Summary: A savage murder of a town matriarch leaves it reeling, and seperates friends and families. Twelve years later, another tragedy strikes.

Warning: Murder, that's it.

Copyright: I own it all, 'nough said.

This is the prologue, and the next chapter will start the main story. Hope you're interested enough to read and review.

Hollywick was a quiet town. It seemed to be resting in a void, hiding from both the troubles of the past and the complications of the future. Maybelle Partlow was in her seventies, acted as if she was thirty, and was the heart of the town itself. When she was savagely murdered and lost to them, the town was tossed from their calm void into the real world.

Nine years old, her copper-colored hair was pulled into a ponytail and her cerulean eyes were closed from laughing on the grass. “That’s not true!” she protested, crossing her arms and shaking her head.

“It is too!” her friend argued. Three years older, his gray eyes seemed to be aggravated from her disbelief, and his brown-blond hair was mussed from the wind. “Stop laughing!” Sean pleaded, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“All right, but don’t try a whopper like that on me,” Jacey warned him. “Pigeons didn’t evolve from rats, and that’s just silly!”

“Isn’t,” he grumbled, and looked away when someone called them. A woman with curly short white hair and startling blue eyes was waving at them from across the field, her cream dress blowing in the breeze and revealing her figure, still slender in her seventies. “Aunt Maybelle wants us,” he realized, getting to his feet and brushing his pants off.

“I wonder if the brownies are done,” she said thoughtfully, following her playmate down the hill to the elderly woman. Although she had no relatives to speak of, Maybelle Partlow claimed the entire town as her family, and was known as ‘aunt’ or ‘grandmother’ to most of the residents. Being a small town, there weren’t too many children, and she had a possessive streak towards the ones that were there.

“I hope so, I’m hungry,” Sean remarked, glancing back toward her. In his childish way, he thought she was pretty, and had his own small dreams that children have.

Two days later, the pastor noticed Maybelle wasn’t in her usual spot, and assumed she was ill. That was the only excuse she offered for missing church, and there was no reason to think otherwise.

Maybelle lived alone in the center of town, in a large, old house that was always kept in beautiful condition no matter the season, and was the hub for the town’s activities. No one noticed any strangers moving through town, and they wouldn’t have cared if they had. The farming and small business community was one of the most friendly around, and welcomed any travelers with open arms.

Jacey, on a mission from her mother to deliver a thank-you for the brownies, climbed up the steps to the front door without a second though. Knocking, she jumped a little when the door slowly shifted – it was open. It wasn’t unusual for it to be unlocked, but opened was another matter.

Peering in, suddenly a bit nervous with a child’s intuition, she tiptoed into the house and looked around carefully. Nothing seemed out of the place – she noticed Maybelle’s trademark coat and hat were gone, and wondered if she had gone to the doctors.

“Aunt Maybelle?” she called quietly, taking a few more steps inside and heading into the small dining area. There was a card on the table, and Jacey frowned in confusion. Maybelle was neat enough that she wouldn’t leave things lying around. She fought curiosity for a moment, and then picked it up. It was Maybelle’s handwriting, and –

Jacey shrieked and ran out of the house.

“Gruesome,” the officer said in disgust, shaking his head in both sorrow and an effort to hold back his nausea. The card not only contained a good-bye note from Maybelle – her handwriting was unmistakable – but the index finger of an elderly woman.

“Is it hers?” another policeman asked, but the leading investigator shook his head.

“We have to do a DNA test on it to determine the identity,” he told the two officers. “But…it doesn’t look too promising, considering her disappearance. Start speaking to neighbors; ask if they’ve seen anything unusual, the routine questions.”

“All right,” the second officer said, his voice quiet.

Two months went by, and the tests confirmed that it was Maybelle’s finger. Unwilling to accept the fingerprint test, the investigator had sent it off for any possible tests, and the town had been forced to admit defeat.

She was declared officially dead another three months later, when one of the cattle dogs discovered a hand and torso that were confirmed to be the matriarch’s. The idea of a murder in town was unthinkable. For it to be Maybelle Partlow – and for her seemingly to have been dismembered and scattered around the area was too much for many to accept.

Several families moved away to escape the media sensationalism that lingered, and Jacey and Sean were separated when his family joined the ones leaving.

Very short, hope it catches your attention. Please review.