I might be tripping. But... i think i just found my self a death ticket.
The missing researcher story was still just a rumor. Derrick—the guy I met on the bus—said he had connections in the media, which was how he heard about it. But something about the whole situation felt incomplete. Like there was a missing piece no one was talking about.
Here's what strange about this case: Livestock sudden death (May Caused by an external stressor), Missing researcher, And how the news got spreaded.
If Marlow Creek was really as isolated and closed-off as Chase claimed, then how the hell did the story leak out in the first place?
Okay... Research day 1 is ready to start. Mann... i feel like an actual researcher.
...
Tring
Tring
Tring
There's nothing more annoying than an alarm in the morning.
I wake up feeling dizy, the alarm i set on my phone shows exactly 6AM. It's really hard to do this, maybe because i'm just an ordinary slacker. I wake up at a small room made out of wood at the attic. It's not that much but it's nice. I never got the chance to unpack my stuff from my bag. I was to exhausted by the trip I've gone yesterday.
We arrive at Chase's village at 1AM. After being 'welcomed' by the villager. Chase and i followed Mr.Errick whic is Chase's father. At his house. There's no one welcoming us... i guess that how the Marlow Creek resident welcomed their guest. It's just a bummer, they are not as friendly as i think. i'm not pissed actually. i swear!
After that Chase showed me where i'm going to sleep and stay. Which is... an old dusty, attic.
Chase went to his room just right below my room. I guess he's sleeping. I don't know, the snore comes up really fast. It was like when he put his head in the bed, he instantly fell asleep.
Meanwhile i gotta clean my room for 30 minutes, then i can have my sleep.
Sleeping at 1.30AM and waking up at 6... i have a four and a half hour of sleep. I mean... it's still manageable.
I dragged myself out of bed and started unpacking my things. It wasn't even that much stuff, but somehow I still ended up tired halfway through.
Eventually, I made my way downstairs.
The wooden steps creaked beneath my feet like the house was announcing my presence to everyone inside.
At the dining room, I found Chase already eating breakfast.
And for the first time, I met his mother.
Mrs. Rina.
Unlike almost everyone else in this village, she smiled immediately when she saw me.
A real smile, too. Warm. Wide.
Her dark hair was tied into a loose braid, and she stood near the stove cooking eggs and bacon while steam rose from a large pot nearby.
She saw me poking my head at the dining room. She introduced herself, and said sorry for not be able to give a proper welcome last night.
I said "that's fine. I dont wanna wake up someone else the other day." I said that because i already scared at Chase's father. He looked really pissed the other day. Maybe because we interrupt his sleep.
I sat beside Chase, who was busy eating some kind of thick red stew. I couldn't tell what was inside, but the smell alone was enough to wake my stomach up completely.
Mrs. Rina noticed me staring.
"You hungry?" she asked.
Refusing would've been rude. Also stupid.
"Very," I admitted.
She laughed softly before ladling stew into a bowl for me.
"What's in it?" I asked.
"Oh, just carrots, potatoes, beets…" she said casually. "And a little lamb meat. Chopped very small."
The way she said it made it obvious this recipe mattered to her.
Like this was comfort food.
"Sounds delicious! Thank you very much Ms.Rina."
"You're Welcome... Eat up boys, make sure you guys finish the veggie."
Chase replied, "okay mom... Franz and i are not kids. Remember?" But there was no real annoyance in his voice. Just the automatic embarrassment every son seems genetically programmed to have around their mother.
I tasted the stew.
Immediately, I understood why Chase missed this place.
The broth was rich and earthy, the seasoning perfectly balanced. The lamb was tender enough to fall apart without effort. Everything tasted homemade in the best possible way.
Then Chase looked at me mid-breakfast.
"So," he said, pointing his spoon at me, "what's your plan for Day One, Mr. Researcher?"
"You know... stuff..."
"That tells me absolutely nothing."
I sighed dramatically. "Probably field observation first. Check the barns. Inspect feeding areas. Maybe examine some livestock if the owners allow it."
"And then?"
"Then I narrow down possibilities," I said, leaning back slightly. "Could be bacteria. Could be viral. Could be fungal contamination. Could even be stress-related complications."
I paused for a second before continuing.
"There are too many possibilities right now. I need to eliminate things one by one."
Chase nodded slowly.
A soft voice drifted from the kitchen behind us.
"Franz… we really appreciate the help," Mrs. Rina said gently, "but I think you might just be wasting your time."
I looked up from my bowl. "Why would you say that, Mrs. Rina?"
She hesitated while wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.
"A few months ago, another researcher came to the village," she explained quietly. "He asked questions, took notes, examined the livestock… but he never gave us a real answer. Every time we asked him something, he'd only say he needed more research."
Chase spoke with his mouth half full of stew.
"Well, research isn't easy, Mom. Maybe this case just isn't a simple one."
He had a point.
If another researcher couldn't figure this out, then my chances weren't exactly inspiring. Still… a small part of me stubbornly believed I could find something everyone else missed.
Even if my confidence was sitting at rock bottom.
Mrs. Rina sighed softly.
"I don't know, Chase… all his explanations sounded like a pile of maybes."
Before anyone could continue, I heard the faint creak of the front door opening.
Heavy footsteps followed.
Slow.
Measured.
The kind of footsteps that made the old wooden floorboards groan under pressure.
Mr. Errick had returned.
The moment he entered the dining room, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately. He was massive up close—broad shoulders, rough hands, towering posture. Dirt clung to his worn leather gloves, packed deep into the cracks like he'd been digging for hours.
"Honey," Mrs. Rina greeted him softly.
She immediately grabbed one of his hands, frowning when she saw the dirt.
"You were digging again?" she scolded gently. "What did I tell you? Leave this problem to Frank. He's already handling it."
Mr. Errick slowly pulled off one glove.
"I just wanted to help," he muttered. "Frank deserves some rest too."
There was dirt beneath his fingernails.
Dark dirt.
Fresh dirt.
I swallowed before asking, "What exactly were you digging, Mr. Errick?"
He paused.
For a second, the entire kitchen went quiet except for the faint simmering sound from the stew pot.
Then he answered flatly.
"Graves."
The word landed heavier than it should have.
"Our sheep are getting thinner," he continued. "More bodies keep piling up in the mortuary. Somebody has to bury them."
Mortuary.
Not a pit.
Not a field.
A mortuary.
The fact they even needed one for livestock made my stomach tighten slightly. That meant the deaths weren't occasional anymore.
There were too many bodies.
For some reason, the stew suddenly tasted colder in my mouth.
I carefully set down my spoon.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help? That's why I came here in the first place.
The moment the words left my mouth, Chase grabbed my wrist under the table.
"It's a bad idea," he whispered quickly. "He'll work you to death."
I ignored him and looked back at Mr. Errick.
For the first time since meeting him, the man actually looked uncertain.
Not angry.
Not intimidating.
Just tired.
But behind that exhaustion, I saw something else.
Hope.
A dangerous amount of hope.
Finally, he nodded once.
"Fine," he said. "Wait outside the house. I'll grab another shovel."
"Okie dokie, captain."
Chase stared at me like I'd just volunteered for execution.
As I stood up to leave, he muttered under his breath,
"Welp. I warned him. Dude's about to get his ass worked off."
Outside, the morning air hit colder than before.
The fog still hung low across the village fields, drifting slowly between fences and barns like pale smoke. Somewhere in the distance, metal creaked rhythmically in the wind.
I stepped onto the porch and waited.
From where I stood, I could see part of the village waking up. A few distant figures moved between buildings. No one spoke loudly. No children ran around.
Everything here felt… restrained.
Like the village itself was trying not to disturb something.
A few minutes later, the front door opened again.
Mr. Errick stepped out carrying a rusted shovel over one shoulder.
Without saying anything, he started walking.
And I followed him toward the edge of the village.
Toward the burial grounds.
...
I walked beside Mr. Errick in silence for a while.
Morning fog still lingered across Marlow Creek, drifting low between fences and barns like pale smoke. The village looked different in daylight—smaller somehow. Older. Most of the buildings were made from dark wood weathered by decades of snow and wind. Even the air smelled tired.
What bothered me most was the emptiness.
For a village built around livestock farming, I barely saw anyone outside.
No workers hauling feed.
No kids running around.
No voices.
Just the distant groan of old metal swinging somewhere in the wind.
I glanced around before finally asking, "Is it always this quiet here?"
Mr. Errick kept walking, the shovel resting over his shoulder.
"It's been rough lately," he answered. "Most of the sheep don't even live long enough to be sold anymore."
His voice stayed calm, but exhausted.
"A lot of folks stopped caring for them," he continued. "What's the point? They'll just end up dead anyway."
The way he said dead so casually made my skin crawl a little.
Still, I frowned.
"That doesn't mean everyone should just give up, right?" I said. "If sheep farming isn't working anymore, why not raise different livestock?"
Mr. Errick stopped walking.
"It doesn't work like that."
Something about the way he said it made me freeze.
"What do you mean?"
He stared ahead at the fog-covered fields for a moment before answering.
"You probably see this place as a normal village," he said slowly. "But we're not really independent farmers."
He adjusted the shovel slightly.
"We're workers. Laborers hired by the owners of this land."
I blinked.
"…What?"
"The Marlow family," he explained. "They've owned these farms for over a century."
That name again.
Marlow.
"My great-grandfather used to say the Marlow family gave people here stability. A chance to survive through the winters. Through famine. Through hard times."
He let out a dry laugh.
"Stable life indeed."
I stared at him.
"So you're telling me everyone here works for one family?"
"Yes."
"And you're okay with that?"
Mr. Errick inhaled deeply through his nose before answering.
"I don't know if okay is the right word," he admitted. "Because of the Marlows, nobody here worries about bankruptcy. Nobody starves. We get monthly paychecks no matter how bad the season gets."
He paused.
"But every sheep we raise belongs to them. Every sale. Every profit."
His boots crunched softly against the dirt road.
"We only earn enough to keep living."
I didn't know how to respond.
The whole system sounded both cruel and strangely effective at the same time.
Security in exchange for ownership.
Stability in exchange for ambition.
It reminded me of those political theories people romanticize online until real humans have to live inside them.
A system where nobody starves—
but nobody truly grows either.
It slowly kills the instinct to fight for something better.
Before I could say anything else, a rough voice suddenly echoed through the fog ahead of us.
"ERRICK!"
An old man emerged near a fenced clearing farther down the hill.
Even from a distance, I recognized him immediately.
Uncle Frank.
Mr. Errick raised one hand.
"Frank! I brought some backup!"
"Who?" Frank shouted back. "Chase?"
"No, the other one!"
A brief silence followed.
"The French one?"
"Yeah!"
"Well get your ass over here already!" Frank barked. "I already hauled the sheep outta the mortuary."
The mortuary.
Hearing that word again made my stomach tighten.
As we got closer, the smell reached me before the sight did.
Rot.
Not strong enough to make me gag.
But enough to settle deep into the back of my throat.
The fog thinned slightly as we entered an open patch of land near the edge of the village.
That was when I finally saw them.
The sheep.
Covered by stained white sheets.
Lined up beside several freshly dug graves.