Leoran Thne’s body was found 3 years after his disappearance, woven into the roots of a century old oak tree with traces of ritual wounds and an envelope clutched in his frozen fingers.

Processed according to ancient herbalistic methods, it looked like an eerie forest sculpture, as if the oak itself had swallowed the man.

On the back of the photo found in the envelope, ink was written, “You always said that the forest cleanses.

It has cleansed you.

Little did the Randolph County detectives know that these words revealed not just a murder, but a story of betrayal that began 30 years ago in an abandoned limestone quarry where two boys played a game of friendship that turned tragic.

On October 15th, 2019, 20 minutes before midnight, Maria Tain dialed the Randolph County Sheriff’s Office.

Her voice was strained, but she tried to sound calm.

Her husband, 38-year-old Leorin Thne, an experienced hunter and former military officer, had not returned from a day’s hunting in the Appalachian.

“He always calls if he’s going to be late.

Even when the signal is weak, he finds a way to send a message,” she explained to a sheriff’s dispatcher.

The dispatcher, an elderly woman with 20 years of experience, first recalled standard protocol.

We can’t officially start a search until 24 hours have passed.

But when Maria mentioned that her husband is a former survival instructor who knows the forests of Manonga like the back of his hand, the tone of the conversation changed.

In remote towns like Elkins, reputations carry weight and Leoran Thne’s reputation was impeccable.

At in the morning on October 16th, the first search team left for the place where Leoran usually left his car.

The team consisted of three sheriff’s deputies, two volunteers, and a pair of search dogs.

The temperature had dropped to 37° F.

The sky was clear with millions of stars above the dark silhouettes of the mountains.

The air smelled of pine, damp soil, and the approach of winter.

Leoran’s pickup truck, a dark blue Ford F50, was found on a dirt road at the foot of the Blackbird’s Knob Trail next to the abandoned Pioneer Creek Sawmill.

The car was locked and the keys were missing.

An empty thermos, sandwich wrappers, and a scarf were found in the cab.

Deputy Carl Johnson shined his flashlight on the back of the pickup.

“No rifle,” he said.

“The 38 caliber case is empty.” He took it with him.

So Leoranne went hunting as planned.

There were no signs of a struggle, no traces of other vehicles on the damp soil of the road.

The search dogs picked up the trail of the car and led the group deep into the forest along a narrow path.

Flashlight beams danced between the trunks of pine and oak trees, pulling out shrubs, rocky outcroppings, and fallen leaves from the darkness.

After about 3/4 of a mile, the dogs suddenly stopped on a rocky outcropping, circling and sniffing excitedly.

Then the trail broke off.

Dog handler Tom Hails tried to direct the dogs in different directions, but to no avail.

“This is strange,” he said.

“You don’t see people just disappear like that.” The group spent another two hours combing the surrounding area, examining every ravine and hollow.

Around in the morning, Johnson decided to suspend the search until dawn.

“We’ll be back at dawn with a full team,” he promised over the radio to Maria, who was waiting at the sheriff’s office, and with a helicopter if we can organize it.

When the first rays of sunlight touched the eastern slopes of Appalachia, two dozen people had already gathered in the parking lot of the abandoned sawmill.

Forest Service rangers, volunteers from neighboring towns, and local experts.

The operation was led by Sheriff Mike Dawson himself.

Attention everyone.

His voice was calm, but he was firmly confident.

Leoranth is one of us.

He went through the hell of a rock and came back alive.

If he is still in these woods, we will find him.

The search team split into sectors, combing an area 10 mi from Tines’s last known location.

They checked every crevice, every cave, every old hunting hut.

But the Mananga Hala forest kept it secret.

Day after day passed.

Hope was slowly fading.

October 16th, 2019 was the first day of a large-scale search operation.

With the first rays of the sun over Appalachia, a National Guard helicopter with a thermal imager took to the skies.

The aerial reconnaissance was to detect any signs of human life under the dense tree canopy.

Morning fog drifted down the valleys, enveloping the slopes in a milky veil.

Pilot Brian Henderson, a veteran of rescue operations, flew the machine low over the treetops, knowing that the chances of seeing anything under the dense canopy of foliage were slim.

The thermal imaging camera recorded only the usual inhabitants of the forest, deer, coyotes, small rodents.

Nothing that looks like a person, he reported over the radio at about .

On the ground, meanwhile, the number of searchers had grown to 70.

Local radio called for volunteers to join the search for the missing hunter, and dozens of people responded.

Elkins residents knew Leoran Tain as a responsible citizen and respected his service in the army.

The search teams dispersed along the Blackbird’s Knob, Boore’s Run, and Senica Creek trails.

They moved in a line, keeping a distance of several yards between each person to ensure that no detail was missed.

Every piece of soil, every suspicious footprint, every piece of equipment they could find was recorded and checked.

The missing man’s wife, Maria Thine, with a pale face and trembling hands, stood by her husband’s car.

Every half hour, the heads of the search teams approached her with short reports that boiled down to one thing.

Nothing was found.

“Let me stay here,” she insisted.

“If he comes out on the road, I want to be the first to see him.

” Detective Ana Kowalsski, an officer with the Randolph County Sheriff’s Office Criminal Division, joined the case.

Young but already known for her tenacity and sharp mind, she launched her own investigation alongside the search.

In cases like this, the first day is key, she told Sheriff Dawson.

People don’t just disappear without a trace, especially experienced hunters in familiar territory.

Kowalsska interviewed owners of Elkins stores where Leoran might have bought gear, other hunters who might have seen him in the woods, and forest rangers who patrolled the area.

Roy Jackson, owner of the Hunting Valley store, recalled, “Lean came in the day before he left.

He bought ammunition for a 300 caliber, a common prehunt purchase.

He was in a good mood, joking around.

He mentioned that he had seen a big deer in that area last season.

The other hunters who were in the Manonga forest that day didn’t notice anything unusual either.

No one had seen Leoran directly, but that was not surprising.

The forest is huge with hundreds of miles of trails and many remote, wildly beautiful places where you can go days without seeing anyone.

Day after day passed.

The search teams expanded the search area, but everywhere there was the same picture.

Empty glades, silent ravines, deserted caves.

Not a single trace of Leorantine.

Gradually, whispers and guesses began to spread among the search teams.

Someone mentioned underground marijuana plantations that were sometimes found in the most remote corners of the forest.

Maybe he stumbled upon something like that and he was silenced.

One of the volunteers suggested at an evening meeting on the fourth day of the search.

But Kalska considered this version unlikely.

Leoran was armed.

He was experienced and trained.

Such a person would not let himself be captured without leaving any traces of struggle.

The weather was deteriorating sharply.

On the seventh day of the search, October 22, it began to rain.

Wet snow mixed with rain, turning the trails into mud and the slopes into dangerous ice traps.

Sheriff Dawson had to make a difficult decision.

“We are suspending the active phase of the search,” he announced at a briefing at the sheriff’s office.

The weather conditions make the search dangerous for the rescuers, but we are not giving up hope of finding Leoran.

Maria’s eyes, standing in the far corner of the room, went completely blank when she heard these words.

She realized that the chances were decreasing to negligible with each passing day.

The case of Leoren Tain’s disappearance fell on Detective Kowalsska’s desk.

The official documents were stamped open case active investigation.

But in the hearts of everyone who followed the case, an understanding had already settled in.

The Manonga forest had claimed another life.

And this mystery, like many others, may never be solved.

Maria Tain installed a plaque at the foot of the Blackbird’s Knob Trail.

A simple wooden sign with the inscription Leoant went into these woods on October 15th, 2019 did not return.

On October 17th, 2022, the autumn sun flooded the shadow ravine tract, a remote corner of the Mananga forest that was known only to local herbalists and the most experienced foresters with soft light.

Exactly 3 years have passed since Leor and Tain disappeared.

3 years of despair, unanswered questions, and fading hope.

Edward Price, a 58-year-old herbalist from the town of Beverly, came to Shadowy Yar with his son Jacob.

It was the fifth generation of their family to collect autumn medicinal plants in this area, especially the roots of snake rye, which grew at the foot of the oldest oaks.

Look, son.

Edward pointed to a huge oak tree that stood in the middle of a small clearing.

The locals call this oak the pillar of ancestors.

It is at least 300 years old.

Its roots stretch 20 ft deep.

And here, at the foot, where the moss is thickest, we have always found the best roots.

Jacob, a strong man of 22 who had inherited his father’s knowledge of medicinal plants, began to carefully peel back the thick moss at the base of the tree.

The ground was damp from the recent rains, and his fingers sank easily into the soft soil.

Suddenly, his hand came across something hard and smooth.

Dad, there’s something here.

The boy pulled away more moss and earth.

At first, it was a leather glove, so old and blackened that it looked like part of the forest floor.

But when Jacob pulled on it, he realized it was not just a glove.

There was something inside.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, recoiling.

A human hand peaked out from the moss and intertwined roots.

The bones, covered with remnants of dried skin and tissue, still retained the shape of a hand.

But that was not the most frightening thing.

The hand was firmly attached to the tree as if the roots had deliberately grown through it, wrapping around each failank of the fingers.

Edward Price, a man who had seen a lot in his life, felt his blood run cold as he walked closer and realized that this was no accidental discovery of human remains.

The hands were bound behind his back with a rough rope that was already half rotten, but still held the bones together.

Don’t touch anything else, Edward commanded his son, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

We need to call the sheriff.

To their surprise, there was cell service in this remote corner of the forest.

Weak, just a single bar of signal, but it was enough to dial the emergency number.

2 hours later, the clearing near the ancestral pillar turned into a crime scene.

Yellow tape cordined off the perimeter and white suited forensic technicians took pictures and documented every detail.

Sheriff Dawson, already graying and with deeper wrinkles than 3 years ago, stood next to Detective Kowalsska, who had never solved the Tine case.

“Is this him?” the sheriff asked, though the answer was obvious.

“Everything fits, the size, the clothes, the location.

” Kowalsska spoke quietly, as if afraid to disturb the dead.

But the strangest thing is different.

Look at this structure.

This is not a natural phenomenon.

Leorentain’s body was not just hidden in the roots.

It was placed with eerie skill, giving the impression that the oak tree had swallowed the man.

The roots penetrated the clothes and bones as if deliberately forming a terrifying sculpture.

Look at his hand.

One of the forensic scientists gently pointed to Leoran’s right hand.

He’s holding something.

In the bony fingers with thin roots sprouting between the felanges was a white cloth bag that looked like an envelope.

The forensic scientist carefully photographed it before removing it with tweezers.

Do not open it here, Kalska warned.

Pack it up for the lab.

I want it opened under controlled conditions.

The experts were most impressed by the fact that the body had not only been preserved, but had been specially prepared.

The twisted state and unusually low degree of decomposition indicated deliberate preservation.

“Someone knew what they were doing,” said the forensic expert, examining the remains.

“The body was treated in such a way as to preserve it as long as possible.

It looks like ancient mummification techniques used by Native Americans, salt, and special herbs.

” Edward Price, who watched the experts work from behind the fencing tape, confirmed this guess.

Only old herbalists know such preservation methods.

My grandfather told me that some herbs from this ravine, if properly collected and dried, can keep flesh from rotting.

Kavalska turned to him with a sharp look.

“And are there many such herbalists in our area, Mr.

Price?” “Almost none now,” Edward replied, shaking his head.

It’s a forgotten art.

You need to know not only which plants to use, but also when to collect them and how to prepare the mixture.

This knowledge has been passed down in families for generations.

As the technicians carefully separated the body from the roots, preparing it for transportation, Kalska stood back, thinking about what she was seeing.

This was not a random murder or an accident.

It was a pre-planned, carefully executed action full of symbolism and grim skill.

Someone did not just kill Leor and Tain.

Someone turned his death into a gruesome message.

And perhaps the key to that message lay in that small white bag clutched in the dead man’s hand.

On October 23rd, 2022, exactly one week after the discovery in Shadow Ravine, Detective Ana Kowalsski sat in her office at the Randolph County Sheriff’s Office.

On her desk was the old case of Leoran Payne’s disappearance, now reclassified as a murder.

Next to it were photographs from the scene of the body’s discovery and the forensic report.

Medical examiner David Miller confirmed that the death was caused by multiple stab wounds.

The marks on the bones indicated at least 17 stabs with a sharp object, probably a hunting knife.

The nature of the wounds indicated a frontal attack.

Leoran had seen his killer, perhaps even known him.

Detective, this just came in from the lab.

The sheriff’s deputy placed a sealed package on the table.

Inside was the white bag found in the victim’s hand.

Kowalsska carefully unpacked the evidence.

The bag was made of simple fabric stitched with coarse threads.

Inside was an old yellowed photograph.

Two boys of 10 or 12 years old smiling into the lens.

They are standing in front of some kind of quarry or stone quarry.

On the back is a neat handwriting.

You always said that the forest cleanses.

It has cleansed you as well.

Kavalska stared at the boy’s faces for a long time.

One of them, blondhaired, with an open smile and a confident look.

Could be young Leoran.

But who was the other? A dark-haired boy with serious eyes and a thin, barely noticeable smile.

And what does the inscription mean? An hour later, Maria Tain arrived at the sheriff’s office.

3 years of grief had changed her.

Once vigorous, she now looked much older than her 40s.

Her blonde hair was dull, and her eyes held the fatigue of someone who had been through too much.

“Miss Tain, thank you for coming,” Kowalsska ushered her into her office.

“I have something I’d like to show you.

” She placed the photo in front of Maria, not mentioning where it had been found.

The woman took the picture with trembling hands.

“This is Leoran,” she said quietly, pointing to the blonde boy.

He’s about 12 years old here.

It’s from his parents’ old album.

But where did you get this? Do you know the other boy? asked Kavalska.

Maria shook her head.

No.

Leoran rarely talked about his childhood.

I know that before moving to Elkins, his family lived in Philippi.

It’s a small town upstate.

And what can you tell me about the inscription on the back? Kowalsska carefully turned the photo over.

Maria read the inscription and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

That’s strange.

Leoran sometimes said something like that.

When we went to the forest, he often repeated it.

The forest cleanses.

It was his mantra.

But why is it written so ominously? Back at the sheriff’s office, Kowalsska began searching for information about Filipi and Leor and Tain’s childhood, schools he might have attended, old archives, the local press of the period.

The phone call came just as she was about to leave for home.

Detective Kowalsska, it’s Dan Foster from the lab.

We’ve completed the analysis of Thain’s body tissue.

The results are mixed.

I’m listening.

Kowalsska began to take notes.

The body was treated with a mixture of salt, some herbs, and resins.

We identified thyme, a plant locals call root blood, and several other components.

This mixture prevented natural decomposition.

But the most interesting thing is that there are traces of a certain type of wax on the body that does not exist in nature.

It looks like a ritual practice.

Ritual? Kowalsska asked again.

Yeah, someone didn’t just kill thing.

Someone performed a complex ritual with his body.

This someone knew the ancient methods of preserving bodies used by indigenous tribes.

He knew herbalism and he had a personal motive.

Turning off her phone, Kowalsska walked over to the whiteboard where she had posted photos and notes from the case.

In the center, she pinned a photo she had found with a caption.

Below it, she wrote, “Personal revenge is the motive in the past.” The December days of 2022 were short and gloomy.

Snow blanketed the slopes of the Appalachins.

Roads became dangerous, and the cities and towns of West Virginia were wrapped in a white blanket.

Detective Ana Kowalsska drove her worn Toyota down a snowy road to the town of Philippi, a small village of less than 3,000 people where the Tyine family once lived.

Today, she had a visit planned in her notebook to the old Lincoln Elementary School where Leorin attended 1st through 7th grade before his family moved to Elkins.

The school has remained much the same since then.

The same brick two-story building with a green roof, only now with a ramp for the disabled and a new playground.

Yes, yes, I remember Leoranne and his family, said Margaret Wilson, a 68-year-old librarian who had worked at the school all her life.

A good boy, smart.

He was very close friends with Elijah Harrison.

Elijah Harrison.

Kowalsska pulled out a photo.

Is that him? Margaret adjusted her glasses and looked at the picture.

Yes, that’s Elijah.

They were inseparable, like brothers, really.

Always together at recess, after school, all the school activities.

And what happened to him with Elijah? The librarian’s face changed as if a shadow had fallen over it.

That terrible accident, it happened in the summer when they were 12.

They were playing in the old limestone quarry daisy.

The boys liked to climb there even though all the adults forbade them to.

It was a dangerous place.

She paused as if hesitating whether to continue.

What happened in the quarry? Kavalska asked gently.

No one knows for sure.

Elijah was found only the next day unconscious at the bottom of the quarry.

His back was seriously injured.

His ribs were broken.

He was in the hospital for several weeks.

When he returned to school, he was already limping.

He never spoke to Leorin again.

And Leorin, did he tell you what happened? His family suddenly moved a few months later.

They said his father got a better job in Elkins, but in a small town like ours, people gossip.

Some said the Tines moved away because of that incident.

Kowalska made a note in her notebook.

and Elijah Harrison.

Did his family move out too? Yes, but later about a year later after Arthur, his father, lost his job at the sawmill.

He was a strict man, too religious.

Instead of supporting his son after the injury, he seemed to accuse him of being weak.

I never saw him show any tenderness to the boy.

Kavalska spent the next few days studying old school records, newspaper archives, and talking to Philippi residents who remembered the events.

The mosaic of the past began to take shape.

An old school yearbook from 1997 contained a group photo of the class.

Leoran and Elijah were standing next to each other, smiling.

They looked like typical 12-year-old boys with big dreams and a sense that the most important things were yet to come.

But the most valuable discovery was waiting for Kavalska in the archives of the local newspaper, the Philippi Monitor.

A small note dated July 26th, 1997 read, “A local boy has been seriously injured in an old quarry.

Elijah Harrison, 12 years old, was found unconscious after a fall in the Daisy Quarry.

He is in stable condition in the hospital.

This was followed by a short report in the August issue.

The father of the boy injured in the quarry, Arthur Harrison, claims that his son did not get into trouble alone.

Other children may have witnessed the incident and left their friend in danger.

The sheriff refused to comment on these claims, citing an ongoing investigation.

The search culminated with a visit to William Foster, an octogenarian former school custodian who knew all the local stories.

Kowalsska found him in a retirement home on the outskirts of Philippi.

Of course, I remember that incident, he squeaked when Kowalsska showed him a photo of the boys.

And I know more than what was written in the newspapers.

I was helping with the search.

We found Elijah the morning after he disappeared, lying unconscious at the bottom of a quarry.

But you know what’s strange? The guy hadn’t just fallen.

He was 20 yard away from the path that kids usually climb.

And before he fell, he flew too far from the edge, as if someone had pushed him.

“Someone pushed him?” Kowalsska asked again.

“There were rumors in the town.

His father, Arthur, was sure it was his so-called best friend, Leor and Taine, but there was no evidence.

Elijah didn’t talk about what happened when he came too.

A month later, the Tyne family packed up and left as if nothing had happened.

March of 2023 was abnormally warm.

The snow in Appalachia melted faster than usual, revealing bare ground and exposing secrets that had been hiding under the winter cover.

Detective Kowalsska felt that she was getting closer to the solution.

But the most important piece of the puzzle remained elusive.

Elijah Harrison himself.

If our theory is correct, Harrison is motivated by a longstanding grudge, she told Sheriff Dawson, showing him the material she had collected.

He’s been living with it for 30 years.

He nurtured the anger and the pain, and then he bited his time.

But where is he now? the sheriff asked.

A person can’t just disappear in this day and age.

Kavalska spread the documents on the table.

He can if he wants it bad enough.

His last known place of residence was a town called Spencer.

But four years ago, he quit his job at Pocahontas Timber, left his rental home, and seemed to disappear into thin air.

Computer databases yielded scant results.

Elijah Harrison did not use credit cards, had no social media profiles, and had not filed tax returns.

He had not renewed his driver’s license issued 10 years ago.

He was never married and had no children.

The detective went to Spencer, a small town in the south of the state surrounded by dense forests.

There she found Harrison’s last known home, a small house on the outskirts of town, now occupied by another family.

He was quiet.

He always paid on time in cash, said Michael Green, the homeowner.

He never caused any problems.

One day, he just told us he was moving out.

He left the house in perfect condition.

He even cleaned the shelves.

Elijah’s co-workers at Pocahontas Timber described him similarly.

A quiet, reclusive man who knew his job, but kept to himself.

He was the best logger I ever knew,” recalled Jack Ferguson, a foreman.

He knew the forest like the back of his hand.

He could tell by the bark of a tree when it was best to cut it down.

He could tell by the footprints on the ground whether it was a deer, a bear, or a person.

But he didn’t go to corporate parties, avoided being photographed, and didn’t drink beer with his colleagues.

“And when he left work, did he say where he was going?” Kavalska asked.

No, he just didn’t show up on Monday.

He called me, said he was quitting, and asked me to send his last paycheck by mail until requested.

It was October 2019.

October 2019.

Kavalska felt her back go cold.

Do you remember the exact date? Ferguson thought about it, rubbed his chin.

Let me see.

It was the middle of the month, somewhere between the 10th and the 20th.

Leor and Pne disappeared on October 15th, Kowalsska said quietly.

The same time Harrison was fired.

Payne, the hunter from Elkins, Ferguson recalled.

He was in the news at the time.

Did you notice any reaction from Elijah to the news? It’s hard to say, but Ferguson paused as if remembering something.

Wait a minute.

Elijah once mentioned that he grew up in the same neighborhood as this thing.

We were eating lunch when the news came on the radio about a missing hunter.

Elijah froze, fork in hand.

And then he said, “I know him from childhood.

We used to be friends.

That’s it.” He didn’t say anything else.

No.

He closed the lunchbox and went to work.

He didn’t come back the next day.

This information was invaluable.

Kowalsska now knew that it wasn’t just a ghost from Elijah’s past that was hunting thing.

Harrison may have quit on purpose to carry out his revenge plan, but where did he go after that? 3 years is a long time to go unnoticed.

Returning to Elkins, the detective expanded her search.

If Harrison is a wood cutter and herbalist with a lot of experience, he could have found a way to survive in the forest, far from civilization.

She began interviewing foresters, rangers, hunters, anyone who regularly visited remote parts of the Manangahila forest.

The first clue came from an old forester, Bill Jenkins.

“For the past few years, I’ve been seeing traces of a man in the forest who seems to live there,” he said.

Small caches of dry grasses.

Well-d disguised campfire sights.

Small animal traps.

Someone experienced and careful leaves.

These traces.

Have you ever seen this person? Only from a distance.

A tall man with a left leg limp.

He was dressed like a forester.

A leather jacket, sturdy boots.

I waved to him once, but he quickly disappeared among the trees.

Kavalska realized she was on the right track.

But the Manonga forest is huge.

Hundreds of thousands of acres of dense, impenetrable thickets where an experienced person could hide for years.

Her breakthrough came in May when she received a call from the sheriff of a neighboring county.

Detective Kowalsska, I’m Sheriff Gardner from Upure County.

We’ve got a suspect near the old gas station in Buckan.

He’s homeless trying to steal food.

We found a hunting knife on him that looks like the one you’re looking for.

He also has a bad limp on his left leg.

It took her an hour to get to Buck Hannon and another 5 minutes to realized that the man they had detained was not Elijah Harrison.

He was just a homeless veteran who needed help, not incarceration.

Returning to Elkins, Kowalsska felt disappointed.

Elijah Harrison remained a ghost, an elusive shadow lurking somewhere in the dark wilds of Appalachia.

But she didn’t know that there was less than a month to go before the Denum, and that Elijah himself was much closer than it seemed.

The first week of June in 2023 was rainy and gloomy.

Low clouds clung to the peaks of the Appalachins, occasionally discharging into short but violent thunderstorms.

Detective Kowalsska was sitting in her office looking at a map of the Manonga National Forest when the phone rang.

Kowalsska, she answered in a tired voice.

Detective, it’s Jim Reynolds from Thornwood.

The voice on the other end was tense.

I saw your flyer for Harrison in our store.

I think I know where he might be.

Kowalsska immediately straightened up, grabbing a pen.

I’m listening, Mr.

Reynolds.

There’s an abandoned coal mine about 3 mi from our town, the Deep Addit they call it.

It closed back in the ’90s.

There are old barracks for workers there.

And for several months now, someone has been living there.

I saw smoke from the chimney when I went hunting.

Did you see this person? From a distance, a tall man with a beard.

He walks with a stick as if he limps.

The locals stay away from that place.

They say it’s uneasy there.

And you know, I wasn’t too curious either.

But when I saw the photo of this Harrison of yours, it looks like him.

Very much like him.

An hour later, Kowalsska was already standing in the sheriff’s office outlining the plan of operation.

If this is indeed Harrison, he is dangerous and knows the area well, she emphasized.

We need a takeown team, but we need to go in quietly.

Sheriff Dawson agreed, scheduling the operation for dawn the next day.

At a.m., four unmarked police SUVs left Elkins, heading for Thornwood.

Six specially trained officers, Kowalsska and Sheriff Dawson himself.

Jim Reynolds was waiting for them on the outskirts of town, ready to show them the way to the mine.

“After you turn onto the dirt road, you’ll have to leave the cars behind,” he warned.

You’ll have to walk the last mile.

The group moved silently through the forest despite the wet ground and numerous puddles from yesterday’s rain.

Each officer had a walkie-talkie, body armor, and a weapon.

But everyone realized that they would have to shoot only as a last resort.

No one wanted Harrison to die without revealing all the details of his tangled history with Leorant Taine.

From behind the hill, they could see the gloomy buildings of the old mine, a dilapidated administrative building, several barracks, rustcovered metal structures.

A thin smoke rose above one of the barracks, a sure sign of human presence.

Kavalska gave the signal and the team spread out surrounding the barracks from all sides.

They could not be seen from the dense curtain of trees.

At least that’s what they hoped.

20 minutes of observation confirmed that there was someone inside.

The figure occasionally passed by the small window, half covered with newspaper, a tall man with a beard and dark clothes.

“We start on my command,” Kavalska whispered into the radio.

“On the count of three.

1 2 3.” The officers burst out of cover in sync, quickly covering the distance to the barracks.

Kavalska was already at the door holding her weapon ready when she heard a sound.

Someone came out from the opposite side of the building.

There was a small outhouse, something like a shed with a water pump.

A tall man came out of the door with a bucket in his hand.

He was moving slowly, leaning on a homemade stick.

He froze for a moment when he saw the officers, but made no attempt to escape or resist.

Elijah Harrison.

Kowalsska pointed her gun at him.

Randolph County Police, don’t move and put your hands up.

The man slowly put the bucket on the ground and raised his hands.

His face was hidden under a thick beard, but his eyes, she recognized them from an old photograph, dark, deep set, full of some kind of inexplicable sadness.

“I knew this day would come one day,” he said in a husky voice, as if he didn’t use it often.

That’s why I waited here.

The officers immediately took him into custody and handcuffed him.

Elijah Harrison did not resist.

He seemed to have accepted this scenario long ago.

You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Leoran Thine.

Kowalsska officially informed him, reading him his rights.

Harrison nodded slightly, as if agreeing that he deserved it.

A search of the barracks confirmed the investigator’s suspicions.

The small room where Harrison lived was aesthetic.

A bed made of pine planks, a homemade table, a shelf with a dozen books, mostly about medicinal plants and survival in the wild.

A few photos on the wall, old and yellowed.

Most of them depicted landscapes, mountains, and forests.

But one stood out.

Two boys at a quarry, the same one that was found clutched in Thain’s hand.

Only this one was intact without an inscription on the back.

On the table was an open notebook, a diary.

Kavalska carefully flipped through the pages.

Neat small handwriting, detailed descriptions of plants, weather, and the starry sky.

And suddenly, a page dated October 15th, 2019.

Today, I met him after 22 years.

He did not recognize me at first.

I had changed more than he had.

It was only when I reminded him of Daisy that understanding appeared in his eyes and then fear.

He remembered.

He just decided to forget.

Next to the notebook was a hunting knife in a leather sheath.

Forensic scientists would later confirm that the traces of blood on the blade matched Leorin Thain’s DNA.

When Elijah Harrison was taken out of the barracks, the sun had already risen over the mountains, dispersing the clouds.

He walked between the two officers somewhat slowly because of his limp, but with his head held high.

Near the car, he suddenly stopped and looked at Kalska.

Detective, can I ask you a question? Yes.

How did you find him? It’s been 3 years.

herbalists.

A father and son collecting roots from an old oak tree, the pillar of the ancestors.

Harrison nodded as if that made sense.

I wanted it to be found.

I wanted everyone to finally know the truth.

That’s why I left the note.

The truth about what? Kowalsska asked quietly.

About what happened in Daisy’s career? Harrison replied simply.

I’ll tell you everything.

I’m ready to talk now.

The gray walls of the interrogation room at the Randolph County Sheriff’s Office had seen many confessions, but none as chilling in their mundanity as the one that came on July 1st, 2023.

Elijah Harrison was sitting at a metal desk, his gaunt hands resting on the surface.

His beard was neatly trimmed.

He had asked for it before the interrogation.

His limp leg was stretched out to the side.

In his eyes, the calmness of a man who has finally reached the end of a long journey.

Opposite him sat Detective Kowalsska.

Next to him were Sheriff Dawson and Harrison’s courtappointed defense attorney, a young lawyer named Michael Green.

In the corner, a camera was working silently, recording every word.

“Mr.

Harrison, are you ready to tell us what happened between you and Leorent Tain?” asked Kowalsska, turning on the recorder.

Elijah nodded, took a deep breath, and began to speak in a quiet, steady voice.

It happened in the summer of 2097.

Leoranne and I were 12 years old.

We grew up together like brothers.

We played together, dreamed together, hid from all problems together.

My father was a cruel man.

He beat me almost every day.

Leoran knew this.

When it became completely unbearable, I would run away to him.

Sometimes we would hide in the woods.

Leoran always said, “The forest cleanses.

Everything bad retreats here.” He paused, looking somewhere through the wall as if he were seeing pictures of the past.

That day, we went to Daisy’s Quarry, a forbidden place that all the children adored.

An old limestone quarry with steep walls and a blue lake at the bottom.

We often jumped into the water from a low cliff there.

But this time we went higher to the highest ledge 30 ft above the water.

We stood on the edge looking down.

Leoran said he was going to jump.

I was afraid.

I remember him calling me a coward.

He said I would always be a coward if I didn’t dare to jump.

Elijah took a drink of water from the glass in front of him.

I refused.

I turned around to go lower and then he pushed me.

Not in the direction of the water, in the other direction where the rocks were.

It was not an accident.

He looked me in the eye when he pushed me.

I flew 15 ft and landed on a rocky ledge.

I broke three ribs and damaged my spine.

I could not move.

And he he just stood there up there looking at me.

And then he turned around and left.

He left me to die.

The room fell silent.

Sheriff Dawson shook his head as if he couldn’t believe it.

The lawyer was writing something in a notebook.

I wasn’t found until the next day when my father raised the alarm.

Elijah continued, “I spent a month in the hospital.

But the worst part was not the physical injury.

The worst part was that Leoran never came.

He never apologized.

He did not explain why he did it.

His family moved away two months later, quietly without saying goodbye as if nothing had happened.

“And your father?” Kavalska asked quietly.

A bitter laugh.

My father said it was my own fault that I was too weak.

God does not like weaklings.

I became his shame, the lame son of a wood cutter.

After this incident, things got even worse.

Beatings, humiliation.

He said that God was testing me, hardening me, and then he died of a heart attack when I was 20.

And you know what? I didn’t feel any regrets, only relief.

How did you find Leoran after all these years? Asked Sheriff Dawson.

I wasn’t looking, Elijah replied with a shrug.

It was an accident.

I was working in forestry, living my life.

One day I read in the local newspaper that Leor Anan Thine, a former military man, had returned to West Virginia.

He got married, opened his own business in Elkins, a happy life.

There was a bitterness in his voice that was impossible not to hear.

And all these years I was struggling with chronic pain.

I could not walk normally.

I could not find a woman who would love a [__] I could not have children because the spinal injury affected everything.

and he lived a perfect life as if nothing had happened.

So you decided to kill him.

No.

At first I just wanted to talk.

I quit my job, moved closer to Elkins.

I learned his roots where he hunted.

And on October 15th, 2019, I met him in the woods on the Blackbird’s Knob Trail.

Elijah took another drink of water, his hand shaking slightly.

He didn’t recognize me at first.

The beard, the different clothes.

I went up to him and said, “Hi, Leorin.

Do you remember Daisy’s quarry?” And then then he remembered.

I saw his eyes widen.

He started making excuses.

He said he was a stupid teenager, that he didn’t mean for me to get seriously hurt, that it was a mistake he hadn’t even thought about all these years.

Elijah’s voice became quieter but more intense.

He didn’t.

He ruined my life and he didn’t even think about it.

And you know what he did next? He offered me money.

He took out his wallet and started offering compensation as if my 25 years of pain could be bought with a few hundred.

And that’s when you decided to kill him.

Yes.

I brought the photo, the one they found on him.

I told him I wanted to sign it as a momento.

He was confused.

While he was looking at the photo, I pulled out a knife.

Elijah described the murder with an eerie calmness.

The 17 stabbings, Leorin’s last words, his look of horror and understanding that the reckoning had come decades later.

And then I created what you found.

I processed his body according to an ancient recipe taught to me by my grandmother, a herbalist.

I took it to the pillar of ancestors.

It was symbolic.

He becomes part of the forest which in his own words cleanses everything.

I wrote a reminder of our conversations on the back of the photo.

I put it in his hand so that it would be found someday so that everyone would know the truth.

“Why didn’t you run away?” asked Kavalsolska unwittingly drawn to his calm tone.

“Where?” Elijah answered simply.

I knew they would find me someday, so I chose a place and waited.

As you can see, I was right.

The interrogation lasted another 2 hours.

Elijah answered all the questions calmly and in detail.

He confirmed every word with signed confessions.

The lawyer tried to build a line of defense based on a long-standing psychological trauma, but Harrison refused to mitigate the sentence.

I knew what I was doing, he said.

And I’m ready to be held accountable.

Elijah Harrison’s trial took place 3 months later and lasted only a week.

The jury deliberated for less than a day before reaching a verdict guilty of firstdegree murder.

The judge, taking into account all the circumstances, sentenced him to life in prison with the possibility of parole in 25 years.

Exactly the same amount of time that Elijah has lived with pain and abuse.

“Maria Tain was present at every hearing.

When the verdict was announced, she approached Elijah.

“I never knew this side of my husband,” she said quietly.

“I wish he had the courage to face the past sooner.

Maybe things could have turned out differently.” Elijah just nodded.

There was no longer any hatred or triumph in his eyes, only the fatigue of a man who had finally thrown off a heavy burden.

As he was being led out of the room, Detective Kowalsska noticed that he no longer limped as much as he had before.

As if by revealing the truth, his body had been partially freed from the pain that had held him captive for so many years.

The pillar of the ancestors still stands in the shadow ravine, but locals now avoid it.

And although both victims of this story, Leorin Thne and Elijah Harrison, will never return to its roots, the Appalachian forests will continue to hold other secrets, waiting for their time to come to Eight.