People are dying in your small town, and its rumored to be the superstitious monster you always heard stories about.

Carol was exceptionally careful as she rearranged her apartment’s furniture to match the feng shui of the hill outside her front door. “Always, always, keep the energy flowing to the sea” Carol muttered to herself as she scootched the ottoman ever so slightly out of the Chi line running through the hall, past the kitchen, and briskly out the front door. A glass door which, as Carol noticed looking up from her scootching, contained a serious-looking man. This man’s seriousness was reinforced by the grey button-up that matched symbiotically to his cool yet blank blue trousers.

A sharp knock on the door brought Carol’s attention decidedly away from her ottoman and into a quick stroll over to the door.

“Morning! Carol is it?”

“Why – yes, but, excuse me who are you?”

“Detective Murphy. Called into town about some disappearances.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Yes, with the most recent being a 30 something architect working on the dam. We still have about 14 hours before the 48-hour mark and we’re fighting to locate him.”

“Oh.”

————— 36 hours prior ——————

“I may be, at this moment, the happiest I have ever been,” I thought as I let fall the hefty envelope of drafting versions into the county engineer’s after-hours mailbox. The feeling of success rushed over me, nothing felt quite as satisfying as the soft thud the envelope made on the reception office floor. I could have mailed the plans and been done sooner but that sound was worth it. Besides, the county office was a beautiful drive into the valley floor.

I moved to Choteau to get a break from the high energy of Seattle. It was perfect for university, rubbing shoulders with the brightest and best. I sketched the skyline of Seattle from every angle just to wonder how the architects made things look as they did. I knew I would design skylines someday but for now, a dam was perfect. I was glad when I was asked to design a dam in Montana – in a city that had the likable but odd quality of wanting a designer dam.

I looked out of the valley to the gentle V-shape formed by two ridges of adjoining foothills where my work would sit. I must have spent long enough to be vulnerable because before long I felt a moist towel pressed over my mouth and out of panic took a deep breath. That may have been my last mistake. I suppose we’ll see.

 When I awoke it was in a soft light – the kind that gives everything a calm but inscrutable air. I was in a small room that contained only a bed, a glass of water, and a door parallel the bed. It was strange in its emptiness – I was strange in my work clothes, my shoes still on and tied as tight as I liked them. What kind of capture serves a glass of water after a kidnapping?

After some time, I gained enough wherewithal to venture out of the room. I found myself in a hallway looking at a woman in an ostentatiously yellow dress sweep the hallway floor. “Who the Hell are you?” I said – only a moment later realizing I had said something entirely involuntarily. “Me? I’m the superstitious monster. And you, my dear, must not build that dam.”