Chapter 5: The Truth Comes Out

The next morning, just after sunrise, Main Street was packed—everyone turned out for the land split. Pickup trucks lined both sides, and the smell of fresh coffee and fried doughnuts wafted from the church kitchen. Folks clustered in nervous knots, voices low with gossip: "Heard the Chen place smells like death." "Ain’t right, keeping a man locked up."

Derek stood among them. He called, "Mr. Keller, there are six people in my family."

He stood tall, chin up, but his eyes were rimmed red and he kept glancing down the road.

Old Joe Lewis piped up, his voice rough, "C’mon, Derek, everybody knows your old man’s been gone since that hog tore him up. Why you still countin’ him?"

Derek glared back. "Who says my dad’s dead? He’s alive!"

He planted his feet, fists clenched, like he could force the truth to be what he needed.

Old Joe snorted. "If your dad isn’t dead, why doesn’t he come sign?"

The crowd murmured in agreement, a ripple of suspicion running through the families. Kids clung to their moms’ skirts, listening wide-eyed.

Derek replied, voice shaking, "The doctor says Dad can’t be exposed to drafts. He’s gotta stay home to recover."

He kept his hands jammed in his pockets, eyes darting from face to face, searching for anyone who believed him.

Old Joe curled his lip. "Derek, ask anyone here—does anybody believe you? You’re just trying to scam us out of land."

His accusation was blunt, echoing what most were already whispering. It wasn’t the first time folks tried to bend the rules, but this felt darker.

Derek’s face darkened. He snapped, "Joe, if you keep talking crap and cursing my dad, I’ll make you pay!"

His voice rang out, fierce but shaky. In a bigger town, folks might laugh, but here, family honor was everything.

Old Joe spat on the dirt, arms crossed. "Go ahead, try me!"

A couple men shifted uneasily, eyes on Derek.

Derek was so furious he stomped his feet and was about to lunge at Old Joe when Grandpa barked, "Enough! Everybody, quiet down."

His voice cut through the noise like a siren. Even the dogs stopped barking. Grandpa stood tall at the center, the weight of years in his posture.

He turned to Derek. "Your dad’s recovering at home and can’t come out? Then let everyone go to your house and see. As long as your dad can sign, the land is yours."

The air went still, every eye on Derek. Grandpa’s tone was final—no arguing.

Old Joe chimed in, "That’s right! Let’s see for ourselves."

He jabbed a finger at Derek, eager to be proven right. The crowd rumbled agreement, boots scuffing the dust.

Derek’s face twisted. "Mr. Keller, my dad really can’t be exposed to drafts."

The plea in his voice was nearly drowned out by nervous laughter and muttering. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his gaze flicking to the woods as if thinking about running.

Grandpa gave him a hard look. "Is it that your dad can’t be exposed to drafts, or that he can’t be seen by people?"

The question rang out, sharp and damning. Some of the older women gasped, clutching their handbags.

Derek hesitated, then said anxiously, "What if my dad dies from being exposed? Who’s responsible?"

His hands shook, voice cracking. For a second, the bravado faded, replaced by real fear.

Grandpa replied coldly, "I’ll take responsibility. Let’s go—everyone, let’s go to your house and see."

He set off toward Derek’s house, the crowd surging behind him. There was no stopping the tide now.

Boots thudded on the road, voices tense. The whole town moved as one, a river of suspicion and dread heading for the edge of town.

Derek grew frantic, blocking Grandpa. "Mr. Keller, what are you doing? Do you want to kill my dad?"

He grabbed Grandpa’s sleeve, eyes wild. His desperation was plain for all to hear.

Grandpa retorted, "A little breeze won’t kill him. If you keep blocking, are you hiding something from us?"

His words were sharp, the last of his patience gone. The crowd pressed closer, eager and afraid.

At this, everyone stared at Derek, suspicion burning in their eyes.

It was the kind of moment folks would talk about for years—how the truth finally came out in the bright morning sun with every neighbor watching.

The old-timers used to say: there were times when the dead didn’t stay buried in this town, and half the people got killed because of it. Everyone was scared.

You could see fear ripple through the crowd, folks backing away from Derek as if he might be contagious. The stories felt too close now, too real.

Derek stammered, "No... nothing like that."

But nobody looked convinced. Even the birds seemed to fall silent.

Grandpa snorted and strode straight for Derek’s house. The crowd followed.

No one wanted to be left behind—or miss whatever came next. Dust swirled in the air as everyone moved as one.

When they arrived, the front door was busted, forced open. In the yard, fresh bloodstains and muddy footprints showed the place had been ransacked.

The scene was chaos—shards of glass in the grass, muddy bootprints from porch to barn, and the sharp, metallic smell of blood in the morning air.

Grandpa demanded, "Derek, where’s your dad?"

His voice cracked like a whip. Derek shrank back, face ashen.

Just then, a weak bleating came from the barn—a sound full of pain, like the last struggle of a dying animal.

It was a sound I’d never forget—soft, desperate, and wrong. The barn doors gaped open, dark as a mouth, blood smeared across the threshold.

Derek screamed in terror, eyes wild with fear, and bolted from the yard.

He ran, stumbling over broken fence posts, disappearing into the trees. No one moved to stop him. For a second, even the adults looked frozen with dread.

The crowd stood stunned, staring at the barn. Its door was open and smeared with blood. No one dared go near.

A hush fell over Main Street. I squeezed Grandpa’s hand, my heart hammering. Whatever was in that barn, I knew nothing in our town would ever be the same again.

Grandpa’s face was grim as he walked a few steps closer to look inside. He squared his shoulders, moving with slow, determined courage—the kind that comes from a lifetime of facing down the worst. The crowd held its breath, waiting for whatever horror waited within, the rising sun gleaming off the stained wood as the story reached its dark, inevitable end.