Chapter One: Return to Jane Lew
Sarah Matthews eased her rental car off I-79 at Exit 105, the familiar sight of the Jane Lew Truck Stop looming ahead. The sprawling complex, with its recently-renovated trucker facilities and rows of newly-installed tractor trailer diesel pumps, was a stark reminder of how the small town had changed—and how it hadn’t—in the twenty years since she’d left.
As she pulled up to a pump at the adjacent Valero gas station, Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the “Welcome to Jane Lew” sign just beyond. Its faded paint seemed a fitting metaphor for her own weathered connections to this place.
“You can do this,” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the gas pump. “It’s just a small town. Your small town.”
But even as she said it, Sarah knew it wasn’t true. Jane Lew had never been just a small town to her. It was the place where she’d grown up, where she’d dreamed of becoming a journalist, and where she’d sworn she’d never return. Yet here she was, drawn back by a mysterious letter from her estranged grandfather.
After filling up, Sarah hesitated before getting back in the car. On impulse, she walked into the Valero’s mini-mart, the bell above the door announcing her entrance. The cashier, a young woman with bright purple hair, looked up from her phone.
“Help you find anything?” she asked, her tone suggesting she hoped the answer was no.
Sarah shook her head, wandering the aisles aimlessly. It was strange how even this convenience store held memories. She and Tom, her childhood best friend, used to bike here for popsicles on hot summer days. The thought of Tom brought a bittersweet pang to her chest.
Grabbing a bottle of water and a local newspaper, Sarah approached the counter. The headline caught her eye: “Strange Lights Reported Near Hacker’s Creek – Local Legend or Something More?”
“That’ll be $3.50,” the cashier said, interrupting Sarah’s thoughts.
As Sarah fumbled for her wallet, the girl’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, aren’t you Marge Matthews’ granddaughter? The one who moved to New York?”
Sarah froze for a moment, then nodded. “Sarah Matthews. I’m surprised you recognized me.”
The girl shrugged. “Small town. Mom runs Whit’s Custard Stand. She points out everyone who comes through. Says it’s good for business to know the locals.” She paused, then added with a hint of curiosity, “So, what brings you back?”
“Family business,” Sarah said, keeping her tone neutral. “I received a letter from my grandfather.”
The girl’s eyes widened slightly. “Old Man Matthews? Huh. No one’s seen him around in months. People were starting to talk…”
“Talk about what?” Sarah pressed, but the girl just shook her head.
“Nothing concrete. Just whispers, you know? Anyway, here’s your change. Have a good one.”
Sarah left the mini-mart, her mind buzzing with questions. As she drove down Main Street, the familiar sights of her childhood came into view. The Jane Lew Hardware Store still occupied its corner lot, its weathered sign creaking gently in the breeze. Next door, a modern coffee shop had sprung up, its large windows showcasing a bustling interior filled with locals tapping away on laptops.
She slowed as she passed the stately brick building of Citizens Bank, its lawn and landscaping looking as perfectly-manicured as ever, yet still exactly the same as it had appeared twenty years ago. Up the street, the Boyle Funeral Home stood silent and dignified, its beautiful, serene fountain was a stark contrast to the lively chatter spilling out from the neighboring diner.
==Sarah pulled into a parking spot in front of the Jane Lew Municipal Building, a modest structure that housed the town’s administrative offices. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the inevitable stares and whispers that would follow her arrival. In a town of fewer than four hundred people, news traveled fast.==
As she stepped out of the car, the warm June air enveloped her, carrying with it the scent of fresh-cut grass and distant barbecue. A group of teenagers exited the neighboring Jane Lew Volunteer Fire Department, laughing and chatting animatedly about the upcoming Fireman’s Arts and Crafts Festival.
“Sarah? Sarah Matthews, is that you?”
The voice made Sarah freeze, her hand still on the car door. She turned slowly, plastering on what she hoped was a convincing smile. “Mrs. Kincaid, hello.”
The older woman bustled over, her eyes bright with curiosity. “My goodness, it is you! We’d heard rumors you might be coming back, but I hardly believed it. Look at you, all grown up and citified!”
Sarah resisted the urge to smooth down her designer blouse. “It’s good to see you, Mrs. Kincaid. How have you been?”
“Oh, can’t complain, can’t complain. Still running the bed and breakfast up on Hacker’s Creek Road. You remember the place, don’t you? You and that Tom Harrison used to ride your bikes past it all the time.”
The mention of Tom sent a jolt through Sarah’s system. “Yes, I remember,” she said, her voice tight. “Is Tom still in town?”
Mrs. Kincaid’s eyes twinkled. “Oh yes, he’s our deputy sheriff now. Quite the eligible bachelor, if you ask me. But tell me, what brings you back to Jane Lew after all these years?”
Sarah hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. “Family business,” she said finally. “I received a letter from my grandfather.”
“Old Man Matthews?” Mrs. Kincaid’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, I’ll be. No one’s seen hide nor hair of him in months. Folks were starting to wonder…”
“Wonder what?” Sarah pressed, but Mrs. Kincaid just shook her head.
“Oh, nothing to concern yourself with, dear. Just small-town gossip. Now, where are you staying? Don’t tell me you’re going back to that old house by the creek?”
Sarah nodded, ignoring the look of concern that flashed across Mrs. Kincaid’s face. “It’s still in the family. I figured it would be easier than imposing on anyone.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. And Sarah?” Mrs. Kincaid’s voice softened. “It really is good to have you back.”
With a final pat on Sarah’s arm, Mrs. Kincaid shuffled off, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts once more. She glanced down Main Street, her eyes drawn to the old Jane Lew Glass Factory in the distance. Its broken windows and crumbling facade stood in stark contrast to the well-maintained buildings around it.
Something about the abandoned factory tugged at Sarah’s memory. Hadn’t her grandfather’s letter mentioned something about his time working there? She made a mental note to investigate it later.
For now, she had a more pressing destination. Sarah got back in her car and headed toward the outskirts of town, where Hacker’s Creek Road wound its way into the hills. The familiar route brought back a flood of childhood memories: summer days spent exploring the creek’s banks, hunting for crawdads and skipping stones across the water’s surface.
As she drove, the houses became fewer and farther between, replaced by dense forest and the occasional cleared pasture. The road narrowed, and Sarah found herself leaning forward, straining to see around each curve. Finally, she spotted it: a weathered mailbox with “Matthews” painted on the side in faded letters.
Sarah turned onto the gravel driveway, the car bouncing and rattling as she made her way up to the old farmhouse. It looked smaller than she remembered, its white paint peeling and its green shutters hanging askew. The porch sagged slightly, and weeds had overtaken what was once her grandmother’s prized flower garden.
Killing the engine, Sarah sat for a moment, staring at the house. This was where she’d grown up, where she’d formed her earliest memories. And somewhere inside was the answer to why she’d been called back after all these years.
With a deep breath, Sarah reached into her purse and pulled out the letter that had started it all. Her grandfather’s spidery handwriting covered the page, but it was the last few lines that had haunted her for weeks:
“Sarah, there’s something you need to know. A secret I’ve carried for far too long. It’s time for the truth to come out, but I can’t do it alone. Come home, Sarah. Come to Hacker’s Creek. The answers are here, if you’re brave enough to find them.”
Sarah folded the letter and tucked it back into her purse. Whatever secret her grandfather was hiding, whatever mystery lurked in the waters of Hacker’s Creek, she was determined to uncover it. She was a journalist, after all. Uncovering the truth was what she did best.
With a final glance at the setting sun, Sarah grabbed her bags from the trunk and made her way to the front door. The old key still fit the lock, though it took some jiggling to turn. As the door creaked open, the musty smell of disuse washed over her.
Sarah stepped inside, her footsteps echoing in the empty house. A thin layer of dust covered everything, and sheets draped the furniture like ghosts of the past. But beneath the neglect, she could still sense the warmth of the home she’d once known.
Setting her bags down, Sarah moved to the living room window. From here, she could just make out the glint of Hacker’s Creek through the trees. As the last rays of sunlight faded, casting long shadows across the land, Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine.
What secrets did the creek hold? What truth was her grandfather so afraid to face alone? And most importantly, was she ready for what she might uncover?
As darkness fell, Sarah stood at the window, staring out at the place that had shaped her past and the mystery that would define her future. Whatever came next, one thing was certain: nothing in Jane Lew would ever be the same again.