Roses are red

The viola will die

They said you'd be safe

But now it's a lie

Rich Wheeler stared at the bottle of whiskey. It ached at him, almost screaming for him to down it all. Rich clenched his fists, his jaw aching from holding it shut.

"No." Rich grunted to himself. "I promised my wife."

Of course, his wife and daughter had died ten years before. He was out at night, on sheriff duties, he received news of a fire and it turned out it had been his very home.

He dreamed of their screams every night, remembering his daughter's crying face up at the window, too high to escape and the fire was too alive to get in or out. His wife was trapped in her own bedroom, but seemingly absent - most likely already dead. Rich had gotten half way up the ladder to save his daughter when the floor of his daughters bedroom collapsed and she fell into the depths of the inferno, the house exploding and knocking Rich from the ladder. When he awoke from his unconsciousness in the hospital, the news of his family's death hit him like a bus on the freeway.

But yet he had promised them, he wouldn't fall back into alcoholism. In their memory, he would stay sober and honour their death in a way that would make them happy.

Of course, not too long later, Conrad Cooper's death sent him over the edge and he drowned into the whiskey again. And not too long after that, Sadie Davenport was murdered and it seemed Rich was a failure. He couldn't even protect the most vulnerable in this town.

"It's not your fault, Chief." His deputy, Samuel Tenner would say. But he was a young man, freshly trained and he had little sense of responsibility. It was his fault. He should've been there for those kids and protected them. Just like he should've protected his family.

Rich Wheeler watched as child after child would go missing, and he felt utterly useless, until, ten years later, in the year of 2008. He remembered watching from the trees, on patrol in Secular Woods. There they all were, holding candles. The alive twin to the dead one: Shari Davenport, the Priest's son: Justin Wainwright, Prue Harris, Logan Ledger, the other sibling Scott Davenport and the pretty young Diana Jet. They were mostly 18 years of age, though he knew Scott was a little older.

As Rich watched a while, suspiciously, he realised they were performing an exorcism.

He watched in shock, as they brought forward a darkness that seemed not to be vanquished, but weakened. The shadows seemed to dim the whole area, the entity trapped in the circle of the candles they held, as Justin renounced the exorcism words from the Bible.

And after what he saw, the child killings stopped. And for the next ten years, Sachem Bay found relative peace.

Until the year of 2018. Another ten years had passed, and signs of a rising darkness began to come to Rich. He remembered the chilling feelings he got at night alone, the feeling of paranoia rising once again. He'd hear news of suspected break-ins to homes, an unknown abuser leaving bruises on the children - he even had to arrest a teacher accused of it. Of course, he was cleared for zero evidence surfaced on any person hurting the children, for any fingerprints were absent.

The pet's of the townsfolk were being slaughtered. Rich received several reports of dogs being lynched from trees, someone's cat on the East side of Sachem Bay was gutted and folded inside out, left hanging at their front door. The report of another dog, gutted and petrified, left by the swings at Firestone Park. Reports surfaced of murders of crows falling to the ground instantaneously, falling dead. It all seemed to be coming back, and Rich tried to ignore it. His measures of whiskey grew larger, his volume of intake increased and though he promised sobriety to his family - they were dead now. And each drink meant he was closer to death.

Soon after, Rich Wheeler received some of the best news in years: he had cancer. The doctors grew concerned when he refused treatment, but Rich was content enough. He would live out the rest of his time, enjoying his whiskey and knowing each day was a day closer until he was dead and was able to see his family again. He was to die peacefully, in his sleep, for when he would awake, he knew he'd find his daughter and his wife waiting for him.

Saturday May 19th, 2018 came about, and a big deal was made - it was the day before the birthday of Sadie Davenport. Scott was to hold a memorial, but Rich couldn't help feeling sorry for Shari Davenport, however she was these days. The rumours were she ran away and got hooked on drugs, some said she became a prostitute in New York, some even said she was dead now, but nobody knew. Rich knew - he checked up on her on his system. She was living in New York, seemingly living a normal life.

On that Saturday, it was confirmed. The darkness has risen again. Gracie Davenport - of all the children - was reported missing that night. He heard reports the next day that Shari had returned to Sachem Bay, after all these years, in hopes of finding her.

Rich didn't have any hope. He knew she would soon be dead, just like the other children.

So he decided on it, that night. He wouldn't wait out the rest of the months, becoming yet again, another failure for this town. He would jump from the train before it hit the last stop. He would end it tomorrow night, on his favourite day of the week, a Sunday, before the worst would come.

He returned home that night and prepared the noose, the stool and a full bottle of whiskey. He drank a separate bottle, neat, ready for his upcoming death the following day.

Rich wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or his own insanity, but stood in the window, was a little girl, smiling and waving. She had dark fair hair and was holding a bunch of viola in one hand.

Rich was almost certain that it was Violet Heckle stood in the window. He staggered over, trying to get a better look when she skipped away, towards the edge of the woods that circled the end of his garden.

She took the hand of an old woman whom Rich seemed to recognise. She turned and nodded to Rich, for him to realise that Violet had found her grandmother, Pamela Heckle. Violet smiled and looked down at a pair of winter boots she had on, shiny and clean, as if she was proud of the most beautiful boots ever worn.

Rich smiled, returning a nod of certainty and watched as the two Heckle girls walked away, into the trees.

It seemed they had found peace.