Whispers in the Pines

The fog never lifted from Briar Hollow.

Detective Cole Bennett stood at the edge of the churchyard, watching as forensic officers examined the third body in less than a month. The victim lay peacefully on the stone steps of the old church, eyes closed, hands gently folded over a pine branch.

Just like the last two.

Cole had seen a lot in his fifteen years on the force, but this small Oregon town was beginning to unnerve him. The murders weren’t violent. No wounds. No blood. Just... silence. Peaceful silence. And always the pine branch.

“Same pattern,” said Officer Riley, snapping photos. “No signs of struggle. No drugs in her system either.”

Cole nodded. “He’s not killing with force. He’s killing with trust.”

The victims had nothing in common except one thing—they all attended the same church group. A weekly meeting led by Father Elias, a soft-spoken, elderly priest who had lived in Briar Hollow all his life. Cole decided to pay him a visit.

Inside the church, candles flickered against wooden walls. Father Elias sat quietly near the altar, blind eyes staring into the empty space.

“Detective,” he greeted, as if expecting him.

“You know why I’m here,” Cole said.

“I heard the whispers,” Elias replied. “Another lost soul?”

“Three, Father. All women. All members of your group. All found with pine branches.”

The priest’s hands trembled slightly. “The pine is sacred in our lore. It represents peace.”

“And death, apparently,” Cole said coldly.

Elias turned his face slightly. “Detective, I am blind. I barely leave these walls. What do you suspect me of?”

“I don’t know yet. But something about you feels... too clean.”

Cole returned to the precinct and dug into the town archives. What he found was strange. Father Elias had a brother—Nathaniel—who was believed to have died thirty years ago in a cabin fire on the edge of the forest. But there was no death certificate. No body ever found.

Only a rumor: that Nathaniel had been mentally unstable, obsessed with the concept of “clean death.” Peaceful death.

Cole’s hands tightened on the file.

What if Father Elias wasn’t Elias at all?

The next morning, a fourth body appeared—Mrs. Hart, the town’s librarian. She was Elias’s only regular visitor, the one who read him news and helped him with groceries.

Same pose. Same pine.

But this time, her body was turned—facing the forest.

Cole took it as a message.

He followed the trail past the church, through the pines, to the ruins of the old cabin. The door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, the air was stale, filled with old smoke and fresh pine needles.

And then he heard it.

That same humming.

The same soft, tuneless hum that witnesses had reported before each murder.

He turned, gun drawn.

A man stepped out of the shadows. Pale face. Eyes sharp. Not blind.

“Detective Cole,” he said, smiling. “You finally came.”

Cole stared. “You’re not Elias.”

“No,” the man whispered. “Elias burned in this cabin. I took his peace... and gave it to others.”

“You killed them.”

“I freed them.”

Cole fired once. The humming stopped.

The next day, fog still hung over Briar Hollow. But something felt different.

Peaceful, maybe.

Or just quiet.

Too quiet.