On the night of January 25th, 1980, the temperature on Nantucket Island, Massachusetts dropped below freezing. It was so frigid that it was almost unbearable to so much as step outside without a thick, heavy-duty coat and ski mask on. The wind whipping in from the Atlantic dropped the temperature even further, and the waves crashed against the shore with all the fury of Mother Nature herself. It’s a night that old islanders remember well; because it was the night that Margaret Kilcoyne disappeared without a trace.
An assistant professor of medicine from Columbia College in New York, she flew to the island a few days prior, and was last seen dining with her brother and two friends before retiring to her home in Tom Nevers for the night. The next morning, her brother reported her missing. There were no footprints showing her leaving at all. No trail to mark her having gone anywhere. There was a huge search and rescue mission launched for her; coast guard choppers flew overhead, and teams of local and state police, along with island firefighters combed the beaches, swamps and woods for her. But she was never found. And the authorities told the press that nobody knew what had happened to her.
Why am I telling you all this? Because it was a lie. They know damn well what happened to her. And she wasn’t the only one to disappear, either. And it’s time the truth was told.
I was a young man back then, only just having turned twenty-eight years old. Having graduated from the police academy and served in the Boston Police Department for four years, I grew tired of the hustle and bustle of city life, as well as, admittedly, disillusioned by the senseless violence I saw others inflict upon each other for drugs, money, or just for kicks. So, I applied to the Nantucket Sheriff’s Department in February of 1978. I was accepted, and quickly moved to the island, which lay 30 miles off the shore of Cape Cod. For almost two years, it was quiet. Lifelong residents welcomed me, though always kept me slightly out of reach due to being an outsider; it was something I honestly didn’t mind in exchange for peace and quiet. Island life was slow and predictable, and aside from calls about public drunkenness and dumbass teenagers, there were no serious incidents.
That was, until the night of January 15th, 1980.
I’d just gotten on duty and sat down at my desk to take over on the night shift, when the sheriff came striding out of his office behind me, a slightly worried look on his face. “Vincent, come with me” he said simply, then turned to the other deputy locking up his desk for the night. “Johnson, you’re gonna have to do some overtime tonight. Stay here until we get back” I heard Johnson let out a weak cry of protest, but I was already moving for the door, grabbing my coat and following the Sheriff out the door. The night was cold as a witch’s tit, and a light rain had begun falling. “You drive” he told me, tossing me the keys to a Dodge Ramcharger that served as one of the two Sheriff’s department cruisers. Slipping behind the wheel, I started the truck and pulled out onto the road.
“Where’re we going?” I asked the silent shape in the passenger seat after a moment. “We’re going to Siaconset; the chief of police asked for our assistance over there” he said, reaching down and hitting the switch for the lights, which bathed the world around us in a swirling glows of red and blue. Siaconset was a small village at the easternmost point of the island. I frowned. In all my time here, the local police have always been able to handle the cases that came their way on their own. What’s so bad that the chief called us in? A small pit had begun to settle itself in my stomach, and it grew heavier as my unasked question was answered. “Brian Mayes is missing”
I tore my eyes from the flicking windshield wipers and dark road in front of me to shoot the Sheriff a look. Catching my gaze, he slowly nodded. His usually light eyes now looked sharp and alert. Not saying another word, he turned back to stare out into the night. I did the same as my thoughts began to race anew. Brian was a fisherman, someone who I had always been friendly with when we ended up being called down to the docks. A hulking but quiet man in his mid-forties, he lived with his wife in a one bedroom cabin near the water’s edge. As far as I knew, he had no disagreements with any other locals, or drank enough to wander off in an inebriated stupor. The fact that the Sheriff had deliberately used the word missing troubled me, though I didn’t know why.
Twenty minutes later, we turned onto the sandy road that served as the Mayes’ driveway. Two police cars already sat out in front of the house; I could see Mrs. Mayes talking with the chief of police. She looked almost inconsolable. Parking the truck and getting out, he broke away, leaving her in the care of one of his officers while he strode over to us. “Lewis, good to see you” he said, reaching out and shaking the Sheriff’s hand before sighing. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances” The Sheriff nodded. “The feeling’s mutual” he replied. The chief turned and looked at me, nodding. “Deputy Koteas, good to see you again, son” I nodded back. “Sir” The Sheriff cleared his throat, signaling pleasantries had ended. “What’ve you got?” The chief turned and gestured towards the house.
“We got the call about forty-five minutes ago. Annette said she’d woken up around 11:30 due to a severe chill in the house, and discovered that Brian was not in bed with her. She got up to try and find him, and discovered the back door out to the beach standing wide open. She’d tried searching and calling for him for fifteen minutes before calling us” He turned to me. “I understand you used to work in the city, and were pretty good at helping detectives track down missing people, Deputy. Is that correct?” I nodded, feeling my professional mind kick into gear, something I hadn’t had to use since moving here. “Yes, sir, I was” I answered simply. He nodded, seeming somewhat relieved, then gestured towards the open front door of the house. “Please, go join my officers inside. See if there’s anything we might have missed. Because we can’t spot a trace of where he could’ve gone. I’m going to speak to the Sheriff for a few more minutes”
I nodded again, then turned away and strode towards the house. Behind me, I could hear the two men begin talking fast in hushed tones. But I was already slipping into the old skin I’d had to wear back in Boston; detached and clinical. Stepping inside, I shivered slightly. The frigid air had invaded every inch of the house’s interior, the warmth it once held long since stripped away. The lights were on, meaning I didn’t have to pull my flashlight from my service belt. Three local officers stood in the tiny living room, conversing quietly with one another. They turned to look at me as I entered. “You must be Deputy Koteas” the first, a tall, clean cut man whose name tag stated his name was Holliday spoke. “That’d be me” I answered, offering my hand to him, which, after an odd delay, he took in a quick shake. I began looking around, taking in every detail of the room. My eyes were immediately drawn to the back door, which still stood wide open. I could see the pale white sand caught in the glow from the doorway; darkness lay beyond, but I could hear the pounding of the waves as they slammed violently into the beach.
“So, where’ve you looked?” I asked them. Holliday shrugged. “We’ve looked everywhere, Deputy. There are no footsteps leading from the back door outside, and the only ones in front were from them coming home. Nothing’s been stolen from inside to our knowledge, not that there’s much of value in here, if I’m honest” He shook his head, pursing his lips and furrowing his brow. “That’s not the strangest part, though” he added. I cocked my head. “What is?” I asked, still glancing around. My eyes slid over the small, cheap knick knacks lining the shelves, the ancient television set against the far wall, and the torn couch and chair set behind us. Like they’d said, nothing looked disturbed. Holliday finally answered. “Mayes didn’t take any of his clothes”
I started, turning to look at the man. “I beg your pardon?” I said. Another head shake. “Mayes didn’t take any of his clothes. His coat is still hanging up on its hook, along with his hat, scarf and gloves. His boots are still sat by the shoe horn. Hell, he didn’t even appear to get dressed; his shirt and pants are still crumpled by the bed” He shot a look out the back door. “If he’s out there, he’s in nothing more than long johns, and that’s it” My mind churned as it processed what I’d been told. I’m shivering while fully dressed in here. The man wouldn’t be able to make it far without succumbing to the elements. But…why would he leave like this, undressed and so abruptly… My gaze fell upon the kitchen, where I spied the fridge standing slightly open, yellow light spilling out from within. I crossed to it, the officers trailing behind. On the countertop next to the fridge, the ingredients to make a sandwich had been placed; an open jar of mayonnaise and a butter knife stood beside two slices of bread and ham which had been set down.
My mind put dots together, creating a mental picture in my mind. “It looks like he came out from the bedroom to make himself a late night snack” I said, reaching out and gently closing the fridge door. I looked back at the living room, then walked towards it. “He was making the snack, when something drew his attention to the back door” I turned and looked at the shaft of light spilling outside and the void beyond. I could see the half awake man in my mind’s eye, slowly approaching the closed door. “He got to the back door and opened it, and then…” I trailed off, staring at the sand directly on the other side of the door. No footprints were visible in it, just as the officers had said. One of the other officers spoke up, a short, stocky guy with a military style crew cut. “And then what?” I continued to stare at the sand. Something about it looked…off. Something I couldn’t place. Finally, I shook my head. “I honestly don’t know, officer” I answered, “It’s like he just winked out of existence the moment he opened the door”
The man spoke again, his voice holding a small note of contempt in it. “So that’s your professional opinion? He winked out of existence like some sci-fi pulp novel?” Holliday spoke up. “Sean, easy. The Deputy is doing his best at assessing the scene” The other officer, Sean, snorted, but said nothing more. I took a step outside, making sure to step well over the area where any trace evidence might be. Pulling my flashlight from my belt, I clicked it on and shone it down, then around. The sand appeared to be undisturbed for at least twenty feet from the cabin. I clicked my light off, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark. At the edge of my vision, I saw the surf crashing against the shore, the black rolling waves seeming…almost ominous with the present situation I found myself in. As I stood there looking out at the ocean, a feeling suddenly fell over me, one that I hadn’t felt since moving to the island, one I’d often had while working the beat in the city. And it wasn’t a welcome feeling, either. It was the sensation of being watched. And by someone who had the worst intentions.
I slowly stood up, my instincts flooding back to me as though I’d never turned them off. I could feel the eyes boring into the back of my skull, as intense as I’d ever sensed in my life. A shiver cascaded up my spine, and I slowly began moving my free hand towards the revolver on my belt. I kept my breathing slow and steady, but the feeling was growing stronger. As if whoever is doing the staring is getting closer. Mental images of times I’d had addicts or criminals attempt to ambush me tore through my mind. And yet…this sensation felt different. It was a more primal response, if that would properly describe it. It was as though my body felt in more danger than it ever had back in Boston. Trying not to draw attention to it, I silently unsnapped the loop holding the gun in place. Behind me, I heard a single sound. The snap of a branch or piece of brush cracking underfoot. And it was less than fifteen feet behind me. A new feeling fell over me, one I didn’t like: fear. I didn’t know why, but the sound, coupled with the sudden silence that followed, sent a waterfall of it through me.
I didn’t dare hesitate any longer. I ripped the revolver from its holster, whirling around and snapping the light on. At the same instant, I swear; no, I know I saw a flurry of movement from the undergrowth behind me. I aimed both the light and the gun at the space, but when the beam reached it, it had already gone. I took a quick breath, then yelled out, my voice deep and authorative. “Nantucket Sheriff’s Department, come out of there with your hands up!” I heard an explosion of movement coming from behind me, heard the officer’s both inside the house and in front of it begin calling out. But I stayed trained on the area, beginning to move around the side of the brush for a better view. Whoever it had been, and every part of me said that it hadn’t been a simple animal, couldn’t have gone far. I heard someone call out my name.
“Deputy Koteas, what is it?!” I heard Holliday’s voice boom out. “Someone’s back over here, they booked it as soon as they realized their hiding spot was compromised!” I called back, not taking my eyes off the space. There was no movement now, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Moments later, almost all the officers, along with the Sheriff had joined me, their weapons drawn and pointing at the line of brush. After a few tense moments of ordering whoever it was to come out, myself and few of the officers moved in to clear it. We found nothing. Nobody was in the brush. Whoever it had been was long gone. I was almost afraid that I’d be labeled jumpy or just hearimg things until Sean, the officer who I’d not gotten along with, called that he’d found a lot of trampled and cracked brush, almost exactly fifteen feet from where I’d been standing. It confirmed my story.
This put a much darker atmosphere over everything. We might no longer be dealing with a simple disappearance, but a much more nefarious case. Once we were sure nobody was around, we gathered out in front of the house. Once the Sheriff had guided Mrs. Mayes inside, assuring her an officer would be parked outside all night for safety, the chief addressed all of us. “Gentlemen, what I’m about to request of you all is of the utmost importance. This is an ongoing investigation, and as such, it needs to be kept out of the media. We don’t need the newspapers, and especially the stations on the mainland to get ahold of this. Not only could it mess our investigation up, but it would send the populace into a panic, and we can’t afford that. So, please, keep this to yourselves, until such time I state otherwise. Is that understood?”
Everyone else nodded almost immediately. I felt another knot begin to tie itself in my stomach. I didn’t agree with the chief’s call; whenever we had a bad case in the city, alerting the media helped to keep the public aware and safe. I felt as though the chief were more thinking in terms of containing the damage than finding Mr. Mayes, or the person who’d been skulking around watching us. Even still, though, I nodded. All these decades later, I wish I’d had the sense to alert the media and not let it get buried under the rug.
As we drove back to the Sheriff’s station, I voiced my concern to the Sheriff, who now sat in the passenger seat writing out a report on his clipboard. He nodded when I finished. “I understand your concerns, Vincent” he began, “But the chief has good reasons for choosing to keep a lid on such a sensitive situation, and they’re ones I happen to agree with” I began to speak again, but he raised a hand to silence me. “There’s nothing more to be discussed on the subject, Deputy. You are to stay quiet about this case, understood?” The tone of his voice indicated it was an order, not a request. I simply nodded, then turned back to the empty road ahead. When the man spoke again, his tone was softer. “Hopefully we’ll find Brian Mayes soon, along with whoever was watching you. I can’t see this going beyond a single case. Just relax, son” I nodded again, still feeling as wound up as a rattlesnake inside, but trying to let the man’s words be of some comfort. Still, though, I remembered the feeling I’d had out back of the house. The almost primal fear. The thought I couldn’t push away that, if I hadn’t been aware and turned around when I did, I’d have been attacked. *Maybe dragged off without a trace like Brian Mayes had…*I pushed the thought away.
I hoped that the Sheriff was right. I hoped this would be the only case I’d have to deal with of this nature. It somehow unnerved me…almost scared me more than anything I’d dealt with in Boston. I actually prayed that night that this would be the end of things. And when I fell asleep, to dark and disturbing dreams of the poor man being dragged away by a shadowy figure to an unknown fate, I almost felt that he would be right.
He was wrong. So very wrong.
Two nights later, halfway through the graveyard shift, we received another call from the chief. Another person had been reported missing, this time from a home near the South Shore, a twenty-three year old woman named Jenny who’d worked as a cashier at one of the grocer’s downtown. Her boyfriend had, just like Annette Mayes, woken up to find it freezing, and gone downstairs to find the back door opening onto the beach swinging in the wind pouring off of the Atlantic. When we arrived, it was almost a carbon copy of the Mayes case. She hadn’t taken any clothes, and it seemed she’d woken up to use the bathroom when she’d gone to investigate something at the back door. There was one difference though that caught my eye. A Russian nesting doll which had sat on a shelf next to the open door had been toppled from its perch, spilling out the smaller dolls onto the carpet. The sight of the spilled and chipped toy caused a new wave of trepidation and, yes, fear to sweep inside me. It’s not much, but it’s a sign of a struggle of some kind.
Again, the chief told everyone, including Jenny’s boyfriend to keep quiet until he said otherwise. And again, everyone agreed. Everyone but me. I couldn’t understand why everyone was so ardent about not alerting the general public to what, now, was no longer an isolated incident, but the beginnings of a pattern. And when two more people disappeared from their homes in almost identical fashion in the span of a week, one an elderly man in his eighties, and a teenager of no more than fifteen, the feeling grew stronger. I was toiling over the idea of anonymously alerting the mainland news, or hell, even just the local paper, when the next call came in. It was another disappearance, but this one was not an islander, which surprised me. Not many people from the mainland came to the island during the winter months, but apparently, this woman had. A scientist named Kilcoyne. She had flown to the island a few nights prior, and after falling asleep after a night out with local friends, her brother, some bigwig for IBM Computers I learned later who’d come with her, had woken up to a scene that I’d become far too familiar with.
When we arrived at the fancy house in Tom Nevers, I saw instantly that the chief was angry. He looked calm for all outer appearances, but I saw him gritting his teeth tight as he spoke to the brother. Then he strode over to us. “Another one, chief?” the Sheriff asked. He nodded. “And of all damn people, it had to be the sister of a rich and well connected city slicker” I started at the man’s harsh tone. “He’s not going to be someone we can keep quiet like the others” he continued, shaking his head. “The coast guard is going to be called, and somehow the media already has gotten ahold of the story” He shot me a suspicious look, as though he suspected I’d somehow been able to call the paper or mainland in the half hour since we’d taken off. I shrugged, but inside, I felt a small sense of victory. I wish I had been the one who’d called. But maybe now word will get out. It needs to.
We did our walkthrough. Again, just like before, the back door to the house stood wide open. None of her clothes had been put on, and no trace of her footsteps were found outside in the sand. However, there was one difference in this case. Something I’d noticed as I’d looked at the back door. There, set in the doorframe just below eye level, were what appeared to be two or three deep gouges. They weren’t that big, and against the other nicks and grooves in the wood, might not’ve been noticed, but I knew they were fresh. I ran my fingers over the grooves, surprised at how deep they truly were. It was as if two or three sharp kitchen knives had been slammed into and dragged through the wood. For whatever reason, a shiver shot up my spine, one that was equal parts fearful and wary. I quickly brought the Sheriff over, who regarded the marks with an odd look. It was almost as if he’d seen them before, and he simply asked me to mention it in my report. As he turned away, I glanced down at the sand just outside the door. I was dismayed to see that, like Mayes’ case, hell, like all the others, one thing I'd always noticed was that the sand by the door just seemed…unnatural in the way it sat, not looking blown about by the wind like the rest.
I stepped out the door and looked around. The wind bit at my face, and I turned away from it, looking out at the crashing waves. For some reason, the sight of the dark, churning water, along with the ominous looking dark clouds above caused me to shiver. A feeling suddenly swept over me. The same that I’d had that night we’d gone to the Mayes’ house. The same feeling I’d had when we’d gone to investigate all of the disappearances. Of being watched, observed like I was a fish in a fishbowl. I swung around, my head darting in all directions. But I saw no one on the empty beach, or the nearby sand dunes. Still, the feeling remained, and the same, unexplainable sense of fear returned. Not wanting to stay out here alone any longer, I turned to head back inside. And stopped. The nagging thought I’d been unable to vocalize about the sand finally clicked, and I looked down at it. “It almost looks like it’s been swept…” I whispered.
A few hours later, the state troopers from the mainland arrived, and the sheriff told me to take the cruiser and head back to the station. “Johnson will be there to drive it back here and take over for the day. Your shift has ended for the night” He began to turn away when I cleared my throat. “Sir, with all due respect, don’t you think we should tell the state police, along with the media that this woman isn’t the only one who's-“He cut me off, sharply. “NO. Nobody will be telling either of them anything. That is an order, and if you attempt to disobey it, I will detain and arrest you, is that clear?” My jaw dropped open as I stared at him. His words had been the last I’d expected. The man shot daggers at me, then jerked his arm at the open front door, where I saw a large congregation of officers speaking to the chief, along with a reporter from the island news. “Now go. And have a good day” And with that, he turned away. To this day, I still can’t properly explain the emotions that ran through me as I walked outside and got into the cruiser. The closest I can describe was that I felt bound and gagged. A prisoner without shackles.
As I drove back to the station, I began to give some serious thought about transferring off the island and leaving. Nothing about this entire situation smelled right. When I’d come to Nantucket, I’d originally wanted to spend the rest of my life here. It seemed so different, so peaceful. Now, after the last week or so, it felt tainted. If anything, it felt worse than the city. The city had dope peddlers, murderers and rapists and fiends, but you knew about them. This place felt like secrets that shouldn’t be concealed, were. And worse, after the look I’d seen on the Sheriff’s face, it almost felt like he knew something. If not had an idea of who was taking these people.
I had no idea that I’d be faced with one final disappearance a few days later. One that would draw me into the most terrifying and horrific experience of my life.