In 1840, deep within the Appalachian wilderness exists a town that shouldn’t exist. Milbrook Hollow was founded in 1640 by 43 families fleeing religious persecution. And for 200 years, not a single outsider has entered or left. What began as a sanctuary became a genetic prison.
This is the account of Dr. Samuel Hwitt, a physician who stumbled upon Milbrook Hollow while searching for his missing brother, and what he discovered about 10 generations of absolute isolation will challenge everything you think you know about human evolution, family bonds, and the true cost of purity. The town kept meticulous records, every birth, every marriage, every death documented in leatherbound journals spanning two centuries.
But some things were never written down. Some truths were too horrifying to commit to in paper. The map was wrong. Dr. Samuel Huitt had been certain of that. For the past 3 hours, as his horse picked its way through increasingly dense forest, where no trail should exist. The October air in the Appalachian Mountains carried that peculiar cold that seeps into bones, and the afternoon sun barely penetrated the canopy above.
His brother’s last letter, dated June 12th, 1840, had mentioned a town called Milbrook Hollow, a place Samuel could find on no map, in no census record. In no traveler’s account, he’d consulted across four different libraries in Richmond. Thomas Huitt, a surveyor by trade, had written that he’d stumbled upon something extraordinary during his mapping expedition for the Commonwealth of Virginia.
A complete society, Thomas had written in his precise hand, untouched by the modern world, operating under principles that would astound the learned men of our time. That was 4 months ago. No letter had followed. Samuel had waited 2 weeks before worry overtook him, another three weeks before he could arrange leave from his practice in Richmond.
He was 34 years old, had delivered over 200 babies, set countless broken bones, and watched fever claim patients despite his best efforts with mercury and bloodletting. He considered himself a rational man, educated at the College of William and Mary, skeptical of superstition and frontier tales. But Thomas was his only living family since their parents died of cholera in 36, and the silence was unlike him.
Thomas wrote weekly religiously, even if just to complain about mosquitoes or comment on geological formations. Four months of nothing meant something was terribly wrong. The horse, a sturdy bay mare named Constance, suddenly stopped and refused to move forward. Samuel dismounted, his medical bag heavy across his shoulder, and examined the ground.
Here the forest changed. The trees grew differently, their trunks twisted in unusual spirals, and the underbrush seemed deliberately arranged, though he couldn’t say why it struck him that way. Then he saw it, a can of stones, weathered and mosscovered, stacked in a formation that was clearly human-made. Beyond it, barely visible through the trees, stood another K, and another beyond that.
A path marked by those who didn’t want outsiders to find it, but needed to find their way back themselves. Samuel led Constance forward, following the stone markers. The forest grew quieter. No bird calls, no rustle of squirrels or deer, just the sound of his boots on dead leaves and Constance’s measured breathing.
The silence pressed against his eardrums like a physical thing. He checked his pocket watch quart 3 and realized the light seemed wrong for the time of day, dimmer than it should be, as though the forest itself absorbed illumination. After 20 minutes of following Kairens, the trees abruptly ended. Before him lay a valley that geography insisted shouldn’t exist.
The mountains in this region ran north to south in parallel ridges. But this valley formed a perfect bowl, completely enclosed by peaks on all sides. At its center, perhaps a mile distance, stood a town, not a settlement or a camp, but an actual town with perhaps 60 structures, a church spire rising above them, smoke curling from chimneys.
The buildings were old, constructed in a style Samuel recognized from history books, colonial architecture from the 1600s, with steep roofs and small windows, nothing modern, no expansion beyond the original settlement pattern. The town looked exactly as it might have 200 years ago, preserved like an insect in amber. Samuel felt his pulse quicken.
That particular excitement that accompanies genuine discovery waring with an inexplicable dread. The valley was too quiet, too still. Even from this distance, he could see people moving between buildings, but there was something wrong about their movements, something he couldn’t quite identify. They seemed to move too slowly, or perhaps too deliberately, like actors in a play who hadn’t quite memorized their blocking.
He shook his head, dismissing the fancy. 4 hours on horseback through difficult terrain had fatigued him. That was all. He was projecting anxiety about Thomas onto innocent settlers who’d simply chosen isolation. The descent into the valley took another hour. The path, for there was a path now well worn and maintained, switched back down the steep slope.
Constance balked twice, her ears flat against her skull, but Samuel coaxed her forward with gentle words and sugar cubes from his pocket. As they descended, he noticed peculiarities in the vegetation. The plants grew larger here, more lush, but many exhibited strange characteristics. An oak tree had bark that spiraled completely around its trunk in tight coils.
A patch of wild flowers displayed color variations he’d never seen. Purples bleeding into greens in ways that seemed biologically impossible. The very air felt thicker, harder to breathe, though his medical training told him that made no sense at this altitude. By the time he reached the valley floor, the sun was touching the western peaks.
The town stood a/4 mile ahead, and Samuel could now see details that made his stomach tighten. The buildings, while well-maintained, showed signs of intense age and peculiar modification. Windows had been bricked up and reopened in different locations. Doors hung at odd heights, some requiring steps up, others requiring steps down, as though the inhabitants couldn’t agree on a standard.
The church, clearly the town’s centerpiece, had a steeple that listed slightly to the left, not from age or poor construction, but as if it had been deliberately built that way. Figures moved in the dusty main street, and now that he was closer, Samuel could see what had disturbed him from above. They moved normally enough, but there was no conversation, no calling out to neighbors, no children’s laughter, just silent, purposeful movement from building to building.
He remounted Constants and rode slowly toward the town. As he approached, the figures stopped moving. One by one, they turned to face him, perhaps 15 people visible on the street. Men in clothing 40 years out of fashion, women in long dresses that would have been common in the last century.
Not a single person under what appeared to be 20 years old visible among them. They stared at him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. Not hostile, exactly. something else, something hungry. Samuel raised his hand in greeting. “Good evening,” he called out, his voice sounding too loud in the still air. “My name is Dr. Samuel Hwitt.
I’m searching for my brother Thomas Huitt. He wrote to me about visiting this town some months ago.” No one responded. They simply stared, their faces blank as porcelain masks. Samuel noticed that several of them shared striking similarities. The same narrow set eyes, the same prominent forehead, the same thin lipped mouth.
Family resemblances, he told himself, though something about the uniformity of features across supposedly different families troubled him. He dismounted, leading Constance forward. I mean, no intrusion. I’m merely concerned for my brother’s welfare. If someone could direct me to whoever leads this community, I would be most grateful.
A door opened in the building directly ahead, the largest structure facing the street. A man emerged, elderly, but moving with surprising vigor. He was tall, perhaps 6 and 1/2 ft, with a frame that suggested he’d once been powerfully built, but had withered with age. His face was a road map of deep wrinkles, and his eyes, pale blue, almost colorless, fixed on Samuel with an intelligence that was immediately apparent.
Unlike the others, he smiled, revealing teeth that were surprisingly intact. For a man of his evident years, “Dr. Hwitt,” he said, his voice a rasping whisper that nonetheless carried clearly. “We’ve been expecting you. That was impossible. Samuel had told no one of his plans except his housekeeper in Richmond, and he deliberately kept his route vague, even in the notes he’d left.
” “I don’t understand,” Samuel said. How could you possibly? The old man’s smile widened. Your brother told us you’d come looking for him eventually. Thomas has spoken of nothing else for weeks. He’s been quite anxious about your arrival. Relief flooded through Samuel, so intense it made his knees weak. Thomas is here. He’s well. Oh, yes, the old man said.
Very well indeed. He’s become quite integrated into our community. Please, Dr. Huitt, come inside. Nightfalls quickly in the valley, and there are protocols we must observe. I am Elder Josiah, and I’ve led Milbrook Hollow these past 40 years. We have much to discuss, Samuel hesitated, every instinct screaming at him that something was profoundly wrong here.
The silent watchers still hadn’t moved. Their eyes tracked him, but their bodies remained frozen in whatever position they’d been in when he arrived. It was unnatural. Human beings shifted weight, adjusted posture, blinked, breathed visibly. These people did none of those things. They were too still, like mannequins arranged on the street.
But Thomas was here, safe, and Samuel had come too far, worried too long to turn back now because of an atmosphere that was merely unusual. “Thank you, Elder Josiah,” he said, securing Constance’s reigns to a post outside the building. I appreciate your hospitality. As he stepped toward the door, he could have sworn he heard one of the watchers make a sound, a soft, keening whimper like an animal caught in a trap.
He turned, but all the faces remained blank, expressionless. Elder Josiah’s hand touched his shoulder, the fingers far stronger than their aged appearance suggested. “Pay them no mind, doctor. They’re simply unus to visitors. Come, there’s someone eager to see you.” The door closed behind Samuel with a sound like a tomb ceiling shut.
The interior of the building was dimly lit by oil lamps, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw that he stood in what appeared to be a meeting hall. Long tables ran the length of the room, and the walls were covered in frames, not paintings, but documents. He stepped closer to examine one, and his breath caught.
It was a family tree, meticulously drawn, dating back to 1640. The name at the top read Elijah Witmore, born605 Plymouth Colony. Below that, generation after generation, branches spreading and then Samuel frowned, converging again. Lines connecting members of the same family, first cousins marrying, then second cousins, then first cousins again.
The pattern repeated across the wall, frame after frame, different surnames, but the same horrifying convergence. Every wall in the room displayed the same thing. 10 generations of families folding in on themselves. Bloodlines twisting together like the spiraled bark of the oak trees outside.
Our genealogy, Elder Josiah said from behind him, pride evident in his voice. Complete and unbroken since the founding. Every marriage recorded, every child accounted for. We’ve maintained our purity for 200 years. Dr. Huitt 200 years without contamination from the outside world. Samuel’s medical training allowed him to understand what he was seeing even as his mind recoiled from it. This wasn’t just isolation.
This was systematic deliberate inbreeding spanning centuries. The genetic implications were catastrophic. This is he began unable to finish the sentence. Josiah’s hand gripped his shoulder again, turning him away from the walls. necessary,” the elder said firmly. “Come now. Your brother is waiting in the eastern house.
He’ll explain everything. He understands now. You will, too.” As they walked through the dim hall toward a rear door, Samuel noticed something that froze, the blood in his veins. In the shadows between lamplight, figures sat motionless at the long tables. He thought the room empty, but now he saw there were perhaps 20 people seated there, so still he’d mistaken them for furniture.
And as he passed, they turned their heads in perfect unison to watch him, their movements synchronized like a flock of birds, their faces reflecting the lamplight with identical expressions of eager anticipation. Samuel’s [clears throat] medical bag suddenly felt very heavy, and for the first time since entering Milbrook Hollow, he wondered if Thomas had sent that last letter as a warning rather than an invitation.
The eastern house sat at the edge of the settlement, separated from the other buildings by perhaps 50 yards of open ground that had been deliberately cleared of vegetation. As Samuel and Elder Josiah approached through the gathering dusk, Samuel noticed that the windows of this particular structure had been covered from the inside with what appeared to be heavy cloth, allowing only thin seams of lamplight to escape.
The building itself was larger than most of the others, two stories with an addition that extended toward the rear. And unlike the other structures, this one showed signs of recent modification. New lumber had been used to reinforce the eastern wall, the wood still pale and unseasoned compared to the weathered gray of the original construction.
Elder Josiah walked with a peculiar gate that Samuel initially attributed to age, but now recognized as something else. The old man’s left leg swung out slightly with each step, describing a small arc, while his right foot dragged just enough to create a soft shuffling sound. Yet he moved quickly, forcing Samuel to keep pace.
“Your brother has been staying here for the past 3 months,” Josiah said. “We assigned him private quarters, as beffits a man of learning.” “Thomas has been invaluable to us, Dr. Hwitt. Truly invaluable. His surveying skills, his mathematical mind, his careful documentation. He’s helped us understand so much about our situation.
” The way Josiah emphasized situation made Samuel’s neck prickle. What situation would that be?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, despite the growing unease that threatened to overwhelm his clinical detachment. Josiah stopped at the door, but didn’t immediately open it. Instead, he turned to face Samuel directly, those pale eyes catching the last rays of dying sunlight and reflecting them back with an almost luminous quality. Dr.
Huitt, I must ask you a question before we proceed, and I require absolute honesty. Can you provide that? Samuel nodded, his throat suddenly dry. Have you told anyone else about Milbrook Hollow. Does anyone beyond yourself know of your journey here? The question was delivered with such intensity that Samuel understood immediately that his answer mattered far more than mere curiosity.
He thought of Mrs. Henderson, his housekeeper, who knew only that he’d gone to search for Thomas in the western counties. He thought of his colleagues at the hospital, who assumed he’d taken leave to handle family affairs. He’d been deliberately vague with everyone, partly from embarrassment, at chasing what might prove to be nothing, partly from an instinct he now recognized as preient. “No one,” Samuel said.
I kept my plans private. Something that might have been relief or satisfaction flickered across Josiah’s weathered face. A good? That’s very good. It makes things simpler. He opened the door without knocking, and Samuel followed him into a narrow hallway lit by a single oil lamp on a wall sconce. The air inside was close, thick with an odor Samuel couldn’t immediately identify, something organic and faintly sweet, like overripe fruit or meat that had been preserved too long.
The hallway led past several closed doors before opening into a larger room that served as both study and living quarters. Books lined makeshift shelves, surveying equipment stood in one corner, and a large table dominated the center of the space. Covered with papers, maps, and what appeared to be detailed diagrams, and there, bent over the table with his back to the door, stood Thomas Hewitt.
Samuel’s relief at seeing his brother was immediate and overwhelming, but it died just as quickly when Thomas turned around. His brother had always been the more robust of the two, broader in the shoulders, with a constitution that seemed immune to the fevers and ailments that occasionally laid Samuel low.
But the man who turned to face him now seemed diminished, not thinner, exactly, but hollowed out somehow, as if something essential had been extracted from him. Thomas’s face lit up with genuine joy. Samuel, God, I knew you’d come. I knew you’d figure it out. He crossed the room quickly and embraced his brother with a strength that belied his altered appearance.
Up close, Samuel could see that Thomas’s eyes held a feverish brightness, and his hands, when they gripped Samuel’s arms, trembled slightly. “Thomas, what’s happened to you?” Samuel asked, his physician’s instinct overriding his relief. “You look unwell. Have you been eating properly?” “Sleeping?” Thomas laughed, but it had a brittle quality.
I’m perfectly healthy, I assure you. Better than healthy, in fact. I’ve learned so much, Samuel. So much more than I ever imagined possible. But you must be exhausted from your journey. Please sit. Elder Josiah, thank you for bringing him. We’ll need privacy now for our discussion. Josiah inclined his head in what might have been a bow or merely a nod.
Of course, I’ll have food sent over within the hour. Dr. Huitt, we’ll speak more tomorrow. for tonight. Reacquaint yourselves. But Thomas, do remember the protocols. He needs to understand before he sees anything more. With that cryptic statement, the old man withdrew, closing the door behind him with a soft click that sounded far too final.
The moment they were alone, Thomas’s expression changed. The manic brightness dimmed, replaced by something that looked like desperation. He moved to the windows, checking that the cloths covering them were secure, then returned to Samuel and gripped his hands tightly. “You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered. “God, help me.
I’m so glad you’re here, but you shouldn’t have come. I couldn’t warn you. They read everything. Every letter I tried to send after the first one was intercepted. I had to be so careful. Had to make that first letter seem enthusiastic enough that they’d let it go. But I hoped. I hoped you’d read between the lines, understand that something was wrong.
Samuel felt ice form in his stomach. Thomas, what are you talking about? Are you being held prisoner here? Thomas released his hands and moved back to the table, running his fingers through hair that had grown longer than he usually kept it. Prisoner? No. Yes, it’s complicated. They don’t lock doors or postcards, Samuel. They don’t need to.
The valley itself is the prison. I’ve tried to leave three times. The forest beyond the town, the slopes leading up to the rim, they’re impossible to navigate. The paths disappear, the cans that mark the way move. I know that sounds insane, but I’ve watched them. They’re in different positions each day. And there are watchers, people from the town who follow anyone who tries to leave.
They don’t stop you directly, but they follow. Always just at the edge of vision. And eventually you get turned around and find yourself back at the valley floor. Exhausted and confused, Samuel studied his brother’s face, looking for signs of mental deterioration. Paranoia could result from isolation, from fever, from any number of medical causes.
But Thomas’s eyes, despite their brightness, showed clarity. He wasn’t raving. He believed every word he was saying. “All right,” Samuel said carefully. “Assume I believe you. Why? Why would they keep you here? What possible purpose could it serve? Thomas laughed again. That same unsettling sound. Because of what I discovered, Samuel.
Because of what they need. And now because of what you know. He moved to one of the bookshelves and pulled down a leatherbound journal. Its pages yellowed with age. This is the town’s founding document written by Elijah Witmore in 1640. Read it. Read it and understand what we’ve stumbled into. Samuel took the journal carefully, noting how the leather had been maintained, oiled regularly to keep it supple despite its age.
He opened it to the first page and began to read. The handwriting was precise, each letter formed with the care of someone educated in an era when literacy was precious. In this year of our Lord 1640, we 43 families do hereby establish the settlement of Milbrook Hollow, having fled the corruption and impurity of Plymouth Colony.
We have been chosen by providence to maintain the true bloodline unsullied by those who would dilute our purpose. We covenant together that no outsider shall ever join our community, that marriages shall occur only between those families who have taken this oath, and that any child born of union with an outsider shall be cast out regardless of circumstance.
We seek not growth, but preservation. We seek not expansion, but purity. In this hidden valley, we shall remain as God intended, separate and whole, until such time as the world outside has cleansed itself or destroyed itself, whichever comes first. Samuel looked up at Thomas, understanding beginning to dawn.
They’ve been intermaring for 200 years exclusively. No new bloodlines ever introduced. Thomas nodded grimly. 10 generations, Samuel. 10 complete generations of first cousins marrying first cousins, uncles marrying nieces when necessary to keep the bloodlines pure. Do you understand what that means from a biological standpoint? Samuel did. He understood it all too well.
He’d studied enough anatomy and physiology to know about hereditary traits, about how certain defects ran in families, about how even limited inbreeding among livestock produced increasingly severe abnormalities. He’d never seen data on what 10 generations of complete isolation would do to humans, but he could extrapolate.
“The genetic damage must be catastrophic,” he said quietly. “Catastrophic doesn’t begin to describe it,” Thomas replied. He moved to the table and swept aside some of the papers, revealing a series of detailed anatomical sketches. Samuel recognized his brother’s precise drafting style, but the subjects of the drawings made him recoil.
Human figures, but wrong in fundamental ways, bones that curved where they should be straight, joints that bent backward, skulls with malformed jaws and eye sockets that were too large or too small or positioned incorrectly. I’ve been documenting everything I’ve observed, Thomas continued. They asked me to. They wanted a record, a scientific accounting of what they’ve become.
Elder Josiah is the least affected of the older generation, which is why they made him leader. He has the closest to normal anatomy, though even he has significant skeletal abnormalities and internal organs that are positioned incorrectly. His heart is on the right side of his chest, Samuel. His liver is split into three loes instead of two, but he’s functional, intelligent, capable of leadership.
Samuel forced himself to look at the drawings more carefully. You said he’s the least affected of the older generation. What about the younger ones? Thomas’s face went pale. That’s what makes this so urgent. That’s why they let me stay. Why they insisted I remain? The degradation is accelerating. Each generation is worse than the last, and the most recent.
He stopped, seeming unable to continue. He picked up a cloth from the table and wrapped it around his trembling hands. The children, Samuel. God help us, the children. Before he could elaborate, a knock sounded at the door. Thomas’s reaction was immediate and telling. He quickly gathered the anatomical drawings and shoved them into a drawer, then composed his face into something approaching normaly.
Enter,” he called. The door opened to reveal a woman carrying a tray of food. She was young, perhaps 25, and at first glance appeared entirely normal, dark hair pulled back severely, plain dress in the colonial style, pale skin that suggested limited sun exposure. But as she stepped into the lamplight, Samuel saw the wrongness.
Her left arm was slightly longer than her right, long enough that her hand hung several inches below where it should. Her face, while symmetrical from a distance, showed subtle distortions up close. Her eyes were positioned just slightly too far apart, giving her gaze an unsettling quality. Her jaw clicked audibly when she opened her mouth to speak.
Elder Josiah sends his regards and your supper,” she said, her voice oddly flat, each word enunciated with careful precision as if speaking required conscious effort. “He reminds you that tomorrow is the Sabbath, and all residents must attend morning assembly.” Thomas thanked her, taking the tray. “The woman’s gaze shifted to Samuel, and he saw something in her eyes that made his breath catch.
a terrible awareness, an intelligence trapped behind physical degradation. She knew what she was. She understood. You’re the brother, she said to Samuel. Thomas speaks of you often. He says you’re a physician, a healer. Samuel nodded, not trusting his voice. Can you heal us? She asked, and the desperate hope in those wrongly spaced eyes was devastating.
Can you fix what we’ve become? Thomas moved between them quickly. Martha the doctor has just arrived. He’s exhausted from his journey. We’ll discuss medical matters tomorrow. Martha Samuel filed the name away, stared at him a moment longer, then dropped her gaze and turned to leave. But at the door she paused and looked back.
They’re planning something, she said quietly. Elder Josiah and the council, something involving both of you. Be careful what you agree to, Dr. Huitt. Very careful. Then she was gone, leaving the brothers in heavy silence. Samuel waited until her footsteps faded before speaking. Thomas, what did she mean? What are they planning? His brother set the tray down and moved to the window, peering through a tiny gap in the cloth covering.
That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. They don’t just want me to document their condition, Samuel. They want us to fix it, both of us, using our combined knowledge. They believe that with your medical expertise and my mathematical and surveying skills, we can solve their problem. Samuel felt a chill despite the warmth of the room.
Solve it how? Thomas turned back to face him, and his expression was that of a man balanced on the edge of an abyss. They want us to design a breeding program, a systematic approach to introduce new genetic material and reverse the damage. They want us to engineer the next generation, Samuel. And they’ve been very clear about what will happen if we refuse.
Samuel’s mind reeled. That’s insane. Even if such a thing were theoretically possible, which I’m not certain it is, where would they get new genetic material? They’ve been isolated for two centuries. There are no outsiders to He stopped, understanding flooding through him like ice water. Thomas nodded slowly. Now you see it.
Now you understand why they were so pleased when you arrived. Why Elder Josiah asked if anyone knew you were here, why they’ve made sure we’re housed together in this isolated building. Samuel’s voice was barely a whisper. They mean to use us as breeding stock. Thomas crossed to his brother and gripped his shoulders.
Not just us, anyone who wanders into the valley. I wasn’t the first, Samuel. I found records buried in the church archives every 40 or 50 years. Someone stumbles in. Sometimes they leave. Sometimes they don’t. And when they don’t, 9 months later, there are births. Children with fresh blood who grow up stronger, healthier than their purely inbred peers.
Those children are then carefully married back into the community to spread the new genetic material. Samuel felt nausea rising in his throat. How many How many people have they trapped here? Thomas released him and walked back to the table, opening another drawer and pulling out a ledger. They found reference to 12 outsiders in the past 200 years.
Four left after a few days before the town could fully implement their plans. Eight stayed, three by choice. They fell in love with residents believed they could help. Five by force. Of those five, two eventually died trying to escape. The other three lived out their lives here, producing children.
The last one was 20 years ago, a woman named Sarah Brennan. She bore three children before dying in childbirth with the fourth. He looked up at Samuel, his eyes haunted. Her youngest daughter is Martha, who just brought us food. She’s the healthiest of the current generation because of her mother’s genes. And that’s why they’re so interested in us, Samuel.
We’re brothers. Similar genetics, but not identical. Two sources of fresh blood instead of one. The room seemed to spin. Samuel sat down heavily in the nearest chair, his medical training waring with the horror of what he was learning. From a purely scientific standpoint, he could see the logic.
Introduction of new genetic material could theoretically help reverse some of the damage caused by generations of inbreeding. But the ethics, the morality, the sheer violation of human autonomy involved made his stomach turn. We have to leave, he said. Tonight, we’ll take the horses. And Thomas shook his head. I told you I’ve tried multiple times.
The valley won’t let you leave. I know how that sounds, but it’s true. It’s as if the land itself is part of the trap. And even if we could get out, they’d follow. They’re desperate, Samuel. The youngest generation, the children born in the last 10 years, they’re getting worse. more deformities, more still births, more children who die within days.
The gene pool is collapsing. They need new blood and they need it now or Milbrook Hollow dies within the next generation. Samuel looked at his brother, seeing the toll these months of captivity had taken. Thomas had always been the optimist, the one who believed problems could be solved through reason and effort.
But something had broken in him here. What have they asked you to do? Samuel asked quietly. Specifically, Thomas pulled out a chair and sat across from his brother. They wanted me to survey the valley completely, map every structure, document the population, and create detailed family trees showing which bloodlines were most and least damaged.
Then they wanted me to use that information to design optimal pairings for the next generation who should marry whom to minimize harmful traits while maintaining what they call their essential character. They’re convinced that their isolation has given them spiritual purity that they’re somehow chosen. And they’re terrified of losing that along with their physical health.
And have you done this? Have you designed this breeding program they want? Thomas met his eyes steadily. I’ve stalled. I’ve been deliberately slow, making mistakes, asking for more data. But they’re losing patience. Elder Josiah gave me until the end of harvest season, which is now, to complete the work.
He said if I couldn’t do it, they’d find someone who could. I thought he meant they’d let me leave and try to find another outsider. But when your letter arrived, the one I sent asking you to come, Elder Josiah read it before I even knew it had arrived, he was ecstatic. He called an emergency council meeting and announced that Providence had delivered them a physician to compliment my work.
They’d been preparing for your arrival ever since. Samuel felt the trap closing around him. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to grab Thomas, and force their way out through sheer will if necessary. But the rational part of his mind knew that wouldn’t work. If Thomas couldn’t escape in three months of trying, they wouldn’t manage it in one desperate night.
They needed a strategy. “All right,” he said, forcing his voice to remain calm. “We need to think this through carefully. You said the younger generation is severely affected. How bad is it? What exactly are we dealing with?” Thomas stood and walked to a locked cabinet against the far wall. He produced a key from his pocket and opened it, revealing a stack of journals.
I’ve documented everything. Medical observations, measurements, interviews with the parents. But Samuel, I need to warn you. What you’re about to see in these journals and what you’ll see tomorrow at the assembly, it will stay with you forever. There’s no unknowing this. Samuel thought of the anatomical drawings, of Martha’s misaligned eyes and too long arm, of the figures he’d seen moving too slowly on the street.
“Show me,” he said. “If we’re going to find a way out of this, I need to understand what we’re dealing with.” Thomas handed him the first journal. “This documents the oldest residents, those over 50. You’ll see the progression clearly. Then I’ll show you the children.” As Samuel opened the journal and began to read, Thomas moved to the window again, keeping watch.
Outside, full darkness had fallen over Milbrook Hollow. And somewhere in that darkness, Samuel knew Elder Josiah and his council were planning exactly how they would use two brothers from the outside world to save their dying town. The question was whether Samuel and Thomas would survive the salvation they were meant to provide.
Samuel read through the night while Thomas dozed fitfully in a chair by the door. The journals documented a genetic catastrophe in meticulous detail, and with each page, Samuel’s horror deepened. Thomas had organized his observations by generation, starting with the oldest survivors and working forward through time.
The pattern was unmistakable. A steady acceleration of abnormalities. Each generation manifesting more severe defects than the last. The human form gradually warping under the weight of two centuries of closed breeding. The first generation Thomas had documented. Those born around 1790 showed relatively minor issues. slightly asymmetrical features, higher rates of deafness and vision problems, some skeletal irregularities that cause joint pain, but nothing immediately visible to a casual observer.
These were the elders like Josiah, the least damaged, the ones who could still interact with an outsider without immediately revealing the town’s terrible secret. But even among them, Thomas had noted disturbing patterns. Every single individual had at least one major organ positioned abnormally. Hearts on the wrong side, kidneys fused together or located too high in the abdomen, intestines that looped in configurations that should have been fatal but somehow functioned.
Their bodies had adapted to wrongness, found ways to survive despite architecture that violated every principle of normal human anatomy. The next generation born around 1810 showed the damage more obviously. Club feet were common. Gleft pallets appeared in nearly a third of births. Spinal curvatures created hunched backs and twisted postures.
Mental faculties began to suffer. Difficulty with speech, problems with memory, reduced capacity for abstract thought. Thomas had interviewed dozens of these individuals, and his notes revealed people trapped in bodies and minds that barely functioned, aware enough to understand their deterioration, but powerless to stop it.
One woman, aged 32, had been born with six fingers on each hand and toes that had fused together into clubbed masses. She could barely walk, spent most of her days in a wheelchair her husband had constructed, and spoke with such difficulty that Thomas had needed hours to conduct a simple interview. Yet, she’d borne four children, each more damaged than herself, because the community insisted that every woman capable of conception must reproduce.
The gene pool was too small to allow anyone to remain childless by choice. Samuel turned pages. his physician’s mind cataloging symptoms even as his human heart recoiled. Webbed fingers and toes, eyes that pointed in different directions or were different sizes, ears positioned too high or too low on the skull, limbs of unequal length, bones that grew in spirals instead of straight lines.
Teeth that erupted in random patterns. Some individuals having 30 or more teeth crammed into mouths designed for 32, others having only a handful scattered across malformed jaws. Skin conditions that cause patches of thickened, scaly tissue across the body, hormonal imbalances that left men with high voices and no facial hair. Women with deep voices and excessive body hair.
The list went on, page after page of human suffering cataloged in Thomas’s precise handwriting. But it was the generation born around 1830, now approaching 10 years old, that made Samuel’s hands shake as he read. Thomas had documented 12 children born in the past decade who had survived beyond infancy, 12 out of 37 births. The rest had been still born or died within days, their bodies too malformed to sustain life.
Of the 12 survivors, not one could be called normal by any standard. Three were blind, their eye sockets either empty or containing eyes that had never fully formed. Two had severe hydrophilis, their skulls grotesqually enlarged, filled with fluid that pressed against brain tissue and left them with the mental capacity of infants despite their age.
One child, a boy of eight, had been born with his internal organs partially externalized, visible through a gap in his abdominal wall that had never properly closed. He lived in constant pain, unable to eat solid food. kept alive through carefully strained broths and the devoted care of his mother, who knew he would likely not survive another winter, Samuel set down the journal and pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to unsee what he’d read.
But the images were burned into his mind now. Thomas had included sketches, anatomical drawings that showed the extent of the deformities with scientific precision. One child had a spine that curved so severely it formed nearly a complete circle, forcing her to move on all fours like an animal because walking upright was impossible. Another had been born with what Thomas described as reversed symmetry.
His right side appeared normal, but his left side was twisted, the arm ending in a flipper-like appendage. The leg shorter by 6 in. The face on that side collapsed inward as if the bones had never properly formed. These children were kept hidden during the day, Thomas noted, brought out only at night when visitors were unlikely.
The community was ashamed of them, even as they understood the children represented their future, the inevitable end point of their isolation. Now you understand. Thomas’s voice came from across the room. Samuel hadn’t realized his brother was awake. Now you see why they’re so desperate. Samuel lowered his hands and looked at Thomas.
In the gray light before dawn, filtering through gaps in the window coverings, his brother looked ancient. This can’t continue, Samuel said. Even one more generation, Thomas. These people need to leave the valley. They need to integrate with the outside world, introduce new blood on a massive scale.
A breeding program with just the two of us wouldn’t be enough. The damage is too extensive. Thomas stood and stretched, his joints popping audibly. I’ve tried explaining that to Elder Josiah. He won’t hear it. To him, leaving the valley means abandoning their covenant with God, admitting that their 200year experiment in purity was a failure.
He’d rather see the town die than admit they were wrong. Samuel rose and walked to the table where the genealogical charts were spread out. In daylight, they were even more disturbing. Thomas had color-coded the family lines. Red for the Witmore family, blue for the Ashton’s, green for the Harringtons, and so on through the original 43 families.
But by the fifth generation, the colors had bled together into an incomprehensible tangle. Every individual had ancestry from every founding family. The gene pool had completely collapsed into itself, creating a population that was essentially one massive extended family where everyone was related to everyone else through multiple pathways.
Walk me through this, Samuel said, pointing to the most recent generation. Show me exactly how these bloodlines connect. Thomas joined him at the table, his finger tracing the lines. Here’s where it gets truly horrifying. These 12 surviving children I documented, they’re all related within two or three degrees.
This boy here, James, his parents are first cousins, but his father is also his mother’s uncle because his father’s father married his father’s sister. The relationships fold back on themselves in ways that shouldn’t be biologically possible. I had to develop new notation just to document it.
Samuel studied the chart, his medical training allowing him to see the genetic implications. The coefficient of inbreeding must be astronomical. I’m surprised any children survive at all. That’s what makes this so urgent, Thomas said. Josiah knows the mathematics, even if he doesn’t understand the biology. I showed him the numbers, explained that within two more generations, they’ll reach a point where no viable children can be born.
The genetic load of harmful recessive traits will be too great. Every child will die in the womb or shortly after birth. Milbrook Hollow has perhaps 20 years before complete extinction. Samuel turned away from the table pacing the small room. So they want us to provide new genetic material. But Thomas, even if we agreed, which we absolutely cannot, two men wouldn’t be nearly enough.
We’d need dozens of outsiders, a complete genetic rescue, and even then the damage to this generation might be irreversible. Thomas’s expression turned even grimmer. That’s what I tried to tell Josiah. He has a different plan. Before he could elaborate, church bells began to ring outside. Not the joyful peeling that called congregations to Sunday service in normal towns, but a slow, measured tolling that sounded like a funeral durge.
Thomas immediately moved to the window and peered out. Assembly, he said, “Everyone in the town will gather at the church. It’s mandatory. They’ll expect us to attend.” Samuel joined him at the window. Outside, figures emerged from buildings and began moving toward the church with that same unsettling synchronization he’d noticed the previous evening.
men, women, and children, though he saw no children among the walkers, he realized. They were being kept hidden just as Thomas had documented. What happens at assembly? Samuel asked. Thomas let the cloth fall back over the window. Normally, it’s what you’d expect. Hymns, scripture reading, a sermon from Elder Josiah.
But this isn’t a normal assembly. This is your introduction to the community. They’ll want to see you, evaluate you, and Josiah will make his proposal official. Samuel felt his chest tighten. What proposal exactly? Thomas met his eyes that we accept marriage to women of the community and father the next generation.
He’ll frame it as divine providence, our arrival as an answer to prayer. He’ll make it sound like an honor, a sacred duty, and when he’s done, the entire community will be watching to see how we respond. And if we refuse, Samuel asked, though he already knew the answer. Thomas didn’t respond verbally. Instead, he opened another drawer and pulled out a small leather pouch.
He loosened the drawstring and poured the contents onto the table. Teeth, human teeth, yellowed with age, perhaps two dozen of them. I found these hidden in the church archives, Thomas said quietly. They belong to Martin Carver, an outsider who arrived in 1798. According to the records, he refused to cooperate with the breeding program.
He tried to escape multiple times. After the third attempt, the community decided he was too dangerous to keep intact. Samuel stared at the teeth, understanding the implication. They extracted them as punishment. as control. Thomas corrected. Garver was kept in a locked room, fed only soft foods, and used for breeding purposes until he’d fathered three children.
Then they let him die. The records say it was fever, but I don’t believe that. I think they simply stopped feeding him once they had what they needed. Samuel felt rage building in his chest, hot and righteous. These people are monsters. Thomas shook his head slowly. No, they’re desperate. There’s a difference. Every person in this town was born into a system they didn’t choose.
Suffering from genetic damage they didn’t cause. Trapped in a valley they can’t escape. The original founders might have been fanatics, but these people are victims. That’s what makes this so complicated, Samuel. How do you fight people who are simultaneously your capttors and your patients? Before Samuel could answer, a knock sounded at the door.
Thomas quickly swept the teeth back into the pouch and hid it. “Enter,” he called. The door opened to reveal Martha again, this time accompanied by a man who appeared to be in his 30s. He was shorter than average, perhaps 5t tall, with arms that were disproportionately long for his body, the knuckles of his hands brushing his knees when he stood straight.
His face was kind despite its asymmetry, the left side slightly lower than the right, giving him a permanent expression of melancholy curiosity. “Good morning,” he said, his voice surprisingly deep for his stature. “I’m Daniel Harrington, Martha’s husband. Elder Josiah has asked us to escort you both to assembly.” He paused, then added, “I should mention that it’s customary to dress in our style for religious services.
We’ve brought appropriate clothing.” Martha stepped forward, holding out two sets of clothing, simple shirts, breaches, and long coats in the colonial style, all made from homespun fabric that had been carefully maintained, but showed its age. “You don’t have to wear these,” she said quietly, her gaze meeting Samuel’s. “But it will go easier if you do.
Elder Josiah values conformity,” Samuel glanced at Thomas, who nodded slightly. Resistance on small points would only make their situation more difficult. “Thank you,” Samuel said, accepting the clothing. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness.” As Martha and Daniel turned to leave, giving them privacy to change, Samuel caught Martha’s arm gently.
“May I ask you something?” She stopped waiting. “Yesterday you warned us to be careful what we agreed to. Can you tell me what to expect at this assembly?” Martha looked at her husband, who nodded permission. She turned back to Samuel, and in the morning light streaming through the window gaps, he could see that her eyes, despite their wrong positioning, held sharp intelligence.
Elder Josiah will tell you that you’ve been sent by Providence to save Milbrook Hollow. He’ll make it sound noble, like your missionaries chosen for a holy purpose. He’ll show you the children, all of them, not just the ones who can walk. He’ll show you what we’ve become, and then he’ll ask you to help us. He’ll ask you to marry into the community, to father children, to use your knowledge, to design a program that will fix us.
” She paused, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. “What he won’t tell you is what happens if you refuse. What he won’t mention is that three of those 12 surviving children I helped birth are my half siblings, fathered by my mother’s rapist, a man from the outside who was brought here in chains after he tried to leave. Samuel felt ice in his veins.
Your mother’s rapist? Martha’s expression hardened. That’s what it was, Dr. Hewitt, regardless of what the records call it. My mother didn’t choose to bear his children anymore than she chose to be trapped in this valley. She was 16 when they married her to him. He was 35 and desperate to escape. They used her as leverage.
Told him that if he cooperated, his children would be treated well, given the best of everything. If he refused, they’d be cast out with him, left to die in the forest. So he cooperated and she cooperated and I was born along with my brothers and sisters. Three survived infancy. My mother died when I was 12 and I’ve spent every day since trying to ensure her sacrifice meant something.
Daniel placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. His two long fingers gentle despite their strange proportions. We’re telling you this because we want you to understand. There are people in this community who support what Elder Josiah wants to do. They see outsiders as tools, resources to be used. But there are others like us who want something different.
We want our children to have better lives than we’ve had, yes, but not at the cost of becoming slavers. Not at the cost of our humanity, Samuel looked between them, seeing the desperation in their faces. What do you want us to do? He asked. Martha met his eyes steadily. I want you to run tonight after the assembly when everyone is exhausted from the day’s rituals.
I’ll show you a path I found. One that isn’t marked by cannons. One the watchers don’t know about. It’s dangerous and I can’t guarantee it will work. But it’s a chance. Take your brother and go. Thomas spoke up, his voice tight. Martha, we’ve discussed this. I’ve tried that path. It loops back on itself after about 3 miles.
I woke up at the valley floor with no memory of how I got there. Martha shook her head. Because you went during the day when the watchers could follow you. At night in darkness, it’s different. I’ve tested it myself. I’ve made it to the ridge. I’ve seen the outside world from the top. I couldn’t bring myself to leave my husband, my family. I couldn’t abandon them.
But you can. You can get help. You can bring authorities, people with resources to evacuate this place properly, Daniel added. We are willing to take the risk of helping you because we know what’s coming if nothing changes. More children like the ones you’ll see today. More suffering, more death. Our only hope is if someone from outside comes with the power to force change, and that won’t happen unless you escape and tell our story.
Samuel felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Every instinct screamed at him to accept their offer, to run and never look back. But he was a physician, bound by oaths to help those in need. Could he abandon these people, knowing what they suffered? Could he justify escape when staying might give him the opportunity to genuinely help? Let me see what happens at the assembly, he said carefully.
Let me understand the full situation before making any decisions. But Martha Daniel, I promise you this. I won’t be party to any plan that involves force or coercion. If I stay, it will be by choice and with the goal of finding a real solution, not a temporary fix that just delays the inevitable. Martha’s expression softened slightly.
That’s all I can ask, but Dr. Huitt, please understand, Elder Josiah is very good at making terrible things sound reasonable. He’s had 200 years of family wisdom teaching him how to justify the unjustifiable. Don’t let him manipulate you into becoming what Martin Carver became……..Part3
