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“Isn’t that what we’re all about? Trying to expose the corrup—”
“No, it isn’t. What do you think this is? The Washington Post? We’re a small-town newspaper and that means we live and die on advertising dollars. The advertisers in small towns are almost exclusively local businesspeople, and in small towns the local businesspeople make up the entire body of local political power. Capiche? Not to mention the fact that our town, our sweet little burg of Black Marsh, can’t even sustain us—we get eighty percent of our advertising from Pine Deep. Now, do you really think it is prudent to run an article that attacks, even condemns, the mayor of Pine Deep, as well as the police department and the whole town in general? Especially when said mayor is being quoted and sound-bited by every media on God’s green Earth? Personally, I do not think that’s such a keen idea, Newt. I think that is one of the stupidest ideas I’ve heard in a long time. ”
“But it’s the truth!”
“So what? Since when did the truth matter in journalism? We write slanted and biased drivel so we can sell papers. ”
“We have a respon—”
“Oh, please! What are you, a Boy Scout? You working on your Walter Cronkite merit badge?” Hangood sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Newt, you are actually a pretty good reporter, better than the average hack working for our little rag, but you’re only good when you stay the hell away from politics. You start writing about politics and suddenly you’re Oliver Stone writing a movie script. Conspiracies, hidden meanings, secret arrangements, black ops, and shadow governments. Christ, Newton, has anyone ever told you that you live in a small town? The extent of corruption around here is that the more taxes you pay the less you have to worry about parking tickets. This is not D. C. , this is not Philly or New York. This is Small Town, USA. In Small Town, USA, we do not try to sell papers by smashing down local government and—no, don’t you dare try to give me your patented speech about the truth and the public’s right to know! The public around here wants to know which antique dealer is having a sale on Shaker furniture and what the Corn Growers Commission is planning to do about the newest tax bill. Forget politics, Newton, you don’t have the disposition for it, and I say that for your own good. I know you like to write about politics, and sometimes you are even right in what you say, but you get too worked up about it. ”
“This story is the natural extension of the feature on Ruger. ”
“I know it is, but it is injurious to the financial welfare of both Pine Deep and Black Marsh. That is a fact, and don’t bother trying to make an argument for truth over money, because the publisher cares a lot more about how well this paper sells than what it says. Sad, maybe, but true, and he does sign our paychecks. ” Newton made a rude sound. He knew Hangood owned half of the paper himself. “Anyway,” Hangood continued, “that article you wrote yesterday was a dandy, and it was quoted all across the country. You are the first writer on the Sentinel to have a piece picked up, word for word, by all the major wire services. ”
“So, doesn’t that give me leverage to—”
“No, it doesn’t, but it does give you some consideration. The article you wrote about the corruption in Pine Deep is dead, gone, never existed. It’s not even a rumor in this office. Accept that or resign. ” Hangood waited, puffing blue clouds. Newton said nothing, his silence providing his grudging answer. “Okay. We’re done with that. Let’s start clean on the next issue. ”
“Pray, what is that?” There was enough frost in Newton’s voice to lower the temperature of the room several degrees.
“I am going to offer you a very plum assignment. I talked it over with the publisher, and we’ve decided to assign you to writing a feature. ”
“Oh no! No you don’t! Not another Daffodil Festival piece—”
“Shush! I am talking about a major feature, not some puff piece. A front-page feature with as many interior pages as you can fill. ”
“On what?” Newton asked bitterly. “The secrets of how to make corn dollies?”
“Actually, no. I want you to write an extensive feature on the haunted history of Pine Deep and surrounding towns. ” Newton stared at him, not believing what he was hearing. “Hear me out, Newton, hear me out. You’ve only lived here for about eight years, so you probably don’t know much about the history of the area. ”
“Who cares about the history of the area?”
Hangood’s flat stare silenced him. “If you would like to try and be a reporter for a moment, I’ll explain. Good. Now, Pine Deep is the oldest town around here, much older than Black Marsh, Crestville, or any of the other burgs. It was settled way back in the Puritan days. Since it was settled there have been a series of weird and unexplainable events that have earned the town its reputation for being Spooksville, USA. Now, you may think that’s just boring stuff, and normally you would be right, but I have a little fact that just might whet your appetite. ”
“Pray tell. ”
“I’ll bet you didn’t know that there was another series of brutal murders in Pine Deep, long before this one. The reports differ, but the general consensus is that there were seventeen or eighteen savage murders in and around Pine Deep. ”
“The Pine Deep Massacre, The Reaper Murders, the Black Harvest, whatever—I know this stuff already, Dick, the other papers have already played that card. Big deal. That was, what, thirty years ago?”
Hangood smiled. “There’s more. ”
“More?”
“Oh yeah. Vigilantes, hidden bodies…that sort of thing. They even have a legend about the killer from those days. ”
“A legend?”
“Yeah. He’s become the local bogeyman in Pine Deep. They use his name to scare little kids. ”
“The Bone Man!” Newton cried. “You’re talking about the Bone Man. That’s the other name they use for the Reaper. ”
“The Bone Man indeed. He was blamed for the murders and somehow accidentally got himself beaten to death. Some folks say his ghost still haunts the back roads of town, looking for the men who killed him. Some folks say that he was wrongly accused and is looking for the real killer, and can’t rest until he finds him. Some say he was the Pine Deep Reaper. Lots of local legends, real juicy stuff. I’m thinking of getting Grace McCormick to illustrate it. She’s the one does all those spooky calendars. My publisher wants me to try and sell it to Parade. ”
“Parade?” Newton asked. A sale to the color Sunday supplement was huge.
Seeing that Newton was swimming around the lure, Hangood jerked the line to set the hook. “Here’s the kicker…among the families involved in that original massacre were the Guthries, the Wolfes, and the Crows. ”
