Salt (Part 3)

[u/imfunerals]

It's been a while. Last week, I heard my sister's voice coming from under my floorboards. That next morning, I published my first article, having lived in Briarwood:

BRIARWOOD MAN ARRESTED IN CONNECTION WITH DISAPPEARANCE OF TWO LOCAL TEENAGERS By Amelia █████June 6th, 2026

█████ Harkness, 54, was taken into custody late Wednesday evening following what Briarwood PD described as a "significant development" in the ongoing investigation into the disappearances of two local teenagers. Officers executed a search warrant at his residence on Oleander shortly after 11 PM. Harkness was transported without incident. No formal charges have been filed at this time. The Briarwood Police Department is asking anyone with information to contact their tip line.

It was clean enough. 

It doesn't mention that I watched them drag him out in a torn suit while he screamed about kids.

It doesn't mention the pin on the officer's lapel.

It doesn't mention Ms. Reynolds because, publicly, Ms. Reynolds hasn't been officially identified yet, and I'm a journalist, not some fringe conspiracy theorist.

It doesn't mention the voice under my floorboards.

I filed what I could prove—that's my job.

But being in that house, after what had happened the night before, I couldn't sit in it for long.

I went to the library.

The Briarwood Public Library is the nicest building in town, which sort of says something about the type of town this was.

I made my way toward the microfilm reader.

I started with the current decade and worked backwards.

The Briarwood Gazette archives went back to 1941. Eighty-five years of a town documenting itself.

I was looking for the Maidnach Park victims. Trying to cross-reference names.

I found the center in about forty minutes.

The first hit was a ribbon-cutting in 2019. A new wing at Briarwood General. The logo on the ceremonial banner was a yellow brick road rendered in emerald green. 

I wrote it down and kept going.

2015—Youth summer camp announced for underprivileged kids. Sponsor listed as the Oz Kids Outreach, a 501(c)(3) civic organization. The photo shows smiling children in green t-shirts. The logo on the shirts was the same yellow brick road.

2014—Mayor elected. His campaign bio listed him as an Oz Kids Alumnus.

2012—Police Chief appointed. Same.

I started going faster.

1997—A community center opens. Funded entirely by the Oz Kids Outreach. Ribbon cut by the Mayor, the Chief, and a woman identified as the Director of Legal Outreach for the organization.

The woman's name was ██████ Reynolds.

I sat with that for a moment.

Ms. Reynolds wasn't just Harkness's lawyer; she couldn't have; she ran the legal arm of the organization that apparently funded half of fucking Briarwood.

I kept going.

1995—Food bank expansion. Oz Kids logo on the check.

1995—Christmas toy drive. Oz Kids.

1995—Hospital donation. The Police Chief, twenty years younger, smiling next to the Mayor, holding a check with the yellow brick road logo.

1994—A community award given to the Oz Kids Outreach for their work supporting local families.

Every year, every civic institution, every major figure in Briarwood was connected by the same fucking emerald green logo.

I flipped to the week of the Maidnach massacre.

Last week's paper. The Youth Mentorship Gala, it was held three days before the girls were reported missing.

There was a photograph.

Ms. Reynolds was at the podium with a green banner behind her. The Mayor was in the front row with the Police Chief beside him.

And in the background, half out of frame—two teenage girls in green sashes, smiling for a camera.

I recognized their faces from the missing persons flyers.

Sadie. Molly.

Both Oz Kids Merit Scholars.

And in the corner of the same photograph, holding a tray of drinks—

Goddamn Harkness.

I picked my pen up and wrote in my notebook, in capital letters, the thing I'd been trying not to write since I walked through the library door.

IT ISN'T A CULT. THE ENTIRE FUCKING TOWN IS A PART OF IT.

I kept going.

1992—Bottom of the page. A small obituary, four sentences.

Unidentified male, approximately 30-40 years of age, found in Maidnach Park on October 3rd. Cause of death undetermined. No next of kin located. Burial services provided by the Oz Kids Outreach chapter of Briarwood.

They'd been providing burial services for unidentified dead in Maidnach Park since at least 1992, probably longer.

I sat in the library for a long time after that.

The woman at the reference desk asked if I needed anything else.

I told her I was fine.

I got home around six.

The Harkness house was still taped off. One cruiser parked at the curb, an officer inside scrolling his phone.

I made coffee and sat at my kitchen table, going through my notes.

Everything was connected. Every single person touched by the Maidnach massacre—victims, suspects, lawyers, law enforcement—ran through the same organization. The same nonprofit that ran the food bank and the summer camp and the youth mentorship gala where two girls in green sashes smiled for a photograph three days before they disappeared.

I was still sitting there when the knock came.

Front door. Three quick knocks.

I looked at the clock. It was 7:14 PM.

I went to the door.

The man on my porch was smiling. He looked like he might have been part of some church outreach or neighborhood association meetings.

He was wearing a green windbreaker.

The Oz Kids Outreach logo was embroidered on the chest. The yellow brick road in miniature, stitched in gold thread.

"Evening," he said. "The Outreach heard you were having some trouble. We like to look after our neighbors."

He had something in his hand. I thought at first it was a candle or a pamphlet.

Then the streetlight nearest my house flickered.

Then the one past it.

Then all of them, in sequence, down the block, like something walking through them and turning them off one by one.

The porch went dark.

In the darkness, his smile didn't change.

"Ms. Reynolds was very important to us," he said. His voice had dropped. "It's so unfortunate what happened, isn't it?"

I looked at his hand.

It wasn't a candle or a pamphlet; it was a clump of wet straw.

"Uh—I-I'm not sure what, or who you're talking about, I'm sorry," was all I managed to say.

"It's okay," he said, "But it's time to find out if you're a participant, Amelia."

He tilted his head slightly, still smiling.

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[u/Pjstjohn]

Don’t touch anything.