The sun hung low over the mesa, casting long shadows across the cracked earth as Clara Voss stepped off the stagecoach, her boots crunching on gravel. The air reeked of dust and pine resin, a scent that clung to her clothes like a memory she couldn’t name. She adjusted the brim of her hat, squinting at the town ahead—a haphazard sprawl of wooden buildings bleached by the sun, their facades sagging under the weight of time. A bell clanged somewhere, and the sound echoed off the red-rock cliffs, sharp and hollow.
“This is it,” she muttered, her voice swallowed by the wind. The town’s name, *Rattlesnake Creek*, had been scrawled in faded chalk on a weathered sign. It looked like a place that had long since forgotten how to smile.
A man in a frayed duster approached, his face a map of wrinkles and sunburn. “You the new schoolteacher?” he asked, eyeing her valise with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Clara nodded, though the title felt like a lie. She’d left Chicago under the cover of night, her mother’s letter clutched in her pocket: *They’re coming for the land. You must go.* The words had been scrawled in a shaky hand, the ink smudged by tears. She didn’t know what awaited her here, only that staying meant certain death.
The man grunted. “You’ll need a horse. The school’s two miles east, past the mill. Don’t linger at the creek—them snakes got a taste for strangers.” He turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd without another word.
Clara tightened her grip on the valise and started walking. The dust swirled around her ankles, biting at her skin. Children’s laughter drifted from a nearby yard, high and carefree, but the sound felt distant, like a song from another life. She passed a general store with a broken awning, its windows displaying rusted tools and canned goods that had long since lost their labels. A sign above the door read *Baker’s General Store* in peeling letters.
“You lost?” A voice cut through the air, smooth and edged like a blade. Clara turned to see a woman in her forties leaning against a hitching post, her red hair tucked into a tight bun. She wore a calico dress, its pattern faded but still vivid, and a silver locket glinted at her throat.
“I’m the new schoolteacher,” Clara said, forcing a smile. “I was told to head east.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, assessing her like a horse being sold at auction. “You’re not from around here, are you?” Her tone wasn’t unkind, but it carried the weight of someone who’d seen too much.
Clara shook her head. “Chicago.”
A flicker of recognition crossed the woman’s face. “Ah. The city. Well, welcome to Rattlesnake Creek. You’ll find it… different.” She stepped forward, her boots crunching on the gravel. “I’m Mae. I run the store. If you need anything, come by. But don’t trust the creek. It’s got a way of swallowing people whole.” She turned and walked away, her stride deliberate, as if each step carried a secret.
Clara watched her go, a chill creeping down her spine. The town felt alive in a way that unsettled her, as though the very air hummed with hidden stories. She pressed on, the weight of her valise growing heavier with each step. The sun dipped lower, painting the cliffs in hues of amber and crimson. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, its sound lonely and sharp.
By the time she reached the schoolhouse, twilight had settled over the town. The building was a weathered two-story structure, its windows dark and empty. A wooden sign above the door read *Rattlesnake Creek School* in crooked letters. Clara hesitated, her hand hovering over the handle. Inside, the silence was oppressive, thick with the scent of old paper and chalk dust.
She pushed the door open, and the creak echoed like a warning. The classroom was dim, lit by a single oil lamp that flickered on the wall. Desks lined the room, their surfaces scarred by years of use. A blackboard stood at the front, its surface covered in faded equations. Clara stepped inside, her boots making soft thuds against the floorboards.
A voice broke the silence. “You’re late.” It was a boy, no older than ten, sitting in the back row. His clothes were too big for him, his hair unkempt. He didn’t look up from the book he was reading.
Clara blinked. “I— I didn’t know there were students already.” She glanced around, expecting more children, but the room was empty except for him.
The boy finally looked up, his eyes dark and sharp. “They don’t come unless you’re here. This place is dead, Miss Teacher. Just like the town.” He closed the book with a snap and stood, his movements deliberate. “Name’s Jace. You’ll need to teach me, I suppose.” His tone was flat, but there was something in his eyes—a quiet defiance that made Clara’s pulse quicken.
She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of hooves clattering against gravel cut through the air. A man’s voice barked orders, and the boy flinched as if struck. Clara turned toward the door just as a figure stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a storm.
“What’s this?” The man’s voice was low, rough, like gravel underfoot. He was tall, his face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. His coat hung open, revealing a belt buckle that glinted in the lamplight. “Another city girl?” He took a step forward, and Clara caught a glimpse of his eyes—cold, calculating.
Jace shifted beside her, his posture tense. “This is Miss Voss,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. “The new teacher.”
The man’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A pleasure. I’m Sheriff Hayes. Welcome to Rattlesnake Creek, Miss Voss. Hope you’re ready for the kind of trouble this town’s got.” He turned on his heel and strode out, his boots echoing in the empty room.
Clara stood frozen, her mind racing. The town was a puzzle, its pieces scattered and incomplete. She didn’t know what secrets lay beneath its surface, but one thing was clear—she had stepped into a story far darker than she’d imagined.
