The Mayor and the Deputy
After watching Darryl leave with his luggage, Ash led Gwen and Heather into the convenience store to buy supplies.
None of them noticed the middle-aged man relaxing beneath the awning of a nearby building. He sat in a folding chair and watched the preparations taking place along the street. When the door behind him opened, he nodded toward the convenience store and laughed.
"Mayor Hartman, the carnival is already bringing beautiful visitors into town. Look at those two. Half the young men in Newt would follow them just from seeing their backs."
The annual Newt carnival would begin in several days. Residents were decorating the streets, setting up food stands, and preparing the nearby fairgrounds. Tourists had already started arriving from surrounding towns, which made the usually quiet community far busier than normal.
Burt Hartman stepped outside wearing a cowboy hat. The mayor was over fifty and carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to controlling everything around him. He showed little interest in the strangers until he noticed his son approaching them.
Ash, Gwen, and Heather planned to hold a small barbecue on the open lawn in front of the mansion that evening. Ash and Gwen searched the store for meat, sauces, skewers, and paper plates, while Heather examined the charcoal stacked outside.
A young deputy wearing a dark green uniform emerged from the store. He noticed Heather studying the different bags and tapped one of the more expensive brands.
"This one burns longer," he said. "You'll get better flavor too."
Heather glanced at him.
"Thanks."
Deputy Carl Hartman paused when he saw her face. His eyes dropped toward the bandages visible beneath her shortened shirt before returning to her expression.
"Were you injured, or is that part of the outfit?"
"I got cut."
"You should probably take it easy."
Carl remained beside her instead of leaving.
"Are you visiting for the carnival?"
"We're only buying supplies for a barbecue tonight."
Heather answered politely, but her short tone showed little interest in continuing the conversation.
Ash stepped outside carrying two baskets of groceries. He saw Carl standing close to Heather and calmly joined them.
"The estate has plenty of open space," Ash said. "It should be perfect for a barbecue."
He had mentioned the property deliberately. Since arriving in Newt, he had wanted to learn why the town seemed hostile toward the Sawyer family.
Carl's expression changed.
"The estate?"
"The mansion on Homestead Road."
"There's only one place like that around here. You mean the Carson estate?"
Ash nodded.
"That's the one."
Carl looked toward Heather with growing curiosity.
"I thought the house had been abandoned."
"It isn't anymore."
Ash lifted one of the charcoal bags.
"Is the place famous around town?"
Carl opened his mouth to answer, but another voice interrupted him.
"Is this deputy bothering you?"
Mayor Burt Hartman approached with one hand resting near his belt.
"Say the word, and I'll shoot him."
Carl showed no concern.
"He might actually do it."
"Go find someone to ticket."
Burt dismissed his son with an impatient gesture. Carl gave Heather one final look before walking toward his patrol car.
The mayor removed his hat and introduced himself.
"Burt Hartman. Welcome to my little piece of paradise."
"Ash Williams."
Ash gestured toward Heather.
"This is Heather Miller."
The unfamiliar last names caused Burt to hesitate for a fraction of a second. He recovered quickly and offered them a practiced smile.
"My hearing isn't what it used to be, but I thought I heard you mention the Carson estate."
Heather nodded.
"I inherited it from my grandmother."
Surprise appeared in Burt's eyes.
"Your last name is Carson?"
"No."
His smile became slightly colder.
"Then you're part of the Sawyer family."
"Yes."
Burt studied her face more carefully.
"You look a great deal like Verna."
Heather thought about Barry Farnsworth saying almost the same thing.
"You knew my grandmother?"
"My history with the Sawyers goes back a long way."
The mayor's tone carried a meaning that neither Ash nor Heather missed.
"If you run into any trouble while you're here, come find me. I always take care of people in Newt."
Burt put his hat back on and walked away.
The moment his back faced them, the friendliness vanished from his expression.
Ash watched him cross the street with narrowed eyes. Farnsworth had spoken of Verna with genuine affection, but Burt's reaction was completely different.
The mayor had not looked surprised to learn that Verna had a granddaughter. He had looked disturbed.
Ash was now certain the Sawyer family had a violent history in Newt. The cemetery, the graffiti at the gate, and Burt's behavior all pointed toward something the town wanted buried.
He only needed to find the right person to ask.
The brief encounter ended, and the three continued shopping.
Darryl had no intention of leaving Newt.
After Ash dropped him outside the store, he walked several blocks and rented a car with cash. He then returned to Homestead Road before the others finished buying groceries.
Darryl had never been an honest man. He had fled Tulsa after stealing cash and several pieces of gold jewelry from a local criminal. The owner had promised to break both his legs, which forced Darryl to leave the city before sunrise.
He had planned to hide near the Louisiana border until the search ended.
Then he saw the Carson mansion.
The antique furniture, gold-trimmed dishes, and silverware inside the house were worth more than anything he had stolen in Tulsa. Darryl decided that one final robbery could finance a comfortable new life.
The iron gate did not stop him.
He had watched Farnsworth enter the security code earlier. Heather had not been given enough time to change it.
Darryl entered 0819 on the keypad.
The gates opened.
He drove into the estate and parked the rental car between the oak trees. The thick woods would conceal it if Ash returned earlier than expected.
Darryl grabbed his empty backpack and hurried toward the mansion.
He unlocked the front door with one of the smaller keys he had quietly taken from Heather's folder during the drive into town. Once inside, he closed the door and stood in the silent foyer.
The valuable objects displayed throughout the house tempted him, but Darryl did not begin filling his bag immediately. Experience had taught him that wealthy families rarely left their most valuable possessions in plain sight.
Jewelry, cash, and important documents were usually hidden inside safes or private rooms.
He began searching the mansion carefully.
Darryl checked behind paintings, beneath furniture, and inside old cabinets. When he reached the hallway near the kitchen, he noticed a thin vertical crack running along one section of the wall.
He pressed both hands against it.
The wall rotated inward.
A narrow chamber appeared behind the hidden door. A staircase on the left descended into complete darkness.
Strange Latin prayers had been carved into the walls and wooden steps. Darryl could not understand them, but he assumed they were meant to protect whatever the family stored below.
Excitement replaced his caution.
He switched on a small flashlight and hurried down.
The stairs ended before a rusted iron door. A tray containing old food sat on the floor outside it.
Darryl kicked the tray aside.
He removed his lock-picking tools and knelt before the door. The mechanism was old but complicated. After several minutes of careful work, the lock released with a heavy click.
Darryl smiled.
He had no idea that he had just opened the entrance to hell.
The room beyond the door was large but filthy. Broken furniture, tools, and piles of discarded objects filled most of the space.
There was no safe.
Darryl entered and swept his flashlight across the walls. His excitement quickly turned into disappointment.
"Nothing."
He turned toward the doorway.
A massive figure rushed from the darkness.
The sledgehammer struck the side of Darryl's head before he could react. Blood sprayed across the floor as the impact threw him into a wooden table.
Darryl screamed and scrambled away.
The figure raised the hammer again.
He crawled beneath the attacker's arm and ran deeper into the basement. His flashlight rolled across the floor behind him while his hands searched blindly through the darkness.
Small windows near the ceiling allowed narrow beams of sunlight to enter. Those flashes revealed an old freezer, butcher knives hanging from hooks, and a large chainsaw resting on a stained worktable.
Chunks of raw meat covered a cutting board nearby.
Darryl stumbled through several cluttered rooms before finding a narrow storage compartment. He squeezed inside and pulled the door closed.
Blood ran from his scalp and down his neck. His hands shook as he removed his cell phone and dialed 911.
The call connected.
"Someone's trying to kill me," Darryl whispered. "My name is Darryl. I'm at—"
The compartment door opened.
Darryl looked up.
A broad man stood over him wearing a stained red-striped shirt and a mask made from human skin. Empty eyes stared through the holes while both hands tightened around the sledgehammer.
Darryl opened his mouth to scream.
The hammer crashed into the back of his head.
Leatherface struck him again and again until blood and fragments of bone covered the floor. Only when Darryl stopped moving did he lower the weapon.
He grabbed the corpse by one leg and dragged it into the darkness.
A short time later, the basement filled with the wet sound of teeth tearing through raw flesh.