But the skeptics countered, “Being at peace doesn’t mean there aren’t secrets. We need to know what’s going on.”
The Sheriff finally said, “Mrs. Higgins, we need to look through Grace’s room. There might be something there that explains why this is happening.” The old woman, trembling, replied, “I haven’t touched a thing since she passed. I locked the door and haven’t had the heart to go back in.”
The council insisted. They needed to find the truth. Despite her protests, they opened the door to the small bedroom.
Inside, the room was spotless. There was a simple twin bed, a wooden chair, and a small trunk with her clothes. There was nothing of value; she had lived a very humble life.
The bed was made with an old, patched quilt. But when the Sheriff looked under the bed frame, he found something that didn’t belong. He pulled out a heavy, expensive gold chain—a man’s necklace, the kind that cost thousands of dollars. The room went silent. How did a girl with nothing end up with something so valuable?
The Sheriff held it up. “We need to know the real story of what happened the night Grace died.”
That night, the mystery deepened. People reported seeing the dogs again, but this time they weren’t scratching; they were baying at the Sterling estate on the hill. The atmosphere in town was thick with tension.
One of the local hunters decided to keep watch at the cemetery with a high-powered flashlight. He claimed that as he approached the grave, his light flickered and died. In the silence, he said he heard a faint, rhythmic sound—like someone reciting something in a low, steady voice. Terrified, he didn’t stick around to find out more.
The next morning, the town was in an uproar. They had to get to the bottom of it. The discovery of the necklace in her room was the key.
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