed with suspicion. "How did you know my sister, Sheriff?" he asked, his voice sharp with curiosity.