1.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Phillip Sinclair sat in his office at the publishing company, his fingers dancing across the keyboard as his brain tried to wrap around some new story that could put him back on the map, in the good graces of his employer. Nothing was coming to mind, he had barely written a full sentence before he slammed his index finger down on the backspace and erased it instantly.
“Fuck.” He growled in frustration.
The office chair wheel’s groaned as he pushed himself away from his desk and began scratching at his beard and top of his head, fingers raking through his salt and pepper hair as he pushed the glasses that slid down his nose back up the bridge. He had to come up with something before they dropped him from the paper completely, his last big story had been about some animal experiments with some new cosmetic company.
In the end he had nearly toppled that company’s reputation and had almost gone to court under sue for defamation by said company, now he was trickling off the deep end and his employer wanted him to do something a little more...subtle and close to home.
Something that wouldn’t land him having to pay millions to a pissed off company or person.
Now he was struggling, Phillip Sinclair never struggled and his biggest weakness was telling a story so crazy that it would make anybody believe it was true, he only cared about the bottom line and less about who he hurt in the process. It was all about making a story so believable or insane that anybody would pay for it, to read it, to blow it up on all social media platforms that it would go viral.
But he was stuck, he couldn’t find anything worth writing about.
Until today, anyway.
Three knocks, light on the door and it opened seconds later.
“Sinclair.” The man announced as he entered.
Philip sat back upright in his computer chair, running his hands down his face before fixing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose.
He turned to glance at the man in the doorway. “What’s up, Max?” He asked.
The male held a file in his hand, “Got something that might interest you.”
Something was better than nothing and Philip was tired of nothing at this point.
-----
The leather chair groaned upon Philip’s sit on the cushion, leg half-crossing over the other as he leaned back in the chair, his eyes flickered over towards the clock on the wall.
“So,” Max began, walking around his desk and setting the papers down in front of Philip, “there’s this old town off U.S. 80 going towards Louisiana. It’s called Duskwood.”
“Duskwood?” Sinclair repeated the name, scratching his fingers against his chin, “Sounds made up.”
“Well it’s not...it’s a tiny town, hick town if you will. Apparently it’s seen a lot of bad shit, murders, religious nutcases, gangsters...even a fucking cult made the place their home.” Max motioned towards the papers, “They say it’s cursed, that a couple of Devil Worshippers opened some portal to Hell in a motel room there, ever since the town has been messed up. Shit even the FBI got involved when it came to the cult, shot the leader of it dead and then somebody tried to cover up some evidence by burning the town down...or attempting to.”
Sinclair gripped the papers in his hand, perking up a brow at the pictures and reports. “So a ghost town?”
“Nope...some big ol’ investor from New York bought the whole stretch of land and rebuilt it back up, motel and all.” Max leaned back, locking his fingers together in his lap.
There was a moment of silence between the two men, most of it coming from Sinclair as he looked over the crime scene photos, the photos of the town and the various police reports.
“These look recent.” He held up the picture of a beautiful couple smiling and happy.
Max shrugged, “Ah yeah, some couple stopped in that town, turns out that guy she was dating was the son of the cult leader who the FBI killed.”
“Hmmf.” Philip scoffed, lowering the picture to look at it. “What happened to them?”
Call it curiosity perhaps, Philip always wanted to get as much information as he could instead of going in someplace blind looking for a story.
Max took a breath, leaned himself forward and tapped a finger on the girl first, “Gabriella Davis...she now resides at Covington Behavioral Health Hospital in Covington, Louisiana.”
“A psychiatric hospital?” Sinclair asked, somewhat shocked at the sudden news of it.
Max nodded, “Yep, guess the boyfriend, Jude Campbell, was pumping her full of hallucinogenic and a bunch of other shit. Made her go loco. Dude tried to sacrifice her to some Lady of the Sun or some other bullshit.”
“Wow...” Sinclair muttered.
“Yeah so,” Max began, “you wanna take it on? Might get you back on the front page of the paper.”
Sinclair sighed, a quick glance back at all the photos, a once over if you will and he set them down on the desk top.
“I’ll take it.”
