Hair-Raisers and Nail-Biters Win Big in Contest

Updates

Mar 14

Published in the Paris Intelligencer

“Gene would be so proud.”

Those words, spoken by Christina Gulish about her late husband, Dr. Eugene Gulish, sum up this year’s writing competition sponsored by the Paris-Henry County Arts Council.

“Gene loved to write, and he would have been thrilled to know the contest was named for him,” said Gulish. “He was a big supporter of the arts and the Arts Council. It’s a great honor.”

This year’s theme was mystery and suspense with 16 writers submitting 23 original works.

“The writing was excellent and narrowing down the winners was difficult,” said Karen Geary, contest chairperson. “Some stories were hair-raisers, others were nail-biters, and some were downright spooky. But all were great.”

“I was impressed and inspired as I read through the entries. We obviously have some very talented writers, and I was so pleased they chose to share their efforts with the Arts Council for this contest,” said Gail Fowler, board member. “It reinforces our commitment to contribute and enhance the fine arts in our community and beyond.”

2023 Winning Entries

“Child’s Play” by Susan White of Buchanan was selected for the Judges’ Choice Award. The story is a tight murder mystery with an eerie conclusion. White is a repeat winner, receiving second and third-place honors in previous competitions.

”Child’s Play" was my top pick because the author did an excellent job at quickly creating the scene for the mystery and making the reader want to read more, to know what happens next,” stated judge Lindsay Pride, editor of the Crossville Herald-Citizen newspaper.

Judging along with Pride was Ashley Horn, marketing coordinator for L.I. Smith.

This year’s winners are as followed:

First Place: “St. Christopher and the Timekeeper” by Ted Scott, Paris
Second Place: “Forgetting and Forgiving” by Linda Massa, Buchanan
Third Place: “The Surge Street Nightmare” by Amber Mathis, Puryear
Out-Of-Town Entrants:
- First Place: “Cookie Consumption Conundrum” by Victoria Pierpoint, Big Sandy, TN
- Second Place: “The Gavel” by Bonnie Lill, Tennessee Ridge, TN
- Third Place: “The Awful Alibi”, Cheryl Caylor, Dyersburg, TN.
Youth:
- First Place: “And It Was Unfair” by Allison Williams, Henry
- Second Place: “Love and Its Consequences: A Study in Red” by Arlen Gray, Paris.

Winners were awarded a cash prize and a certificate.

Item description
Detective Mulligan took his coffee black, filling the mug nearly to the brim. Blowing on it twice, he took a long drink, wincing as the liquid scalded his tongue. No matter, he would need every bit of coffee for what he was about to do next.
“Detective Mulligan, are you sure we have to do this?”
Mulligan turned to Officer Carter, a young man in his thirties who’d been on the police force only a few years. What was even worse, he had two little girls at home, both under four.
Mulligan took another swig of coffee, letting it settle in his stomach before answering his question. “Afraid we have to Carter. I don’t like it either, but she’s the only one who might be able to shed any light on this.”
The officer paced in the interrogation room, shaking his head more in frustration than argument. “Sir…she’s only ten years old. To make her relive that –”
“I know, I know…but she’s lived in that house all her life. She knows the secrets to it. She might know how all this started.”
Officer Carter gave one final huff but agreed. “I’ll bring her in then.” With slow, hesitant steps, he crossed the room and closed the door behind him.
Mulligan sat down in the hard, wooden chair, groaning as his arthritic knees twinged in pain. He picked up his case notes, filing through them until he found the profile picture of the Gilded Grabber. He stared at it pensively.
Five long months. A short time to catch a serial killer in the minds of some, but the townspeople of Sarip would gladly disagree. For five months, they’d been finding the dismembered bodies of preschool children scattered within Gilded Park. No fingerprints, no DNA, no clue who was doing it. Had Russel Brand not confessed, they might still be looking for the killer. As a coroner, he certainly had the skill to murder. The fact that several limbs and organs were found inside his house provided sufficient evidence.
But why? Why kill them at all? Russel Brand had been subjected to twelve hours of interrogation and still wouldn’t give a reason. He expressed no remorse, no fear, no pleas of insanity. “It was me. I did it. I just can’t take it anymore,” was all that he said. He had failed the polygraph but provided the exact location of all missing children. In the slayings, the forensic psychologist concluded definite evidence of psychopathy in the victims’ death. But as for Russel himself…the man seemed almost timid.
There was a short knock at the door, followed by Officer Carter, Leanne Davis from Social Services, and a little girl dressed all in pink with pigtails in her hair. Leanne crouched down to speak to the girl at eye level. She smiled despite the morbid mood in the air. “I’ll be right outside when you’re done,” she said, her voice a tad higher than usual. “This man here just wants to ask you some questions, and he’ll be really nice to you.”
Leanne shot daggers at Mulligan, as if daring him to defy her. Mulligan only smiled, standing up from his chair and walking over. “That’s right, little lady. We’re just going to chat for a bit. I’ve got some juice over here if you’re thirsty.”
Little Victoria Brand turned to him, a thoughtful expression on her young face. However, it was her eyes that startled Mulligan the most. She shared Russel’s large, sunken, brown eyes but hers were more…penetrating, like they were scanning him for something. He supposed it was just a trick of the light, but it did unnerve him that she neither smiled nor seemed upset. She’d been away from Russel for two days now, and aside from an aunt in North Dakota, Russel Brand had been her only parent since her mother’s death three years ago. Maybe she was still in shock over the ordeal.
Victoria offered him a smile. “Okay, can I take my doll with me?”
Mulligan noticed a filthy, stained rag doll clutched in her right hand. Given her age, he was surprised she still carried a doll with her, though he certainly wouldn’t say no. Besides, he wanted to get on her good side, make her comfortable enough to open up.
“Of course, Miss Victoria. Just have a seat over here, and we’ll begin.”
Victoria nodded, bouncing over to the table. Leanne straightened, frowning as she watched the child hobble onto the tall chair. “Something the matter?” Mulligan asked.
Leanne let out a quiet sigh. “She’s…different,” she whispered. “I can’t really explain it. She doesn’t show the typical signs of abuse, but I went ahead and sent out a DCS referral.”
“Probably for the best,” Mulligan nodded. “Maybe I can get her to open up.”
With a final nod, Leanne closed the door behind her, leaving Mulligan to take his seat across from Victoria. He flipped through Russel Brand’s case notes to Victoria’s section, briefly reading through the comments listed. “You’ve had quite a busy few days, haven’t you?” he asked, keeping his tone light.
The child shrugged, examining a torn fingernail. “I guess so. You said you had some juice?”
Smiling, Mulligan reached underneath the desk and pulled out a Capri-Sun, sliding it across the table. After a few long sips, she set the drink down and stared back at him. She let out a loud huff. “You want to talk about my dad, right? That’s what everyone wants to talk about.”
Mulligan blinked, quickly flipping through his notes. “I do. But don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”
“I know.” Victoria took another sip, her dark eyes glancing around the room. The juice slurped loudly until the container went flat. Victoria set it aside and crossed her arms, staring intently at Mulligan. “What do you want to know?”
She is strange, Mulligan thought, trying to keep a pleasant face. But so long as she was being blunt… “It seems your dad may have done some mighty bad things,” he started. “I was hoping you could tell me what you know about them.”
Victoria frowned. “What bad things?”
Mulligan cleared his throat. She probably didn’t even know why she was there. She seemed like a tough kid, though; she could probably handle the truth. He cleared his throat again. “We think your dad might have hurt some people. Little kids like you. I was hoping –”
Victoria scoffed. “They were not like me.”
“Oh?”
Victoria let out a breath, then seemed to relax herself as she leaned back in her chair, continuing in a bored, slightly mocking tone. “They were stupid babies who screamed and hogged the slide. I hated it when their moms brought them to the park. No one could ever play anything.”
Mulligan nodded and furiously wrote this down, circling ‘pleasing Victoria’ as a possible motive for murder. Others had killed for simpler things.
“Besides, he didn’t hurt them. He just buried them.”
Mulligan’s pen made a loud click as it dropped to the metal floor. “Pardon me?”
“He just buried them,” she repeated loudly, as if he hadn’t heard. “He doesn’t like to see them for some reason.”
Mulligan frowned, flipping through his case notes. Russel Brand didn’t have a big social circle, other than his colleagues at the sheriff's office. It was highly unlikely that he had an accomplice. Victoria was probably mistaken. Still, he made a note to follow up with neighbors and relatives within 500 miles. He seriously hoped there wasn’t another killer in the midst.
“He doesn’t mind the people in the morgue though,” Victoria went on, ripping off her torn fingernail. “He does autopsies on them all the time. At least they’re quiet.”
Mulligan nodded. “Does he take you to the morgue often?”
“Not anymore,” she said with a sigh. “Now he just sends me to the stupid park.”
Mulligan reached underneath the table for his pen and quickly scribbled ‘lure’ under Victoria’s name. “And what do you do at the park?” he asked.
Victoria glanced at her doll, setting it up on the table proudly. “I play morgue.”
Mulligan’s eyes slowly lifted from his notes, pinpricks raising the hairs on his arms. The person looking back at him wasn’t Victoria Brand. He wasn’t even sure if it was human. The dark eyes were like a hawk’s, watching him hungrily for the opportune moment to strike for the kill. They were a predator’s eyes.
It was all he could do to break away, his sight finally noticing the ragged doll propped up on the table. The doll had a rotting, dead smell, the deep brown stains like patchwork on its fabric skin. No, not brown stains, rusty stains…blood stains. He turned back to Victoria.
Before him stood a child-like facade, a sweet smile that giggled before gently tossing her head, making her pigtails sway back and forth. “Can I have another juice, please?”
I
Benny Blakemore had been searching for the truth for over the past year. Long ago, when he was five years old, his mother had shown him a necklace that was passed down from generation to generation.
“Benny, can you come outside? I want to show you something.”
“Be right there, Mom.”
He had always seen his mother wear a shiny necklace since he could remember. She unlocked it from her neck and presented it to him. Yet she never explained the power in it.
“Do you know who this is, Ben?” She was pointing at the pendant on her neck.
“No, Mom,” Ben said. “Who is it?”
It was in an oval shape with bright silver. “It’s St. Christopher.”
“Who’s St. Christopher,” Benny asked.
“St. Christopher is the Saint for safe travels. It’s meant to keep you safe wherever you go.”
“So, why are you showing me this now, Mom?”
“I wanted to show you something. Now, in a second I’m gonna want you to touch it with me, okay?”
“What’s gonna hap—,”
“That’s the surprise, okay?
“Okay.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“1-2-3–” when Benny touched the pendant, all he once saw in his back yard turned to black. There was no back yard where they were. It scared him, yet there was peace in it. He could see his mom standing in the same position she was before the world went dark. He could hear his breath make echoes.
“What’s going on,” Benny asked.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” his mother’s voice always calmed him with ease. “This place is called the Timekeeper.”
“What’s a timekeeper?” His voice sounded as though it was echoing through an empty cathedral.
“It’s a place that saves memories within this pendant.”
Benny was confused. “What kind of memories?”
“How about all memories,” Benny was still confused, hearing this. “Everything that took place with this one necklace?”
“Like, from the beginning of time? Or—”
“No, sweetie, from the time this pendant was forged. It’s making took place decades ago. Do you know what a decade is?”
“Wow,” he looked at the pendant in amazement. “Ten years…that’s older than me.”
“Way older than you, sweetheart.” His mother’s calmness made him feel more at home. “Now, don’t freak out,” his mother reassured him. “we’re going to be doing a lot of moving, so be calm.”
It was all coming at Benny so fast. He hardly knew how to make out what all he saw. His mother raised her right hand in what looked like an “8” on it’s side, and a small drift of what looked like water rippling from a lake came right off her fingertips. The ripple slowly turned into a sea of stars in the dark. The stars began to move in all directions, making Benny nauseous. “This is weird, Mo—,”
Almost falling in the dark, his mom grabbed his hand they took off in this sea of air with small stars. When they were in what seemed to be mid-air.
“You see that, Benny?” His mom asked. She was pointing at the brightest star straight ahead and what seemed so far.
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s where we’re going, sweetie,” his mother never lost her smile in all of this. “Here we go.” They shot forward in this dark place filled with stars which felt to Benny like the closest to Evil Knievel he would ever get, flying-wise.
Suddenly, all that was once black and filled with stars, was all light now and there were bodies moving in fast motion, like a camera roll in fast forward.
“What is this, mom?”
“I’m just showing you an example of what the Timekeeper does. What you’re seeing here are memories that this necklace—” she pointed it out to Benny, “— has experienced. Every single thing that was put in front of this necklace was saved in the Timekeeper.” As she was telling Benny this, it was all calm, but so serious. She was glad to show him this gift which was passed down to her and some day, she would pass it down to him.
II
Her death happened almost 26 years to the day she showed him St. Christopher. When his father was falsely accused for killing his mother, Benny never thought he could do what happened to his mother. What really haunted him at the morgue was not the fact that his mother was cold and dead on a steel bed. His only means of finding out what happened to his mother, St. Christopher, the Saint for safe travels, which she had worn around her neck for majority of her life, was missing. The Timekeeper. Gone.
Benny knew if he ever did find it, he would be able to go back to the very moment her life ended, to see the person that killed her. It was just over a year after her passing. Through that time, he had lost days worth of sleep, looking for that necklace. He learned the true meaning of needing, when he sought for it at the beach for days.
He and his best friend, Kyle Beneke, went at least once a week to the beach, where they say she was found, and search the sands with a metal detector Benny’s dad kept in their garage. While they were swiping across the sand, the detector would make small BEEP… BEEP…BEEP sounds. They had searched the beach over countless times. As they were searching, Kyle would pick up trash and put it in a trash bag he toted with him.
“I know it’s something that belonged to your mom and all,” Kyle was a great friend, yet he still had concerns, “but we’ve been out here, for weeks.”
“I can’t explain it to you right now—“
BEEP-BEEEEEEEEP
Benny and Kyle stared at each other, stunned.
They threw the detector to the side. The sound it gave, they had never heard, since they bought it.
They looked like hungry dogs after a bone, as they dug for what was underneath. They kept digging. Nothing.
“What was it reading,” Kyle asked as they started to sweat in frustration.
“I don’t know,” Benny said, loudly. “But we gotta keep digging.”
“There’s nothing here, Ben.”
“It’s gotta be—.”
Kyle stopped and grabbed Benny by his shoulders. “Benny, it’s not here!”
“It’s got to be here,” Benny started to cry. “I need that necklace!!!” Kyle took Benny’s head to his chest and rocked, tearing up helplessly.
“I’m sorry, Ben.” Kyle started to cry with Benny. “I’m so sorry.”
Benny’s eyes were closed, hot and dark. This wasn’t the dark he wanted. He needed to find the St. Christopher pendant his mother had for so many years. He didn’t care about having it as a keepsake. He just wanted to be in the dark with the Timekeeper. The peace knowing she was there, made him feel safe. Home. He needed it to be able to see his mom again. And to see what happened to her. And to find out who did it. He needed.
When the storm settled in their eyes and the sun started to set, Kyle and Benny started to sniffle the gunk out of their noses as their breathing started to calm.
“Come on,” Kyle said. “Let’s take this trash to the Canyon. Then I’ll drop you off.”
The Canyon was a huge sinkhole that turned into a pit of sand, dirt and clay on the far west side of the beach. Every time it stormed, the rain would cause the pit to go deeper and deeper. It later became a landfill for people to secretly dump their trash. The police never spent taxpayer dollars to write out citations for it.
When Benny got in the passenger seat of Kyle’s pickup truck, the keys in the ignition started to clang as the sunset shined on them, causing Benny’s eyes to squint toward them. That’s where he saw it: St. Christopher, plated in silver along with several other keys, was dangling on the key ring in the ignition. Benny slowed his breathing and closed his eyes as Kyle was throwing the bag of garbage in the bed of the truck.
Benny?
Yes, Mom?
III
Benny started to remember when he was five:
Do you see this part of the pendant, Benny?
Yes, Benny said. Is that a “8”?
No, Ben, his mother said with a smile. If you turn the “8” on its side, you get what’s called an “infinity”.
What’s a “finity”?
“Infinity” Benny. It means “forever”, sweetie. His mother said as he looked at it. It’s the only pendant of St. Christopher that has one.
Benny looked at the dangling pendant on Kyle’s keys. It had an “8” on its side. Infinity.
Benny Blakemore had been searching for the truth for over the past year. And he found what he needed. He knew that only he or Kyle would walk away from the Canyon alive by dark.
I always hated completing the family history portion of medical forms because my family history was troublesome, especially on Dad’s side of the family. Heart disease, cancer, and diabetes all reared their ugly heads. I was always thankful that Dad was very proactive about his health and also planned well for his and Mom’s future.
My dad was very aware of his need for medical checks because of his own brush with cancer. In his late fifties he had surgery to remove a tumor from his colon and was given an “all’s clear” report from his surgeon. Regular check-ups and blood tests had all shown no signs of a problem.
My husband and I often spent time with Mom and Dad because we lived in a house within walking distance from theirs, and they willingly baby-sat our two young children when we chose to go on a childless outing. Our youngest, a two-year-old girl, simply adored her Pappaw and loved spending time with my mom and dad. Though our oldest was content to play by himself with books or toys, our daughter tried to follow Dad around the house, doing what he did. Dad “complained” that he got nothing done when she was visiting, but seemed amused at her antics and carried her or allowed her to follow him to the yard, garage, or garden as he went about his chores. Because we spent a lot of time with my parents, my husband and I were probably among the first to notice Dad’s waning energy and encourage him to go for a medical check-up. A visit with his family doctor led to an appointment with an oncologist.
My parents tried to keep us well informed about important issues, and a family meeting was scheduled with me and my two sisters so Dad could share his most recent test results. Most such family gatherings were scheduled to simply keep us up-to-date, and we were not prepared for Dad’s announcement that his cancer had returned with a vengeance. My stoic dad continued to be very calm and nearly indifferent, as additional tests and exploratory surgeries were discussed. He knew his affairs were in order and he seemed to be accepting his lot in life. Dad followed through with additional medical tests, and because surgery was not a viable option, he agreed to chemotherapy and radiation treatments.
The day I received a frantic call from Mom stating that Dad was acting really oddly, will live on in my memory. I hurried to their home to find Dad sitting at the table sorting his medication, trying desperately to cut his pills into small pieces. The glazed look in his eyes told me that something had gone terribly wrong. After I called 911, the paramedics arrived and reported that they believed Dad had experienced a stroke. They rushed him to the hospital and Mom and I followed the ambulance.
The next few days were a nightmare of tests and reports, none of which were positive. The cancer had indeed metastasized and now was present in Dad’s brain, resulting in stroke-like symptoms and seizures. Though Dad appeared to be normal, he no longer had any short-term memory. My usually reserved, unemotional father started to talk about past history. While we talked as he laid in his hospital bed, Dad had no recollection what he had just eaten for dinner, but shared vivid memories of life with his own parents and his childhood with his brothers and sisters. Dad had never shared much about his childhood, or his young adult life, but now those memories were at the forefront of his mind. He also shared humorous memories about my siblings and me that I did not recall. Though Dad told some of the same stories over and over again, my hospital visits with him were actually enjoyable as we laughed about past memories.
The only troubling hospital conversation I had with Dad was about a fourth child. I passed it off as a stray confusing statement and reminded him that he only had us three girls. To my surprise, he repeated the comment, shook his head and said, “No! There’s one more”. Like his childhood memories, he grabbed onto the thought like a bulldog and repeated it several times. His sureness made me question if I, indeed, had a sibling that I did not know, nor had ever met. Dad became increasingly upset that neither he nor I could remember the child’s name and became insistent that I remind him of the name of this fourth child. Attempts to assure him that he had not forgotten a child’s name only distressed him further, and attempts to change the topic were not effective. As days passed, my visits with Dad became more stressful for both of us as he would suddenly shift the conversation to ask me about this unknown child. Different scenarios ran through my mind. Was there a sibling living in a different household whom I had never met? Did my father have a child before he had married my mom? Dad was in the military before he and Mom married, so perhaps he had fathered a child while over-seas. As odd as it sounds, I began to wonder if Dad had lived a secret second life with a different family.
Because Mom watched my kids while I visited with Dad after my work day, she was not privy to these conversations, and I hoped that Dad was not pressing her for the same information. I began to stress about what to do with my newly-found information about a sibling. I didn’t wish to distress my sisters nor my mom by asking them, but I couldn’t get the questions out of my mind. Dad, except for his military stint, had always lived in the area, so I wondered if I had a sibling still living close by. I began looking on the internet for those who shared my maiden name, but had little success in locating someone who could be a sibling. I even developed a list of familiar names, in hopes that Dad would recognize a name and stop demanding that I remember. Now, convinced that I had a sibling, I would even examine stranger’s faces hoping to find some vague resemblance to my dad.
How could my dad have kept such a secret from his family? I was irritated that I missed out on developing a relationship with a sibling who might share my eclectic interests. Why couldn’t this sibling have become a part of our family? There was certainly enough love and forgiveness to encompass any indiscretion on my dad’s part and my sisters and I would have willingly accepted an additional sibling. I knew I could not get answers from my dad about my secret sibling, and my sisters and Mom remained oblivious to my troubling conversations with Dad.
The time came when Dad was no longer in need of constant medical care. Unfortunately, though the doctors considered my dad to be medically stable, Dad’s memory did not improve during his hospital stay. A decision was made to discharge Dad from the hospital. Hospice would be involved in his home care while he continued to have cancer treatments. Preparations were made for Dad’s homecoming. Though we knew Dad’s presence in his home would not be the same, we tried to make his favorite meal and surround him with much-loved items and family when he arrived at the house. I made apple dumplings, Dad’s favorite, and Mom surrounded his Lay-Z-Boy with his much-worn Bible and small electric gadgets that Dad enjoyed using before his stroke. Because Dad was returning home in the morning, my sisters and I took the day off work and waited at the house with our children to greet him while Mom picked him up at the hospital.
Though it crossed my mind that Dad would expect to be greeted by my unidentified sibling, I quickly dismissed the idea. I still had no information about the “mystery” sibling. This sibling had never, to the best of my knowledge, visited our home, nor had I been able to inform him or her of Dad’s hospitalization or homecoming. My anxiety mounted when I heard Mom pull into the driveway. I rushed to the porch to help Mom get Dad into the house. As soon as Dad took a step into the house, my two-year-old daughter wrapped her arms around Dad’s legs, squealing, “Pappaw! Pappaw!”
Giving me a disgruntled glance, and wrapping his arms around his granddaughter, Dad said softly, “There she is!” Through tears I said, “Of course, Dad. Sorry . . . I forgot”.
Surge street, is the street that people always tell others to avoid. I was never really sure
why, it is something that everyone in this town has accepted as a way of living. I remember when I was in middle school other kids would go around talking about how “The Boogie man lived on Surge street”, or things like “ Surge street is where nightmares are made…” I personally never believed them, because it seemed like an ordinary street from what I could see from the school bus window. We never picked any kids up for school on Surge street. That street is filled with old unkept houses. I wonder who lives there. They probably never get any visitors or have any family to come and visit.
“ Hey, Levi…Can I sit next to you?” said my best friend Kayla.
“You know it….You don’t have to ask anymore. I’d be happy to sit next to you any day of the week. Say, How is your mother doing?” I said to Kayla as I ran my fingers through my curly blonde hair trying to get rid of the bedhead hair.
“ Oh, you know chemo is taking a toll on her…the doctors think that she is going to beat cancer. I always wonder about her when I am not around,” said Kayla as she looked at her feet. Her long brown hair fell in front of her face, almost as if she was trying to hide the sadness on her face.
“Well, I worry about her too. I am sorry about asking. Hey! You know it is Halloween night, and I think we should go have fun. You know we won’t be young forever…so let's spend the night on the town trick or treating.” I said.
Kayla perked her head up and said “ Sounds fun! You know that Halloween is my favorite. I’ll text you later with my costume idea.”
The bus rolled up to the school, and everyone began getting off and heading inside. I always grab breakfast with Kayla and a few other friends in the cafeteria and head off to first block. Walking down the hallway, I noticed neon orange pieces of paper that were taped to several lockers that lined the hallway. I walked up to one and there it read:
“ HALLOWEEN PARTY!!
WHEN: Tonight at 7 pm WHERE: 1313 Surge st.
EVERYONE IS INVITED
Come to the BEST party of your life”
I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture of the invite. As I was beginning to walk away, my friend Tommy yelled “Hey Levi! Wait up…Did you see that address on the invite? Crazy huh? I think this would be the time to figure out what Surge street is really like. Are you going to tell Kayla about it?”
“I was about to send this to her. We had plans to go trick or treating tonight, so I am not sure how she is going to act when I ask her if she wants to go.” I said as I hit the send button to Kayla.
“You know this might be your chance to show everyone the real you and ask Kayla to be—.”
“Tommy, I’ll do it when I am ready… I don’t want to rush it. She is my childhood best friend, not a nobody.” I said as I walked away.
I made it to my first class of the day, Biology. I hated this Biology class because the teacher was always giving us pop quizzes. There is something weird about my Biology teacher. She is an old lady named Mrs. Williams. She has the cloudiest gray eyes. I think she was supposed to retire many years ago but hasn’t yet. No one asks her questions, because she can barely hear from her age
We began watching a movie about the cell cycle when I got a text from Kayla. It read, “Would love to go, but I am skeptical about the addy. You know that bad things happen on that street. Oh, and I think that we should go as Shrek and Fiona. We did that play last spring so we wouldn’t have to worry about last-minute costumes. Let me know what ya think lol!”
“Perfect idea! Can’t wait for tonight…I’ll pick you up at 6:45 pm.” I texted Kayla as Mrs.
Williams snored at her desk.
As the school day ended, I made my way to my house and began putting on my costume while playing some of my favorite songs. I left my house and finally made it to Kayla’s house
exactly at 6:45 pm. I texted her to let her know I was sitting in the driveway waiting on her. She came out as the prettiest princess Fiona I had ever seen. We made our way to the party. This is actually the first time that I have physically been on Surge street. I saw the house where the party was being held at. This house was cascaded with Halloween decorations. People were literally
everywhere. This house seemed to be the life of the street, as all of the other houses were dull and lifeless. I parked down the street in front of another house since there was not any parking available near the party house.
“I guess that this is the place to be tonight,” said Kayla in her Fiona costume as we were walking up to the house.
Everyone at my school seemed to be at this party. We began dancing to songs that blared from the speakers when I got a text message from Tommy. The message said, “ Meet the guys and me in the backyard near the firepit.”
Kayla and I went through the back door in the kitchen that lead to the firepit. There was Tommy and the boys. These “boys” were other boys that Tommy had kept friends with since we were in middle school. I didn’t stay friends with some of Tommy’s friends because they spent all of their time playing weird games like Dungeons and Dragons or DND for short. I wasn’t really into that game as much as I was into putting on school plays and attending drama classes.
We walked up to the boys as they were all standing around the fire pit. They were all dressed in their DND character costumes. It was almost like they brought their fictional
characters to life. Tommy began to speak as we joined around it too.
“ Does everyone see that house that is across the street from us?” asked Tommy. “Yeah we do…” said a few of us together.
“Well that is the house that so many people said The Boogie Man lived at, and where Nightmares are created…we should go and check it out to have a really nice Halloween night spook,” said Tommy as he grinned and looked at all of us.
“I don’t think that is such a —-”
“Awee does someone have a fear of the boogie man?” said Tommy to me as he cut me off from finishing my sentence.
“I think we should do it…” said the friend to his left. “Me too…” said another friend on the right of Tommy.
We began walking in the group over to the house that seemed to be the creepiest one on the street. The shingles were falling off, and the house was chipped-up grey paint on wood color. There was not a car in the driveway, but the house was creaking as the wind blew across it. We made our way to the front door when It flew open, and an ear-wrenching voice screamed “ GET OFF MY PORCH!!!” All of Tommy’s friends ran faster than the speed of light to get away.
Kayla and I couldn’t run as fast due to the costumes not being built to run in.
At that moment I hear the same voice again in a softer tone go, “Levi…is that you?”
I turned, and I fully expected to see The Boogie man himself. There in the arch of the doorway stood little, frail, old Mrs. Williams. She invited Kayla and I into her house where she shared her story of why everyone thought The Boogie Man lived at her house. Her husband, who passed away many years ago, used to scare children as they came to their door on this very night trick or treating.
“People would tell so many stories about my house, that it all got lost in time. Eventually, no one even wanted to come on Surge street,” said Mrs. Williams.
The night began to get later, so we left Mrs. Williams’ house, knowing that we had met The boogie man’s wife on Surge street, and we live today to tell the story.
It all started when Granny decided to concoct confectionery cuisine. She makes the most divine desserts, and her cookies today were exceptional. We all sampled several of the sumptuous snacks: Pawpaw, Granny, Elisa, Denny, Ellie, and myself, Viv. Ellie is a tiny toddler, so she only had one cookie by herself. Most of it was on her face and hands by the time she had finished her enjoyable edible. Granny put what was left of the lovely licks in the smiley-face cookie jar on the counter. By lunch time, we had all had multiple mouthfuls, and as I peeked in the jar, I saw one cookie left.
Then the unthinkable happened! Before supper, I went to check the jar again, but the jar was on its side with the lid off. Crumbs were everywhere, but the final fun-sized feast was nowhere to be found! Questions raced through my mind. Who could have done this? What happened to the cookie? When did it disappear? Where did it go? Why would it be missing? Did someone take the last cookie? (Had they not heard of the importance of sharing?) How would this mystery be solved? Never fear, Vivacious Viv, the (slightly) small sleuth, was on the case. I ran to my room, put on my pink detective hat, and grabbed my ever-ready notebook and pencil.
This was going to take a boost of brain-power, so I also grabbed a banana and started to brainstorm. Let’s review the fiendish facts. Fact number one: there was one cookie left in the jar. Fact number two: the final cookie is missing. Fact number 3: someone took the cookie (cookies cannot walk away by themselves, you know). Fact number four: there are at least five solid suspects: Pawpaw, Granny, Elisa, Denny, and Cathy the cat. I, of course, am not a suspect because I did not take the last cookie.
I needed more information, so I set off for the crime scene. I hoped no one else had discovered the disaster and contaminated the clues. There was the jar, still on its side, and crumbs strewn all around it. I noticed the jar was also sticky, and there was some partially melted chocolate smudged on the jar and the counter. There was a small, sticky glob on the lid that I was unsure of, but upon further investigation, I believed it to be a “booger.” There were crumbs on the floor as well. What messy mayhem! I wished my fingerprint kit had already arrived, but I would have to make do without it.
There was no time to lose. I needed to interview the suspects and fast! Granny was at the sink washing dishes, so I started with her. “A catastrophic crime has been committed,” I began. “There has? What happened?” Granny asked, putting a soapy bowl into the rinsing side of the sink. “The last cookie is missing!” I cried, pausing to read her reaction. “That’s too bad!” she said, “They were really good cookies. Maybe next time Elisa, Denny, and Ellie come to play we can make some more.” “Did you take the last cookie?” I asked, trying not to sound like I thought it might have been her. She looked a little hurt, then shook her head and said, “No Sweetpea. Why would I take the last one when I could just make some more?” Ah, that made sense. I put a check by her name in my notebook and left her to the dishes.
Elisa and Ellie were playing nearby in the living room, so I wandered casually into the room. “A catastrophic crime has been committed, Elisa,” I started. I wanted to ask each suspect in the same way each time. “Oh?” She looked up and smiled at me. She has a sweet smile. “The last cookie is missing!” I cried, again pausing to read her reaction. Ellie darted away with a toy just then, and Elisa said, “I didn’t even know there was one left. I thought we ate them all after lunch.” Elisa followed Ellie out of the room. I believed her. Plus, she’s too busy with little Ellie to go around stealing sweets. I put a check by her name as well. On to the next suspects.
Pawpaw and Denny were out in the workshop, and I figured Cathy, the cat, would be with them. She likes to supervise their work. They seemed to building a robot of sorts. I didn’t want to interrupt their work too long, so I just blurted out “The last cookie is missing!” I glanced between their faces, trying to gauge their guilt. Pawpaw did not seem surprised and shrugged, “Well, there was only one left. It’s not like we could have split it between us all.” Denny looked at the floor and agreed, “Yeah.” Cathy didn’t even open her eyes from her sleeping spot. “Did either of you take the last cookie?” I asked. Denny looked up quickly and shouted “NO!”, but he didn’t make eye contact with me. Pawpaw just shook his head and chuckled, “If I had, you wouldn’t know about it.” He winked at me slyly. That’s probably true. Pawpaw wouldn’t get caught. Denny, on the other hand, was young and a bit less wise. Hmmm… I put check marks by their names in my notebook. Cathy rolled over and yawned. I don’t think cats are supposed to eat chocolate anyway. I put a check by her name too.
Who took the terminal tasty treat? Could it possibly be that prestigious paternal personage, Pawpaw? Or could it be the delightfully daring dude, Denny? Was it the grand and gracious Granny? Or the effervescent and extraordinary Elisa? Could it really have been Cathy, the cantankerous and nearly always comatose cat?
I waited until after supper to present my points and propose a perpetrator. “As you all know,” I said solemnly, “A tremendous theft was committed today. I have investigated this horrendous heist with intense inquiry. After facing the facts, studying the signs, and speaking with the, eh-hmm, suspects, I have an enlightening idea of who stole the last sweet snack.” The others waited for me to continue. Ellie squealed loudly and slapped the highchair tray with her sticky palm. Denny swallowed hard and slumped back in his chair. Granny and Pawpaw smiled at each other across the table. Elisa handed Ellie yet another spoon. Cathy was outside, presumably doing cat things.
“Upon assessment of the scene, the now-empty cookie jar was on its side with nothing but cookie crumbs and chocolate in the area. I was unable to gather fingerprints, and there were no paw, shoe, or footprints. Someone who can make cookies any time does not need to steal her own cookies. That’s why I don’t think Granny took the cookies. Someone who has her hands full with a toddler probably doesn’t have a chance to think about eating the last cookie, much less take it, even if she wanted it. That’s why I don’t think Elisa took the last cookie. Cathy doesn’t even like cookies, so I don’t think she took it either.”
That left Pawpaw and Denny from my original list. “Pawpaw loves all cookies, but he doesn’t normally take the last one, at least not without offering to share with whoever is around. If he did take the last cookie, I don’t think he would have left so many obvious clues.” Denny tucked his head down, and said quietly, “I really didn’t take the last cookie, Viv. I wanted to, though. I was going to. I waited until nobody was in the kitchen, but when I went over to the jar, it was on its side already and empty. I check around on the counter, but the cookie was gone.” “I know, Denny.” I smiled at him, “It’s okay. And that’s how the ‘booger’ got on the jar, right?” “Yeah! Sorry.” He looked surprised but happy.
“Wait, then who took the last cookie if none of us did?” Granny asked. “It’s simple,” I replied. I turned to the last person in the room. “Ellie took the last cookie.” She stuck out her lower lip and looked so sad. “Honey, did you take the last cookie without asking?” Elisa asked her gently. Ellie just nodded. “Ellie, dear, if you wanted another cookie, all you had to do was ask. Granny would have made more. Taking something that’s not yours is wrong. That’s stealing. You should never do that.” “’Kay,” Ellie nodded again. “Something Granny has always told us is ‘If it’s not yours, don’t touch it.’ Try to remember that, okay?” I said. “You’re not in trouble this time, but don’t just take things without asking first.” Elisa added. “Something Pawpaw always says is ‘There’s always room for cookies!’ Now who wants some oatmeal raisin cookies?” Granny laughed and brought out a tray of freshly baked cookies! Now how did Vivacious Viv miss that?
She was awake. She didn’t remember being asleep or waking up – she was just simply and suddenly awake. Her eyes still closed, her other senses fumbled and groped for a sound or a smell or a touch that might have lured her into the conscious world, but there was none.
Automatically, her eyelids began to come alive, forcing her eyes to focus in the early morning half-light. She dimly perceived a form above her. Initially, she felt no astonishment as she tried to discern its shape.
Her hand reached out for it, and she was able to touch it lightly, tracing the length, then the curve. It was wood, cool and smooth to the touch. With gentle fingertips, the grain could be read like Braille. What appeared to be a handle felt lathe-turned and seemed as sturdy as it was symmetrical.
Outside her window, the banty hen was clucking to her chicks, guiding them into the tall grass and breakfast.
And in her bed, next to her sleeping husband, Ellen Marquette lay awake and stared at the gavel hanging over her head.
She was fully awake now, straining to take in the details of the gavel. In its entirety, it was about a foot in length and was holding steady about a foot above her head. It was not swinging as though it were hanging on a string; it was just there.
The growing light revealed the wood to be richly oiled and polished, and was she imagining it, or could she smell the faint odor of old, distinguished wood?
There seemed to be something dark on the head of the gavel – an inscription? – but she could not quite make it out. Slowly she moved her head a few inches to the right; the gavel moved with her. She moved to the left; again, it mirrored her movements.
Startled, she picked her head up off the pillow a few inches; the gavel moved upward a few inches. She squinted to read the lettering burned into the wood.
Fear was replacing the unease that full consciousness had brought as she blinked hard several more times, her muscles taut, head still off the pillow.
The grey sky was now stained with pink, and as the sun peeked over the hill behind the house, it threw a narrow shaft of light through the sheer curtains and illuminated the gavel. The word stood out loud and clear: WORTHLESS.
She dropped back on the pillow, jarring the mattress slightly. Her husband Mark rolled over and threw his arm across her, causing her to begin breathing again.
“Surely this is not real,” she thought. “This is a dream.”
Again her hand went out to touch the wood. It was as solid as before.
Mark slowly opened his eyes. He smiled sleepily at her and whispered, “Good morning.”
He watched her with her arm extended and said, “Is there a spider? Let me get my glasses on.”
“Don’t you see it?” she asked softly.
“I don’t have my glasses on. Wait...there...well, it must be mighty small, because I don’t see anything.”
“It’s not a spider,” she said, her voice rising in panic.
“Then what is it?” he queried, confused.
“You really can’t see it?“ Her voice was beginning to quaver.
Mark had shed all vestiges of slumber and was beginning to feel alarmed.
“No,” he said, willing his voice to sound calm. “I don’t see anything. Can you tell me what you see?”
“It’s a...It’s a...gavel!!!” she wailed.
Mark was mystified.
“A gavel? Are you sure? Where is it?”
“Right here above my head!!!”
Ellen grabbed his left hand to pull it to where she saw the gavel. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw his hand pass through the wooden accuser. She dropped his hand and reached hers out again, touching the smooth wood.
Her face was pale. Silent tears began running down her cheeks.
“Honey, there is no gavel. See? It must have been a dream, some kind of crazy dream.”
He gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair as she quietly cried.
Ellen couldn’t bring herself to tell him what word was inscribed on the gavel - because it was true. She knew it to be true, even if he said that it didn’t matter, that the two of them were enough.
“You know what?” Mark interrupted her dismal reverie. “We’re going to have a lazy day, just the two of us. Come on, I’ll make us a nice breakfast.”
Ellen glanced up at the gavel, sighed, and reluctantly got up.
In the kitchen, Mark was preparing scrambled eggs with salsa, Ellen’s favorite.
“Need more eggs? I’ll get some,” she said woodenly.
“Yeah, these banty eggs are tiny. See if Gertrude and her sisters laid any man-sized eggs,” Mark responded with a forced laugh.
He watched her go out the back door, concern flooding his face. As he threw an egg shell into the trash, it landed on a finger of plastic that had two windows in it. The second window contained one word: No.
No.
Three years of trying, only to have the little window sum it up in two letters: No.
He glanced outside and sighed. Ellen had stopped in front of the coop and was looking upward. He couldn’t see her face, but the sag of her shoulders told the story.
In the chicken coop, the hens greeted Ellen with soft clucks. Gertrude hopped to the perch on the front of her nest box and stretched her neck out to Ellen, who responded automatically. She stroked Gertrude’s head and neck, and the hen rubbed her head gently against Ellen’s arm.
“Can you see it, Gertrude?” she asked quietly, and then she glanced up again. She blinked her eyes several times and then looked again. The letters read ORTHLES. The first W and the last S were gone. She reached up to touch where the letters had been. The wood was smooth, giving no indication that anything had been burned into those areas.
Dumbfounded, Ellen gave Gertrude a final pat and then retrieved a few large eggs from the nest boxes.
Inside, Ellen gave Mark the eggs and walked quickly to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, and the gavel was still there, but the first and last letters were still missing.
She returned quietly to her breakfast.
“What do...” Mark began.
“Let’s walk to the park,” she interrupted him.
“Are you sure?” Mark was afraid that the park would be full of children.
“Yes,” she responded shortly.
He caught her looking upward with a strange expression on her face.
“The park it is, then.”
After breakfast they set off. Mark held Ellen’s hand and tried to keep an upbeat stream of chatter going. Ellen was pensive, clutching his hand tightly.
The sound of children playing came to them even before they reached the boundary fence. They stopped, and Mark gently kissed her cheek. Ellen looked upward.
RTHLE. Two more letters had dropped off! She stroked the wood with her free hand to be sure.
Mark looked sadly at his wife, but she seemed not to notice.
“C’mon,” she said resolutely, still clinging to Mark’s hand.
They walked over near where a group of children were playing.
“Mrs. Market!” called out one tiny girl, their next-door neighbor, as she ran to wrap her arms around Ellen’s legs. “I can go on the slide all by myself now!”
Ellen hugged her back and willed herself not to look at the gavel.
Then two little boys ran up to show her their new soccer ball, but before she could admire it properly, a pair of identical twins came to model their new eyeglasses.
Ellen gave her first real laugh of the day and glanced up.
The remaining letters were seemingly melting off of the gavel. She didn’t dare reach up – not here, with all these people around – but she knew with certainty the accusation was gone.
As the children ran off to play, Ellen and Mark were joined by Stevie, a mentally challenged man, and his caretaker.
“Hi, Mark! Hi, Ellen! How are you today? I’m glad you came to the park,” said the enthusiastic Stevie.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it, Stevie?” asked Mark as he greeted his friend, dodging the question.
“Yes, it is. Very beautiful,” said Stevie. “Say, Ellen, what’s that over your head?”
The caretaker sighed. Mark, however, was stunned.
Ellen reached up and grabbed the handle of the gavel. The caretaker’s mouth dropped open.
“Throw it away,” she told Stevie matter-of-factly, handing him the gavel.
“Are you sure, Ellen? It’s pretty.”
“Yes, Stevie. Throw it as far away as you can.”
“Okay, Ellen!” he shouted gleefully. Stevie ran to the edge of the woods and hurled it into the trees.
“Thanks, Stevie!” she called. Mark was speechless.
She took his hand and walked triumphantly down the road.
Meanwhile, the gavel rested on the dappled forest floor.
Waiting.
“So what were you doing in your backyard at three in the morning Mr. McElroy?” Detective Golson asks me in an overly sweet voice people only use with toddlers and old people. “I was lying on the grass talking to my dead wife” I answer. Golson can barely contain the smirk of triumph. He and I are both thinking that I am an awful alibi for the kid. Golson seems young to be a detective. It took me fourteen years to make detective and he can’t be a day over thirty. Golson is wearing all black like he’s Johnny Cash. He is trying for a beard but it’s a little sparse and he has big black framed eyeglasses.
Golson writes “old/senile” on his pad. He is only half right. I am old. I will be eighty four in three weeks but I am not senile. “Why did you think it was at three in the morning when you saw her ghost?” he asks. I don’t think I see my wife’s ghost and I’m not out there thinking she’s going to talk back. It’s just that after so many years I miss talking to her. My friends are mostly ex cops and we’ve never talked except about fishing and SEC football. Don’t figure we’re going to start now. Helen was always the person I talked to. She would always look at me as though whatever I was saying mattered even when it didn’t. We would talk about everything and nothing and next thing you know it would be eleven. These days I usually eat a sandwich in front of the TV. I don’t care for most of the programs on these days so I’m usually in bed by eight. When I wake up needing the toilet I always check the clock because if it’s before three I try to go back to sleep but if it’s after I just stay up because I know I won’t fall back asleep. I tell Detective Golson the reason I know the time but he doesn’t write anything down. Explaining about the backyard is going to be tougher. When you’re my age you can’t lie down on grass at a park or strangers will come up to make sure you’re not dead. Which is why three o’clock in the morning in my backyard is perfect. “I just like to lie in the grass. I don’t see ghosts. But I think it’s possible that my wife hears me from heaven and even if she doesn’t I still like talking to her.” I finish and try to look Golson dead in the eyes but he is looking at his apple watch and has stopped writing.
He gives a tight lipped smile to let me know he is being patient since I am old. That irritates the fire out of me. “Are you sure it was Kit Masters that you saw? Had you ever spoken to him before?” he continues. The only conversation we have ever had was last night in the yard but I have noticed him before. I like to sit on the front porch and I notice everything after all my years as a cop. I would see him play with his younger brothers walking them home from the bus stop. They were hard to miss since he’s got five little brothers and that’s a whole lot of kids in this day and age. “ He lives one house over and I see him walking his younger brothers home every day. Last night was the first time we’ve spoken.” “Are you sure? After all it was dark so maybe you were mistaken.” he replies. “Maybe not.” I say sharply. “Can you describe him?” he asks. “He was 6 feet tall with blond hair and brown eyes. He was wearing his navy hoodie, black athletic shorts and an orange Tenneessee ball cap on backwards.” I report. Golson is unimpressed. “Well guess you’ve seen him in the neighborhood enough to know what clothes he has so that doesn’t mean much.”
“How long would you say he was in your backyard?” he asks. I wasn’t planning on doing anything until I went to meet Fred over at the Cracker Barrel at six-thirty so I wasn’t thinking about it. “At least an hour” I answer. “So what did you and some teenage kid talk about for an hour? What was the first thing he said?” Golson continued. I almost laugh. The first thing he said was “Hey are you okay?” You’d think lying on your backyard grass was a definitive sign of death. We introduced ourselves and he offered to help me up. I declined although it would have sure made getting up easier. I got up myself and brought out coffee and store bought donuts. He took his hat off and sat at the table with me. I asked about his Tennessee hat since it was a national champ hat from 1998 and he was young for that. He said it was his Dad’s and changed the subject. We talked about SEC ball.
He was still a Tennessee fan since that was where he grew up even though he was living in Georgia Bulldog territory. He did tell me he was in foster care when I commented on their big family. I asked him if they treated him right and he said the woman was real kind but the man was a waste of space. Just wanted them all for the checks and the chores they did. Told me he was always complaining about how much money they cost and wouldn’t even let the littlest one leave the hall light on even knowing he was super scared of the dark. We saw a light pop on at his house and he took off in a rush. I sat outside until sunrise and then headed in to get ready for breakfast.
When I pulled up in my truck after breakfast there were lots of neighbors out on their front porches and two police cars where Kit lived. Something was going on and I knew if I went in my house slow enough Mrs. Maynard would scurry over and tell all. That woman loved to be the source of information. Mrs. Maynard was wearing her terry cloth blue bathrobe and Nike slides and was a little flushed. “Mrs. Rodham was murdered last night. Suffocated in her own bed by that teenage foster kid. Why her husband was telling me just yesterday that he was yelling at her and threatening her. One of the younger ones saw him plain as day in that orange ball cap coming out of her bedroom. Bless his heart he dialed 911 at three in the morning but didn’t stay on long enough. Police showed up couple hours ago and hauled the older boy off.” she said shaking her head.
I knew to expect a detective but I had hoped it would go better. I knew Kit didn’t do it but I was not convincing Detective Golson. Then it came to me he had left that hat. I went out and picked it up from the chair and Golson followed. “That could be anybody’s hat” he said. I flipped it over and there in sharpie marker on the inside K. Masters was printed neatly. “What if the husband is setting the kid up. He never speaks to anyone but makes a point to tell Mrs Maynard about Kit threatening his wife. He nevers lets them leave the hall light on but the night she is killed it’s on so the little kid can see the ball cap clearly. It's awfully convenient.” I say. After that Golson got down to business and they found a trash bag with a navy hoodie and shorts and a brand new UT orange ball cap in the neighbor’s trash can. They found video of the husband at the Walmart self checkout buying that hoodie and shorts just two days before. Since our Walmart only has Georgia ball caps they checked his computer and saw where he ordered a Tennessee one that got delivered the day of the murder. He also purchased some life insurance on his wife and googled death by suffocation. As if that weren’t enough five out of five of those foster kids said the hall light had never been on before and the little one who saw him picked out the new hat without the black national champs lettering as the one he’d seen that night. Mr Rodham decided to take the plea deal and avoid the death penalty.
Golson even came by to apologize. I said it was okay.
People are quick to believe you’re confused when you’re old and violent when you’re a teenage foster kid. We all need to listen a little harder and look a little closer. It really was quite a story.
That night at 3:20 AM in my backyard I tell my dead wife all about it.
My uncle was dead. And it was unfair.
I took my place on one of the lush, overly decorated chairs in the lobby of the funeral home. My fingers gently scraping the bottom of my nose and jaw, I stared out of the large set of windows at the wet parking lot. I had missed the service, missed the viewing, much to the dismay of my mother’s tearful begging.
“But, Elijah, you loved him!” She would cry, “And he loved you!”
“Well he can’t anymore, can he?” I snapped.
Solemnly, she would walk back to that large room with motionless air, with stained glass tapered up high, with the smell of a moist, dull red carpet, and with a stiffened body lying in a casket below a large crucifix. Truly, I believed a piece of me was laying in that casket with him. It seemed an awful reality that I shouldn’t have to face. Because if he couldn’t face reality, why should I?
People passed by me like fireflies, little beams of light that caught my attention for only a moment until there was another one. None of them could share this pain, no. None of them, with their brightened little souls could ever be tainted in such a way as I’ve been tainted. I couldn’t cry, there were no tears to cry, why was everyone crying? Don’t they have some form of dignity? I scoffed to myself, inaudible over the multiple hymns of conversations.
Time melted like hot metal after everyone was led out of the room with the dead body, my uncle. Everyone tried to talk to me, and I scowled. The nerve, the gull, I thought. A man was dead- my uncle was dead! And they were trying to speak to me! The stupid comfort words, the idiotic “sympathy” they were trying to show towards each other when they knew they were going to go back home comfortably! I felt the anger rising in my chest, out onto my expression. Perhaps I slapped my own grandmother, perhaps I kicked my brother away from me as I fought with my other uncle. These things, I cannot recall clearly as there was a fusion between wanting to and simply doing.
I was not entirely aware of the ride back home, nor getting in my mother’s car, nor the trek upstairs to my bedroom. I just knew that I was there, and that my bed disgusted me. I realized then that all small, trivial things disgusted me. The way a small chip of paint was coming off of the wall near my lightswitch, the way one of my shirts lay crumbled on the floor. I was at the crossroads, I was being misfired over and over again, I knew of nothing else, and it was unfair.
The months passed, feeling like years. Nothing changed, yet nothing stayed the same. Often my mother would come to me and damn near force me to eat something. I told her to leave me alone, sometimes raising my voice.
“This affected everyone, Elijah, not just you.” My brother would say, and then rant about how selfish I was being. What did it matter? I would stay in my solace forever if I felt the need to, I didn’t need him, I didn’t need anyone.
I slept often. I slept through the days, through the nights, and through anything I didn’t want to deal with. Dreamless, I felt free when I slept, I felt unknowing; however, one night before I could fall into the ecstasy of sleep, I made a mindless decision.
I had broken the last remaining piece of my uncle that my mother had, a pair of glasses that he was wearing the exact moment he brutally passed away in a car crash. I felt anger looking at it, I felt sorrow, and there was no other choice than to get rid of it! I took it from the tall, dark oak dresser in my parent’s room after seeing it as I was walking down the hallway, snapped them and threw them out of the window in my own room. He cannot have them, so why should they? It was all so unfair. I shut my window and collapsed back onto my bed, ready for the blissful drug of sleep. The quiet thoughts in my head floated like leaves on water, slower and slower away from me… but there was a bump! A loud, crashing sound, as if dozens of fine china were being thrown to the floor. I swung up and out of my bed, excitement arising in my chest, and opened my bedroom door.
What I saw was not my hallway, not the doors leading to my parent’s bedroom nor the stairs leading down into the rest of the house. There was, simply, nothing. I pondered at the black mass for a moment, sticking my toes out unto it, feeling that there was no solid ground. My knees got weak, and I turned around, hoping to wake up soon because this was all a dream! I was still in my house, surely, and I would wake up soon. But as I turned around, what stood before me shattered my hope. A grotesque, leaking corpse stood with its back towards me. Its flesh was rotten, falling off of the bone, and blood mixed with some clear putrid liquid was dripping onto the floor. In its hand, oh god, was a broken pair of glasses.
“Who are you!” I called out, my bones shaking.
There was no answer, just silent fear. It just stood there, waiting.
“I can give you whatever you want, I ca-”
Suddenly the creature flung around and hurled the glasses at me, the broken glass slightly grazing my cheek. I could feel the warm droplets of blood forming and falling down my cheek like tears. Before I could steady myself, it skittered at me and flung me to the ground.
“LOOK IN MY EYES.” It gargled, the skin on its face stretched unnaturally, as if it was fake. A small spark of resemblance came to me like a flicker of a lighter but went away too fast for me to ponder.
I screamed, I struggled, but the strength of this creature was far too much. I gazed upon its eyes, small orbs that seemed as if they had a fire in them. My heart was pounding with the act of giving up, I felt frozen. The discomfort of having nowhere else to go arose in me. The tightening grip of the creature’s hands around my arms were forming deep bruises, and light-headedness swirled inside of my head.
Abruptly, all the sounds around us faded, and I could see my own mother at a distance in front of me. In fact, my room was no longer my room, it was a funeral home. With moist red carpet and stained glass and… a dead body lying under a crucifix. She was crying, and I felt as if I was crying. I was sharing a dull sense of pain with her, and it grew larger and larger. It pierced everything she was, soul and all. I could feel memories passing through her head, and the love she had held. The choices and decisions that she had made her entire life, I felt the sorrowful guilt and self-blame and self-hatred that she had held. I saw all that she wanted to tell my dear uncle, I saw the bond they had! And to think I never knew this… or that I didn’t want to. Oh god, how much had I harmed? I watched as she fell to her knees, and felt myself jolt forward, wanting to help her. But, alas, I ran into the unmistakable face that was truly in front of me. My dear uncle, who had been the presence that had been watching me, how could I not have known it?
There was no expression on his face, there couldn’t have been. Slowly, he rose off of me, and pulled me up with him. He didn’t speak, yet I heard his words in the air around me. Grabbing a hold of my hand with his half-rotted fingers, I could feel the hardness of human bone unlatch against my palms. I looked down at the suddenly fixed glasses, and held them tightly. When I looked back up, my uncle was gone, and the silence arose around me. I felt nothing but the pulling of anguished guilt. Sluggishly, I turned towards my bedroom door and opened it, gazing at the hallway. I heard my mother in her room, crying, and I found myself walking towards her.
She was sitting on her bed, holding a pillow, and I sat down next to her. She looked at me gently, even after all my selfishness, and brushed a small strand of hair from my face. Her shy curiosity startled me, and I showed her the glasses. This, I thought, is fair.
“Mom, I am sorry…”
Item description
It happened like clock-work. Though I wished I had a specific date that the morning “routine” started, it took days to realize that it was not a single happening, but a daily occurrence.
I had memories of being woken from a sound sleep by a crying infant, but I never had any early morning problems with any of my pets. I’ve read about situations where a person has been woken by a family pet to discover that their house was on fire or an intruder had entered their home, so the first day our adopted ragdoll cat began yowling loudly at 4:50 in the morning, I startled awake expecting to find something disastrous had occurred. Hearing no other sounds, I crept quietly around the house, discovering nothing amiss and a very contented cat. Trying to return to bed, after such an adrenaline rush, was nearly impossible. So, after a half-hour of tossing and turning, I started my morning routine at 5:30. Quite a change from my normal routine of waking up at around 8:00 to the smell of freshly brewed coffee because of my pre-set coffee maker! In my mind, retirement should be like an extended vacation, with ample opportunities to sleep in.
The next morning, the urgent yowling again got me out of bed. My assumption was that a stray cat, a coyote, an armadillo, raccoon, or a deer had roamed across our yard and aroused the hunter instincts of my indoor cat. Checking out the house, again, I found it unusual that my cat, Mack, was not peering out of the window or sniffing at the door, but seemed content with me simply being out of bed.
The need to regain control of my morning over the following days resulted in various attempts to solve the problem. Out of desperation, I began double-checking food and water in dishes, sleeping on the couch to catch the cause of Mack’s morning distress, locking Mack in a room away from my bedroom, squirting him with a water bottle, checking the videos from our security system outside cameras, and purchasing outside motion-detection lights. All of the options were considered, tried, and jettisoned because the early morning cat-alarm continued to sound. The internet recommended ignoring the cat. Unfortunately, Mack simply upped the ante by tackling my feet, staring intently in my face, finding items to roll up and down the hallway, and jumping at door-knobs and doorways until I climbed out of bed. Was my fuzzy companion simply seeking my morning companionship or was he protecting me from some disaster of which I was yet unaware?
As my morning sleep continued to be disrupted, my sleep-deprived mind considered the up-coming time change as we moved from Daylight Saving’s Time. I feared that the new wake-up time would be 3:50. I had already moved my bedtime back because of Mack’s antics, and resisted going to bed any earlier. How, in the world, did I get to the point of allowing my pet to control my sleep patterns?
When the first Sunday in November rolled around, I set my clock back an hour. To my surprise, the clock again showed 4:50 when Mack gave his morning wake-up call. As smart as my cat seems to be, I know he cannot read the numbers on my digital clocks. Though not alarmed, I realized that the wake-up time was most-likely not dependent on some roaming outside animal, but rather generated by a human, who adjusted to the time-change. Though the realization narrowed my search for a solution, it did not solve the problem. SOMEONE was doing SOMETHING outside or inside my house at the same time each morning that was distressing my cat.
Knowing that cats are more sensitive to sounds and can see better in the dark than humans, I doubted my ability to see or hear what was causing the morning disturbance. I did know that most of my neighbors were retired and, because I was now rising at 5:00 to a dark street, I assumed they slept in. I also knew that UPS deliveries, mail delivery, and trash pick-up occur later in the day and would not be creating a 5:00 disturbance.
Though not prone to be fearful, thoughts of someone sneaking up to my house by slipping past my inexpensive security system, to peer in the window or remove something from outside the house made me uneasy. The daily reoccurrence of the disturbance, however, influenced me to double-check my door and window locks each evening . . . just in case.
An internet site referred to cats not as nocturnal, as I’d always thought, but as crepuscular, meaning they are more active at dawn and dusk. Although interesting, the information did not fully explain Mack’s pre-dawn shenanigans nor his time-change awareness. As the days passed, Mack seemed to find comfort in my early rising, and my quiet reading time and my prayer time were benefitting from my new early-bird habit. Still concerned about what was causing Mack’s alarm, I resorted to sitting in a partially darkened room instead of turning on the lights and sitting away from my undraped windows when I got up at 5:00. House creaks or wind rattles totally unnerved me.
Though I should have considered it earlier, I realized that waking up after Mack’s alert, meant that I was probably missing the troubling catalyst, so I chose to set my alarm for 4:30 to stand guard with Mack. Feeling silly, but seeking answers, Mack and I spent quality time together sitting at my bedroom window and at the back window peering into the darkness. The third morning of surveillance was at my front window. At 4:45 I noticed several arcs of a light in the field across the street. Then, darkness. Weird! Running across the street in my housecoat to check out the neighbor’s field was not going to happen, but at least I now had a clue to Mack’s morning distress.
Later that morning, I crossed the street, with a piece of freshly made cheese cake. My neighbor was busily preparing lunch for her father. Her father, who was resting in bed, had come to spend time with her while the family determined where he should be living. He was struggling with dementia and could no longer remain in his own home. She lamented that her father had been in good health his entire life, but had begun having memory issues after his 85th birthday, creating concern about his ability to live alone. I did not want to add to her burdens by mentioning the strange field lights, but I was worried that someone was using her field for illegal purposes, so I simply asked if she had recently noticed anything unusual in the neighborhood. A concerned look and a head shake were all I received as she excused herself to take her father his tray.
Doing clandestine, early morning spying was not my “thing”, but I felt that I needed additional information before I contacted the police. The next two mornings, I sat quietly on my front porch at 4:45. Both mornings, the arcing light appeared and then, just as quickly, disappeared. No sounds broke the early morning silence, and there seemed to be no answering signal to the light. Certainly, if anyone was in danger or a drug deal was going down, I would have seen a response to the signal.
The following day when my neighbor came to return my plate, Mack sniffed curiously around her feet and rubbed his body across her calves. She thanked me for my cheese cake and, because she had just settled her dad down for a nap, she had a few minutes to visit. She explained that her dad kept a strict time schedule, probably a lingering habit from his fifty years of railroad work. With a tired smile she talked about how proud he was of the fact that he had never missed a day at work. Although her dad had wanted to remain in his home, he seemed to be adjusting to living with her, and he only became distressed when he did not have his railroad cap and his signal lantern by his bed. We discussed the difficulty of caring for aging parents and the lack of work ethic in the younger generation, before she had to scurry back across the street.
At 4:45 the next morning, as I watched the arcing light, with my warm cup of coffee cupped in my hands, I finally realized what I was seeing. My neighbor’s father was standing by a small gully in the open field with his signal lantern, not up to mischief, but alerting a train that only he could see. He was conscientiously doing what he had done his entire working career to provide for everyone’s safety. I no longer felt alarm, but quietly enjoyed the pre-dawn silence as the retired railroad worker went about his early morning job.
Do you know the last sounds an animal makes as their soul leaves their body? The last sound really depends on how they died. If the cat died with broken ribs into it's lungs it is a bloody gurgle sound. If it is a raccoon just hit by a car it is a painful procession. If it is a dog not around loved ones it fights till the bitter end. Childhood was not a bad thing, everyone goes through it. Yes, my childhood was very different from most others. My drunk abusive father raised me always talking bad about my prostitute mother and how she stuck him with me. So I did my best to stay away from him, and I spent most of my time reading in the pursuit of knowledge. Most of my younger life I stayed in the library as much as possible trying to fill the void that consumes me. What time I was not in the library, was spent doing odd and end jobs trying to earn a little cash the only way an abused child can. The experts say there is a fine line between genius and insanity. That statement is one of the truest that I have ever heard.
For years now I have used all the knowledge that I have gathered in the pursuit of cleaning this world of scum. This world has too many people ruining life. I have the calling to cleanse, since the justice system is not doing its job there are too many corrupt officials. I woke up one day hearing about all these serial killers and how they have been eluding the law for a long time. That is when it hit me. The void inside me that was satisfied after killing stray animals for a short time when I was younger. That void had come back and it was threating to consume me. My eyes were opened and I saw what I needed to do. I studied every way to kill and make it look accidental to framing another. I also studied every weapon I could from how to disassemble to how to be safe using them. All the information got absorbed like water it was as if I found a missing part of myself.
My first cleanse was my father. The report says that he died of heart complications. The doctor said that it looked as if the drinking finally caught up to him. I will always consider that my eighteenth birthday gift to myself. The heart complications he suffered from was a paralytic injected straight to his heart to make it stop beating. That is what happened. The coroner’s report said his heart gave out from to much alcohol. The cops said sorry for your loss to me. I could tell they thought I would have been better off if it would have happened a long time ago. The number of people that was at his funeral could be counted on one hand. The only reason they were there was because it had to be a state funded funeral considering there was no family except me and he had no money or life insurance.
That day showed me two things I can make a difference, and when it comes to scum not too many people worry about them. Since that day I can not count how many times I have cleansed this world. Over the years the void has just about gone away. There are so many people that need cleansed that I never have to worry about the void coming back. There have been so many I was never able to keep up with it. I even did multiple cleanses trying to rely on the law to take care of one while I did the other. The frame jobs was performed to perfection. The law never did as they should. If the person did get sentenced, which they did, I could count on the imamates on the inside doing the rest. The ones that I framed that way were child molesters that were getting away with it. I made sure they were found as child molesters that killed the child. Anyone that I framed this way I had caught in the act and I made sure they paid. There is always someone that a child molester knows that has done something that should sentence them to death.
The frame that I am most proud of was where this child abuser took it to far and killed the child. There was a child molester that I was tailing. I knocked out the molester and set him up in to hotel room with the dead abuser and child’s body. I warmed the body so time of death would be harder to figure out. I made it look like the abuser found the molester with the child. Then the molester killed the abuser and the child after fighting with the abuser. Everything went smoothly and right to plan. When the molester got in prison the inmates taught the molester how it felt to be on the receiving end.
There was this local police detective that almost caught me. I was cleaning a mess in Ohio. There was a child killer on the loose and the police could not figure it out. I worked my skills and found out it was a judge. The detective rode on my evidence the entire time. I thought for sure that he was going to catch me in a slip up. That clean up was the most critical out of everything I have ever done. I did not make any mistakes and it was a good thing. If I had made a mistake when I cleaned that judge I am sure the detective would have caught me. I got the prefect chance things could not have lined up better. I caught up to him with a hooker. I made that situation look like he shot her afterwards to leave no evidence of him being with her. Then she sot him back before she bleed out. I gave an anonymous call to the detective about a shooting and he was off my tail.
Not all my plans worked out that well. There have been some extremely smart genius cops and agents that have come close to figuring it out. The FBI came close a couple of times. I even got a nickname from them, they called me the fallen angel. That is one thing I never did figure out about them. There was a time where they were so close then they picked up another person. It makes me wonder if they left me out here to keep cleaning the ones that get away from the law? So I kept cleansing moving from place to place that is how my life has been.
Over the years I have seen every state. I have seen the most popular sites from each one. On the other hand, I have also seen some of the worst in every state. Seeing the worst every where has to offer, will change how you view the world. My view of this world started with seeing the scum and a first hand experience of how a child should not be treated.
I have gotten to old too do much anymore. I am sorry that I can not do more to clean the mess this world has gotten into. Hopefully I have saved more than I have had to clean. I don’t know if my story will ever be told but by the time you get done reading this the fallen angel will be no more.
I feel my phone vibrating, and quickly answer it. “Hello,” I say, trying to be quiet.
“Finally, I have been trying to reach you.”
I hold the phone away from my ear, Sarah could be loud sometimes. “I was busy.” I told her.
“Mitzie, are you at the library again?”
I smile to myself. My best friend knew me well. “Yes I am,” I tell her.
“I swear you would live there, if they’d let you.”
I could hear the annoyance in her voice. “Alright so what’s up,” I ask.
“I was thinking we could hang out tonight.”
“Sure, where do you want to meet?”
“I was thinking we could go for pizza, at Delilah's Pizzeria.”
“That sounds good, I’ll meet you there, say seven,” I tell her. I finally got off the phone with her and looked down at the book I was holding. Architecture-American Gargoyles. Sarah is my best friend, but some things are left unsaid. I have read more books on the history of gargoyles than probably anyone else. I let out a sigh and gathered my things to go.
I love the hustle and bustle of New York. My apartment wasn’t too far from the city’s massive library. At twenty-four, I work as an accountant from home, so I can pick and choose my days off. That’s why I’m off on a Friday. I do a lot of work in the private sector, but always stay clear of sketchy groups. After maneuvering through the crowd, I finally made it to my apartment. I still have some time before meeting Sarah, so I head for a shower. I decided to leave my long, wavy, brown hair down. I usually keep it in a ponytail, but I felt like dressing up a bit. I slipped on a navy, knee length dress, and only did bare minimal make up. Any type of eye makeup always made my blue eyes stand out. I give myself another look over, and head out.
New York at night is just as busy as it is during the day. I find myself periodically looking up. I always feel like I’m being watched anytime I go out after dark. When I was around nine years old, I developed a retinol eye disease that required surgery. After the surgery, my eyes seemed to be enhanced for about two months, before going back to normal. This is when I noticed I could see closer to the tops of buildings. I hadn’t realized there were different gargoyles on some of the buildings. It was during this time I saw one of the gargoyles turn and look around. I tried telling my parents, but they didn’t believe me. I can’t really blame them; gargoyles are made of stone. Ever since then, I have researched to find anything about their history. Other than the references of the different kinds, there wasn’t much, on the side of folk lore. This is one mystery I am determined to solve. Even if no one else believes me, I knew I wasn’t seeing things. And to this day I feel watched anytime I go out at night. I shake off the feeling and make my way to the restaurant.
The place is already packed, when I walk in. Thankfully, Sarah came early and got us a table.
“Look at you, all dressed up for little ole me.”
I can’t help but laugh at her. “I always look good for my bestie,” I say smiling. “So, are you dressed up to look for a guy,” she asked?
“Sarah, don't start,” I sigh.
“Well you look so good, so why are you single?”
Sarah has strawberry blonde hair that goes to about the middle of her back. She has it curled tonight, and the green blouse she is wearing makes her green eyes pop. I went on a date a couple of weeks ago, I explained. “You already know that he didn’t call me after.” “He just wasn’t a good fit, I guess.”
“Please tell me you didn’t mention your collection of books on gargoyles.”
I roll my eyes this time. “No, I did not.”
“I really don’t understand your obsession with gargoyles.”
“It’s just a hobby,” I tell her. Right then the server brought out our pizza. Sarah always ordered for me, so I’m not surprised that she had ordered before I got there. The pizza distracts her from asking any more about my books. We ended up staying there chatting for a couple of hours. Sarah lets out a yawn and I follow right after.
“Guess we should head home before it gets too late.” She said, while stretching.
I agree and give her a hug before we head our different ways.
I find myself looking up as I always do. Gargoyles should just be stone, but my gut is saying they’re not. This mystery has been on my mind since I first saw them. I absently walk around when I feel myself being pushed into an alley. Before I could even scream, a large hand covered my mouth. The smell of alcohol and smoke reached my nose. His cologne is not strong enough to mask it. I look up to see a large man around six foot four, pinning me by the dumpster. My small build of five foot two was no match. I try to knee him, but he blocks it. The more I squirmed, he would just hold me tighter. He has shaggy brown hair and brown eyes. I could see how bloodshot they were because of our close proximity. He starts to rub his free hand up my thigh, and I fight even more. This time I managed to free my arm and land an elbow to his rib. This only makes him angrier. He grabs me by my throat, and I start to fade in and out. Right before I would have blacked out, I heard something growl. Suddenly I fell to the ground. Still slipping in and out of consciousness. What little I do make out, makes my blood run cold. My attacker is fighting with someone or something, it was hard to tell. This thing was gray and very large. It had some human features, but rougher. Next thing I know, they both disappear. I shake my head to clear my shakiness. I look around and then hear a noise coming from the top of the building. “How did they do that I thought?” I look up, but can’t see what is happening. I decided then I had better hurry and get away while I had the chance, I make it back on the street with other people. I let out a breath, I hadn’t noticed I was holding. Being in the crowd made me feel safer. I considered going to the police, but how could I possibly explain what I saw.
I quickly head to my apartment. The entire way there, I feel like I’m being watched. After what seemed like hours, I made it home and I quickly grabbed some of my books on gargoyles. Could it be possible that it was one of them that saved me? I have been researching the mystery behind them for years. But, it was still a lot to take in. After a couple of hours, I found a story describing how some believed that gargoyles were created to be protectors. It was vague with not many details, I had to find out more. I knew the library would be open for a few hours on a Saturday. I take a couple of slow deep breaths. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I can feel the soreness in my neck. I make myself take some tylenol and go to bed. Tomorrow I can work on figuring this out.
The next morning, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I pour myself a large cup of strong black coffee. Once I started feeling better, I got dressed and grabbed my bag. As I’m locking the door, I notice a piece of paper under one of my plants. I slowly unfolded it, not knowing where it came from. The paper only had a few letters and numbers on it. With all my free time spent in the library, I knew it was telling me the location of a book. I turn it over, and see a message this time. “Stay safe.” I rub my arms slightly. It wasn't cold out, but it gave me the chills. I looked up searching, but didn’t see anything. I quietly said “thank you,” even though no one could hear it. I knew even if I figured out all the facts, no one would believe me. With a determined look, I head for the library.
I am thankful for whoever saved me. But I am more determined now than ever. I will find the truth, no matter how long it takes.
Matthew took a deep breath, closed his eyes, clinched his fists and prayed. “Lord, give me the courage to do what must be done. Help us Lord to survive this. Bring us home Lord.” His month-long training in Orlando had included numerous sessions on these types of scenarios. Yet nothing could prepare him for the feeling he had deep in the pit of his stomach. That instinct that tells you to flee, the instinct to protect your own life, would do him no good here. There was nowhere to run, no one was coming to save them. Everyone’s lives aboard flight 2875 depended on this flight crew and the mercy of the Lord.
At 20 years old he was living his dream. All his young life when vacationing with his parents he had always thought it would be amazing to be a flight attendant. He had only been working for a few months but he was already loving all that this job had to offer. However, the events to unfold later this day would have Matthew questioning everything.
A call had come into the aircraft about 35 minutes into their flight. Matthew had saw Mena’s face when she answered and knew immediately something was wrong. Mena hung up the phone and leaned in close to Matthew to whisper in his ear words he thought he’d never hear. “There might be a bomb on this plan,” Mena’s voice shook.
“What are we supposed to do?” Matthew asked trying to sound calm.
“They are attempting now to verify the threat. The airport received a call from a man supposedly aboard this flight saying that he had plans to bomb the plane.” Mena explained, while moving them to the back of the aircraft.
She continued, “They are not sure who the call came from, and they have instructed us to attempt to discreetly examine the baggage area to see if we notice anything unusual. We have to be extremely careful to not cause a panic among the passengers, we don’t want to do anything to escalate the situation. We need to be back up here in 10 minutes to receive a call with further instructions,” Mena finished talking as she pulled the hatch for the cargo hold.
Matthew followed Mena down the narrow steps into the hollow room filled with luggage and possible a deadly weapon. “How will we know where to even look? We can’t just willie-nillie start opening bags. What if we set something off? What if we can’t find it? What if there’s nothing we can do?” Matthew blurted without taking a breath. He was sure he hadn’t taken a breath since he’d heard Mena whisper those first terrifying words.
Mena grabbed Matthew by the arm. “Just breathe. I am scared too, but we can’t let our fear blind us from the task. Let’s think this through. What kind of bag would it be in.”
Matthew took a breath, “If the bag had gone through TSA they would have caught it. Let’s look for any bags or items that are not tagged!”
“Great idea!” Mena replied. “Ill look over here on the left side and you look over there.”
The air in the hold was stagnate and smelled of leather and rubber and for some reason this smell made Matthew sick. He was sweating profusely and was trying to remain focused on his task. They were afraid to lift any bags to the two walked quicky and carefully around scanning with their eyes seeing only a sea of yellow tags. Nothing stood out, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“Matthew, have you found anything?” Mena asked, hoping for the unobvious answer.
“No. You?”
“NO. Let’s head back up. This is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Hopefully, we will have answers with this next call.”
They climbed the stairs and walked back toward the front of the plane. They smiled and nodded at passengers as they passed, scanning faces for any sign of anxiety or anticipation amongst them.
“There are men, women, children, babies on this flight. There are mothers, grandmothers, college students, business men and newly-weds on this flight….and none the wiser that this could be there last moments.” These thoughts brought tears to Matthew’s eyes.
The phone rang. Mena picked up. Matthew held his breath. Mena locked eyes with Matthew and nodded. She hung up the phone. “They know who the call came from…” The pause in her sentence seemed to last forever. “It’s the gentlemen in seat 12B.”
Matthew carefully glanced over to see what a monster this man must be. To his surprise it was an ordinary, middle-aged man. He was dressed in a basic navy suit and tie. “That guy? NO WAY?” Matthew said.
“Yes, they are sure. His name is John Lyden.” Mena replied. “They want us to try to isolate him and get him on the phone with the negotiator. They’ve already attempted to reach him on the cell phone he made the call with but he has turned it off.”
Matthew prayed, “Lord, give me the courage to do what must be done. Help us Lord to survive this. Bring us home Lord.”
He finally responded aloud “Ok, there is no one sitting on either side of him. I will go on over and ask him to come to the front, that there is a call for him.”
Mena grabbed Matthew by the hand, “Be careful Matthew. May your God by with you.”
Matthew squeezed her back. “He will. I know He will.”
Matthew calmly approached John. “This man who held power over life and death seemed so small and powerless. Surely, they had the wrong guy.” Matthew thought to himself. He opened his mouth to speak but his throat felt dry and his knees felt weak. “Lord, just as you spoke through the prophets of old, just as you gave a voice to Moses, be with me now.”
Matthew sat down next to the man. “Sir, there is a call at the front of the plane for you. Will you kindly come with me?”
John didn’t even look at Matthew. “No.” John replied.
“Sir, I really need you to come with me.” Matthew urged.
“You know, I didn’t want to do this. I tried not to do this, “ John said quivering. “You know why I haven’t made any demands? You know why I’ve sat here quietly, not causing any disruptions? Because somehow I want there to be a different way to fix everything. But you know what boy? There isn’t. I tried all the other ways.”
“Sir, what do you mean?” Matthew asked.
John pulled open his suit jacket and shirt to reveal a bomb. Matthew’s head felt light and his heart was pounding in his ears. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth and the words flowed from him like a gift not from within himself.
“John, I don’t know why you feel you must do this. But I guarantee there is another way, a way that doesn’t lead to your own death and the death of all the innocent people on this plane.”
“Son, what about the innocent people like me who worked hard their whole lives and have never been noticed. People who a corporation doesn’t care about. You see I have children and a did have a wife until I lost my job over a year ago and I’ve done everything I can to hold my family together. I can’t pay my bills. I drank until I drove my wife away and now all I have left is the worthless shell I’m in. My family will be set if this plane goes down and I will be gone.” John solemnly responded.
“Sir, I have not been in your shoes. It does sound like things have been hard. But I want to tell you about a Man I know personally that knows your burdens and heartaches. He also was an innocent man. He was sentenced to death. That man is Jesus. John, He can do all things! I believe the reason you called that report in today is because you wanted to someone to stop you. You wanted to someone to give you a way out. I cannot fix all that is broken in your life but I can point you to the One that can.” Matthew placed his hand on Johns back. “John, I am going to pray for you.”
Tears were streaming down John’s face as Matthew began to pray. Matthew doesn’t remember the words that were spoken in that pray. They didn’t really feel like his own. Matthew sat with John for the remainder of the flight until they had safely landed. All the passengers deboarded the aircraft and John Lyndle left willing with the agents that came to retrieve him from the plane. Mena hugged Matthew and they both praise God for the miracle that happened that day.
It can be a house, an apartment, or in a bowl of any kind where people live, eat, and sleep.
What distinguishes a haunted home from all others is the fact that one or more of the previous owners or tenants has not quite left the premises, and consider him or herself fully in residence.
These are neither aliens from afar nor are they monsters but simply folks like you who used to live there, died and somehow got trapped into not being able to leave for better places - the other side of life, or what religion likes to call heaven.
Though there really is no such place in the sense that religion describes it. Even the devil gets short shrift in parapsychology. But the next dimension, a world as real as this one, does exist, and people live in it.
Haunted people
True cases that involve a ghost that attaches itself to a specific person are not nearly as common as haunted houses but they do exist. These are not in any sense free spirits, because the attachment represents an emotional problem that has not been fully resolved. But the ghost or earthbound Spirit who attaches itself to a person in the physical world does have wider opportunities to manifest, or get through as the traditional haunted house ghost.
Search phenomena May therefore occur in several places. These ghosts, who are not nearly as rational as free spirits- can also make contact through deep trans mediums when communications between spirits and living people can be quite innocuous and friendly. When the spirit has unresolved problems, however, or makes demands it can be upsetting and requires consultation with an expert.
Ghosts that aren't
When you see someone who is passed on you are not necessarily seeing a ghost. Especially if the person is a relative or a friend and the communication - either verbal or telepathically is clearly reasonable. In these cases, you are dealing with a spirit visit . These visits occur, whenever there is a need for them, because of two kinds of situations, either The Departed loved one wants you to know he or she are well and is now living in another world, or the spirit has come because you need help in your own life here. This help can have to do with your job, your family, or your personal life, or it may be a warning of things to come, and some of which are in -evitable. The spirit person has gotten permission from the folks "over there"who run the contact very much according to their laws, and the visits are never haphazard or without meaning.
Stay behinds
Stay -behind-refers to earthbound spirits or ghosts who owe their continued residency in what may have been their long-term home to the fact that they don't want to leave their familiar surroundings. This is simply a willful decision "I ain't going" though that can be the case, the majority are people who have never been told where to go and are expecting the kind of fancy full heaven their faith has for so long pictured for them. Naturally, when they pass out of the physical body they are disappointed, or at least surprised, not to see a reception committee of angels and cherubs showing them the way to heaven, God and possibly Jesus as well. Instead, they find their loved ones who have proceeded them to the other side they have come to make the transition easier. If the death is due to severe illness or prolonged hospitalization including heavy doses of drugs, the person will often be confused and will need to be placed into healing facilities over there for a while. But the majority of people are not prepared for what comes next, some will prefer the devil they know to the devil they don't know as yet - meaning of course not a literal devil - a figment of the imagination. But a figure of speech. The unknown frightens them they cling to what they know. It is a bit tricky to differentiate between a true stay behind - a person - and an impression from the past. Only when The apparition moves or speaks can you really judge. Stay -behind s are different from resident ghosts in another important aspect. True ghost will resent new tenants, or even visitors, and will consider them Intruders in their house. But the stay behind could not care less, it is his or her place all right, but the stay behind attitude is the same as it was before death - just you leave me alone and I won't bother you !
I grab the dashboard and hold on tighter, clutching my bag as we bump along at an uncomfortable speed. Rex grips the wheel and clenches his jaw, searching the horizon. We speed across the pasture and approach the fenceline; the UTV jerks to a stop. Molly’s on the ground, she is groaning, and obviously in distress. I get on the ground and start my assessment. It doesn't look good. I pulled the needle and tubes out of my bag and went to work. “How long has she been down, Rex?” I’m not sure, I found her this way right before I called, she seemed fine last night. I mean, Katie rode her for about an hour. She did tire out pretty fast now that I think about it.”
“Let me get the blood pulled. I have to run the labs to be sure what we are facing.”
We start back toward the house. Katie met Rex at the door. “How is she, Daddy, is she ok ?” Well Katie, we don't know yet, Dr. Grace has to go test her blood, but she doesn't look good, honey.” She buried her head in his chest.
I will call as soon as I know something Rex.
I jump in my truck and turn on the headlights, speeding off to the clinic. It will be late before I get home. Another long night ahead. I don't mind the long nights and I love solving a mystery, finding out what’s wrong with an animal and fixing it. I get to see the healing take place, but I don't love the part where Molly might not make it. Seeing Katie cry on her daddy is gut wrenching.
Since veterninary school I’ve been building my practice and am known as the vet that really cares and shows up. Not everyone wants to work in the pasture on large animals. Late nights and coming home tired, but in my experience, hard work pays off. That’s the way it's always been for me. I may not be smarter but I can work harder. It takes a discipline of the unfamiliar kind to most, to get through the long hours of training. Many never make it. But lately, I’ve had this nagging feeling that work isn't enough.
I get back to the clinic and check my phone. I have two texts from Liza. She fed my horses, Bonnie and Buck, and cleaned their stalls. She’s brought me the leftovers of her famous potato soup. I am not sure what I would do without her, my sidekick at the clinic and always around to help. I text her back thanking her for everything and let her know about Molly. “She texts back, weren’t you supposed to have dinner with Jack tonight, isn't it your dating anniversary or something like that?” I texted her back, “Yes, I am about to call him.”
Liza has been my best friend since college. I got a good look into Liza’s social landscape in freshman Chemistry, every guy wanted to be her lab partner. Beautiful, charming and funny. Somehow the fun part got the better of her in college.
The lab results aren’t good, and just like I had thought, Molly has the fever. She may not make it. I stuff the meds into my bag and head out.
Glancing down at the phone; there’s two missed calls from Jack. This is the second night in a row we have missed our dinner plans. I start to call him back and my phone rings.
“Grace, can you go out to my old farm? It's Sunny, he’s sick, would you check on him?” “ He just doesn't seem right.” He says. “You know I love that horse like he is my own, of course, I will go. I tell him. “It will be late, it’s at least a half hour drive out there from the other farm” He continues, “Thanks, Grace, I know you will take care of him, sorry about our dinner.” He says. “It’s ok, “Sunny is a special horse,” I say. “Maybe we can go out tomorrow night, I will let you know about Sunny as soon as I get there.”
I hung up and called Rex. “Not good news, I’m afraid.”I can hear Katie in the background, begging to see her horse.
By the time I get to Molly, she is weak. I work to get the IV meds started. Katie strokes her head continuously and tells her she will be ok. Rex and Katie have been alone for two years since Lindsay passed, this horse means everything to her.
Rex takes Katie inside and I stay with Molly. It’s a lonely vigil with a sick animal, a lot of time to think.
My mind drifts to Jack. I have been thinking about the next step in our relationship. Most women my age are married and have children and Jack would make a great father.
It's a long drive out to the farm. Finding Sunny in the barn, I get to work on my assessment. No fever, lungs are clear, everything checks out. I try to call Jack and his phone goes to voicemail. “Hi Jack, it’s me. I just checked Sunny and I can’t find anything wrong. Call me when you get this.” I check my watch and it's after midnight.
It's officially our two year dating anniversary. Tomorrow we will talk.
My phone rings, it’s Jack. “Sorry Grace, I fell asleep. So Sunny checked out ok?” “He was not right when I was out there.” He says. “It’s strange, I couldn't find anything wrong.” I say. I start to tell him Happy Anniversary and his phone goes dead. I try his number and it goes to his voicemail.
I get home and head for the barn but I don't hear anything. I flip on the lights and Bonnie and Buck aren't in their stalls. Liza must have taken them home with her. She loves to take them on long rides, but she usually tells me if she is going to take them to her place or go riding with someone. It’s been a long week and I havent had any time for them. I take a quick shower and decide it's too late to eat and climb into bed.
Rex is expecting me early but I detour to Jack’s to surprise him and make breakfast. I let myself inside, and take off my lab coat. I call out to Jack, “hey honey, it's me, I thought I would make us breakfast before work.” He yells from the bedroom, “I’ll be right there.” I hear his feet hit the floor and what sounds like him getting dressed. He half runs out of the bedroom into the kitchen and says, “Thanks honey but I have no time. I have an early appointment and overslept” He quickly walks me to the truck and gives me a quick hug and tells me we will talk later.
When I get to Rex’s he has cooked eggs, toast and bacon and offers me a plate. I didn't realize I was so hungry. I eat quickly and check on Molly before leaving.
All of the lights are off at the clinic when I pull in. It’s after 8:00. Liza hasn't opened. I start to call her as she pulls in and gets out, apologizing for being late. I unlock the office door and folks are climbing out of their cars with their pets grumbling about the wait. I notice she’s wearing her street clothes and goes to the back closet and pulls on fresh scrubs. It gets busy before I can ask her about Bonnie and Buck. The clinic stays packed all day. Jack calls at 5:00 sounding concerned. Grace, can you go back out and check on Sunny again ? He still doesn't look good. I was just there and I have a late meeting back at work. Could you maybe do some blood work? Of course, I tell him, we will have dinner another night.
I get out to the farm and head into the barn, Sunny greets me with a friendly neigh. His eyes are bright, he swooshes his tail. Lungs clear, no fever, just like yesterday. I pull two tubes of blood just to be sure and feed him the apple I brought him. Jack’s phone goes to voicemail.
I pull in his driveway and his truck still isn't here. I need to get the tubes to the lab but I want to see him. After half an hour, I let myself inside the house with the hidden key, just as I have so many times before, I see dirty dishes are in the sink. I start the water and wait for it to heat and then add soap. There, under the overflowing soapy water, I lift the first bowl and begin to scrub something dried, then the second bowl. It’s soup. That famous potato soup. A wave of nausea comes over me. My mind is going wild, my body cold and shaking. I saw my lab jacket left from this morning, thrown over the sofa. I pull it on, only to discover it’s suddenly too small. I put my hands inside the pockets; it’s Bonnie and Buck’s saddle oil. Looking down, I see the name Liza, Vet Tech, inscribed above the left pocket. I tore the jacket off. My mind is racing wildly from soup bowls, to missed dinners, missed calls, her missing scrubs, and my missing horses. I throw the tubes of blood in the trash. Sunny is healthy as a horse, or should I say as a Red Herring.
Liam, armed with his double-barreled shotgun, began his search for the noise outside his house. After closing the screen door, he stepped out onto the old, wooden porch into the cool, autumn night. He listened. Only the sounds of creaking wood and the whisper of a soft breeze could be heard. He eyed his surroundings. Clouds obscured the moon and the dim light of the stars. Thus, beyond the warm, orange light pouring from his windows, a night as thick as tar resided. The distant woods only appeared as a black mass, and the barn couldn’t even be seen from where he stood.
Liam would not let this deter him, however. If the noise was what he thought it was, he couldn’t risk it roaming free. He had to check on the barn.
Raising a gas lamp in one hand and his shotgun in the other, Liam began his search. He made his way down the groaning steps of the poach, eyes darting around the landscape. Once on the grass, he made his way down the dirt trail that led to the grey building. He swung his lamp from side to side, trying to spot anything hiding along the path. But nothing was seen. And nothing was heard. Anxiety built inside him, causing his hands to sweat and his knees to shake. But he pressed on.
Finally, he reached the barn, its vast size felt even in the darkness. Cautiously, Liam approached the large doors of the barn, but stopped right in front of them. He wanted to investigate, but his body wouldn’t let him. He was too afraid of what he would find. If it had gotten in, it would ruin him. It would ruin his family. The community. But he couldn’t stand around forever. He had to know. With much trepidation, he willed his way to the door, and reached for the handle. But just as he began to crack it open, something bolted past from behind.
The door crashed shut. The lantern hit the ground and smashed into pieces. And Liam, finger on both triggers, stood in the dark, clutching his weapon.
He panned across the pitchy landscape, trying to find the culprit. Yet, nothing could be seen. All that was there was Liam and the shotgun shaking in his hands. The orange hew of his house was now the only light source, a few hundred yards away from where he stood. Desperate to calm his nerves, Liam decided to retrieve another lantern from his homestead and continue the hunt. He began the trek back to his house. As he approached, however, he thought he saw something in the distance. Something running under his porch. It had to be the creature. But he couldn’t just walk right up to it. They were smarter than that. He had to trick it.
Acting as if he saw something in the woods, Liam ran into the brush, making sure to make as much noise as possible. He felt like a fool, but it was all he could think to do. When he thought he was at a safe distant, he monitored the house and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After what felt like hours, he exited the woods, making as much noise as possible. To ensure the creature that he didn’t know where it was, he made an effort to look both defeated and uncaring. Truly, though, tension filled his every step. He said a prayer to God, begging him for his plan to work. But there was no response.
Finally, he climbed up the porch and sat on a bench, gun on his shoulder. In the dim light, he tried squinting through the cracks in the floorboards from where he was, desperate to find the creature. But he couldn’t. Then, a thought. He looked at the cracks below him. And that’s when he saw an eye looking back at him.
Within a second, Liam raised the gun and pulled both triggers. The explosion rocked both himself and the porch, as shot shredded the floor into splinters. Smoke quickly obscured the area, making it impossible to see. The ringing was painful in his ear as he tried to get his footing. He then began to fan through the smoke, desperate to see if he had killed it. Looking through the new hole in the floor, dust still settling from the blast, nothing could be seen.
To say he was panicked would be an understatement. Hastily, Liam broke open the weapon, spent shells flying from the breach. He then shoved his free hand into his pocket and scrounged for more buckshot. Just as he pulled one out, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw a bleeding mess, limping out from under the porch. It dragged itself only a couple feet before pitifully falling to the ground, stiff and seemingly lifeless. Liam had to be sure though. He shoved the shell into the breach, jumped from the porch, and carefully approached.
He now had a good view of the wounded beast. At a quick glance, one might assume that it was just a mangy coyote. The only fur present was around its head, bristly and tattered, while dried, black, spotty skin hanged from its front legs and neck. Blood from the wound was splattered all over its body and face. Upon closer inspection, however, it was clearly not a coyote. Its hind legs seemed to be that of a deer but deformed and the left one having been blown off. Loose tendons hung tightly to the shattered bone, with the upper thigh the consistency of ground beef. Much like its coyote half, it lacked any fur, leaving only crusty skin. Most noticeable, and most damaged, was its midsection, which appeared to be a human torso. It was twisted backwards, with the pectorals and stomach along the back, and spine running underneath. The skin was rough much like the other halves, and draped in scars and scratches, seemingly from before the blast. A large chuck of its left rib was missing, the shattered bones sticking from the cavity. The macabre sight was tied together with orange, fleshy lines that separated each of the sections, almost looking like welds. It was obviously a Changer. But even if its form was more convincing, Liam knew it was a Changer from the lesson his father had taught him: No matter the form, their eyes are always human. And as he surveyed the mess before him, he looked directly into a pair of crystal blue eyes staring back at him. They were so deep and pure, they reminded him of his daughter’s. And that terrified him.
Without a second thought, he lifted the gun to its head, ready to kill. But just as he was about to pull the trigger, the Changer’s head began to mold like wet clay. Liam was taken aback and watched with disgusted awe as the shape of a face formed before his eyes. Now, he wasn’t looking at the head of a dying monster. Instead, it was the face of a young girl, her face scarred and pale. Fear could be seen glinting off her ocean eyes, as she began to shake. Quiet, raspy sobs began to escape the creature, and though it was difficult to see, tears began to drip from her eyes.
Liam was dumbstruck. Why was this thing so pitiful? And why did he feel guilty? And what was that sound? The crackling of bones and tendons could be heard. Then, in an explosion of gore, wings and feathers burst from the creature’s sides. The shock sent Liam to the ground, and with a loud gust of wind, the creature propelled itself into the sky. Still in disbelief, he tried to aim for the beast, but it was now long gone, leaving Liam alone in the darkness. As he lay, his mind tried to make sense of what he had seen. But when he refused to accept it, another thought entered his mind.
The barn.
Hurdling himself from the ground, he rushed into the darkness, back to the decaying structure, desperate to check on its inhabitant. Once he reached the door, he threw it open, nearly throwing it off its hinges. But he couldn’t care less because what he saw gave him the upmost relief.
In the middle of the barn, her face buried in the manger, was Bell. The ten-foot-tall cow wobbled on her nine legs as layers of fat sagged over her decaying body. Along with the rotting flesh and stench, large, brown blisters were sprinkled across bloated body, some dripping with black pus. Suckling on its mutated utter was her calf, small and healthy, though still attached to her mother’s umbilical cord. Completely unaware of his presence, Bell casually turned her head toward Liam, her three blue eyes faded and tired.
Liam smiled.
She was safe.
And that meant everyone was.
Silence! Alex wished his thoughts would stop so silence could take over. Here lately Alex was having trouble keeping the memories of another life down. All that he could think now is he needs some peace and quiet. The thing is there is no time for quiet when there is a killer on the loose.
This series of murders has been the easiest to solve. While being the hardest to prove since the one that completely turned his world upside down. Alex, with his deduction skills, knows who the killer is. He knows the calling signs of the murderer and is conflicted. This killer, he thought, was long dead. Someone from his past.
In a past life things were easier. Follow the clues, catch the guilty, then arrest them. Now things are so much harder because of having to keep moving and changing identities. This is the only way he knew to make a living and he was the best that ever lived. Then she came into his life. That is when everything changed and nothing will ever be the same. He has a secret to keep so he doesn’t appear as a monster. All his life no matter the name he used Alex tracked down the killers of this world. He has always kept the last name Holmes and just changed his first. He was ironically his own grandpa twice over.
Elizabeth gave the great detective a run for his money. She was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. She also knew when he got the case, and she started to catch his eye, to try and distract him. Her distraction worked by delaying him from catching her. When he finally did catch up to her, Elizabeth bit him. That bite cursed him for all time turning him to a vampire. Alex shot her three times in the chest, and she fell off the docks never to be seen again.
Now, Mr. Alex Holmes lives down the road from the butcher so he can get animal blood to drink. He is also extremely difficult to kill. Elizabeth was the first woman that captured his heart. Who knew she would curse him.
Alex went over the latest crime scenes looking for something that pointed out where she is. With his enhanced senses he could still smell her perfume. The victim’s neck had been sliced. There was a knot on the back of his head. So the victim must have been knocked out. That was always her way of killing. She left as little mess as possible with the most reward. She would knock them out then slice and drain them. Always draining into a container not with her mouth on them and kiss them on their eyes. She never left any trace evidence behind. The only reason she had been caught before, she was a little sloppy with her clean up. There were a few of her hairs that she missed and a foot print. The whole scene made him think she had been interrupted. Then when he had confronted her about it her alibi had fallen through. His heart had shattered that night. When he pointed out all the evidence pointed to her. she had attacked him and cursed him to the darkness. He was not aware of what had happened until after he had shot her and she fell in the murky depths below the dock.
Alex pulled himself out of his thoughts and started looking for any evidence. Just a small sign is all he needed. He found a fingernail in the back of the victims coat which had some residue on it. Then in the crease of the victims fingers was a hair. He knows he is chasing a ghost the one killer that actually scares him. Then after examining where the body lay. The victim had unwittingly saved a bit of evidence a foot print. There are small bits and pieces of clues coming together. After the coroner had loaded the body Alex retrieved a bit of red limestone from the footprint. “Excuse me sir, you said to let you know when the coroner has the body loaded and is leaving. Well, she has the body loaded and just pulled away” said the young patrol officer.
“Thank you officer.” Alex examined all the area around and found traces of red limestone. It was trace amounts where someone had tried to clean the red limestone up. Alex gathered up what he could and then left to meet the coroner with the body at the morgue. He wanted to be there when the pathologist did the autopsy. Alex made it just as the pathologist started. He took the hair, nail, and the limestone to a lab down the hall to see what they could tell him about it.
That is when it hit him like a ton of bricks, there is only one place in the city that had red limestone. He ran down the hall and burst out the doors closest to the morgue. There, beside the building, was his red limestone. He got a small sample and took it into the lab to compare to the sample from the crime scene. The samples matched. It was one and the same. Alex went back to the pathologist and proceeded to ask questions while he worked. “How long have you worked here?”
“I have worked here for ten years” the man told Alex.
“What is your name?”
“My name is… Oh my god! did you know there is almost no blood in this body? Sorry, I was just shocked, my name is Matthew. Did you see this fingerprint on this guys neck?”
“No, I did not touch the body and it was not visible with out touching. How well do you know the coroner? What is her name?”
“She has been working here for about five years now. Her name is Beth. She is a rather nice woman.”
“Last question, does your office keep record of your employees fingerprints?”
“Yes, it is mandatory for employment. Why may I ask?”
“I am just trying to get to know the people here and the systems we all work within.”
Alex got a copy of the fingerprint and went to the lab for answers. When he got there Simon took the fingerprint. Alex told Simon that he would be back soon and left. When Alex got to the station he assembled a task force and gave the instructions. The plan was to call the coroner to pick up a body. Then when Beth approached the body everyone took her into custody.
The plan that Alex devised was executed with out any problems. All the evidence pointed to Beth. Alex and the other officers surprised her and took her into custody. The court systems found her guilty and put to death. The only problem was Alex knew she would not die. So in order to save lives Alex knew she needed to be die. After they electrocuted, her Alex, made sure she lost her head on the way to being prepared for cremation. Alex finally at peace was able to pay for his cremation and be with the woman who stole his heart in all ways. He left the money he had accumulated to his friend with instructions to bury their ashes together.
Laura looked over her shoulder with the feeling of being watched. She hurried to her apartment and quickly locked the door. She shakes off her nerves and looks over her wall covered with notes and papers from her sisters file. Laura wiped a tear from her cheek, it’s hard to believe its been two years since her sister Abbey’s murder. It made it worse since she was the one to find her lying on their kitchen floor, strangled. The police were of no use, it seemed like they gave up after the first year when they couldn’t find the culprit. Laura would never give up; she was determined to find the person responsible at all costs.
Her first suspect was the man Abbey had been talking to, his name was Thomas Layne. He was an accomplished accountant that seemed to be able to talk his way out of anything. After learning everything about him from being an adopted only child to his favorite drink, she still came up empty handed. He had a solid alibi since he was seen at a conference the night of the murder. Thomas may have had an alibi, but Laura couldn’t shake the feeling he could have been involved somehow.
The second person she was looking at was named Robert Cane. He was a homeless man that stayed not far from their apartment. He would always stare which creeped them out. Laura knew he would have seen someone enter their place. He was always watching even when they didn’t realize it. Other than being a creep and being in the general area, she couldn’t find any other evidence on him. Laura rubbed her temples, she had to be getting close to whoever was behind it. She walked over to the window and peeked out. Robert was rummaging through a garbage can then turned to stare right at her. Laura just gave him a stern look and turned away. She would need to investigate a little more tomorrow.
As Laura started down the street Robert grabbed her arm, his stench came at her in waves. He whispered in her ear, “I sure miss your pretty little sister.” Laura jerked her arm free and pushed him away. Robert only smirked and walked away. She wanted so badly to shake him and make him talk, but it was of no use. He would only clam up and not say anything like he always did. She watched him as he walked away and noticed it looked like he had a phone in his back pocket. That can’t be right she thought, in his situation it was probably something else.
Laura rubbed scented lotion on while she waited for Thomas to come out of his building. She didn’t want him thinking after her encounter this morning that she doesn’t shower. Thomas came out and seemed to be in a hurry, so Laura opted to just follow him instead of talking. She watched as he ducked into a side alley and entered through a run-down door. Laura ducked behind a couple of dumpsters so she would have a good view for when he came out. He wasn’t in long before he stepped out while speaking to some man. Laura couldn’t seem to place him, but he looked familiar even with his cap covering part of his face. She slowly tried to move in closer to hear what was being said, but accidently stepped on a can. The crunch sound seemed to echo through the alleyway. Laura knew she was busted, so she scooted out and tried to run. She didn’t get but a few steps out when Thomas grabbed her arm. Laura had pulled her hoodie down around her face as she tried to get free. She finally landed a kick and was able to break free. It wasn’t till she was further away that she realized her hood had slid part way down her hair as she ran. It wouldn’t take much for him to realize between her general hair color and body shape to guess who it was. She had been visiting him enough for him to remember. It always seemed like he had smirk on his face when it came to her questioning.
Laura had to calm her racing heart once she got back to her place. She heard a beeping sound and realized there was a message left on her answering machine. She had a bad feeling as she pushed the play button. The sound of a man breathing heavily into the phone followed by a short laugh then silence. Laura had a feeling the person responsible was on to her, but this made it official. Laura couldn’t help but pace as her mind raced between who it could be. Robert could have had a phone and was in the neighborhood, so he was a possibility. Laura still wasn’t sure of his motive other than being a creep. Thomas was a pushy individual who always got what he wanted, but his alibi was rock solid. Laura could feel the doubt creeping in, what if it was someone else and she was in the dark on who it was. Maybe it was time for her to go back to the police to let them know what she has discovered so far, even if it wasn’t much. Laura grabbed up a few papers and headed out before she changed her mind.
Laura averted her eyes away from Robert as she passed by. She was almost to the bus stop when the bad feeling hit. It was a quiet day with very few cars on this road. Before she could even react, a masked man jumped out of a car trying to pull her in. She refused to go without a fight. She managed to land a blow to the man’s groin then an elbow to his rib. As Laura ran, she realized she had dropped her papers during the scuffle. She made it to an old building and hid inside. Laura realized she had to rethink about the suspect since there were two now not one. She ducked down as she heard the two men getting closer. She peered over the windowsill and almost lost her breath. They had both pulled there masks up to not look suspicious. She couldn’t believe her eyes, standing there was Thomas and a man who looked identical to him. She fumbled, her fingers trembling as she found her phone. Thankfully it hadn’t fallen out, she took a quick picture and sent it to the detective over her sister’s case. She had ducked down when she was sending it and hadn’t realized her flash was on. She was grabbed before she even realized they were close. It was two on one, but she tried fighting, nonetheless. As she struggled, her phone flew to the side and smashed on the concrete floor. A sharp pain was all she felt before passing out.
Laura found herself tied and gagged in the trunk of a bouncing car. She wasn’t sure how long she was out, but she could tell her head was bleeding by the blood running down her cheek. Her mind went to the fact that Thomas had a twin, how did no one know that. Laura couldn’t help the smile she had behind her gag. The picture she had taken went through before her phone was busted. She wasn’t sure of the motive of why they had chosen to take her sister’s life, but now maybe the police could find out. The picture would be enough evidence to reopen the case and finally find justice. Laura knew there was a very slim chance she would make it out of this alive. She felt the car come to a stop and her last thought before the trunk opened was that in the end, justice would be served.
To those who have fought for it freedom has a flavor that the protected will never know. -P. McCree Thornton
…And so long as men die, Liberty willnever parish… -Charles Chaplin
Dear Mother,
The stories are true: the Ghost of Kyiv exists. I am currently on the mend after a firefight, but I am alright. We are currently on limited data servers, so I will try and type this before our communications lose reception. I am writing you this to send as a message of hope in these dark times of this unwanted war.
My memory comes and goes in pieces. We were taking heavy fire from three Russian choppers. We were headed North as we were losing communications from dispatch. And flying from our right from high above flew this MiG-29 Fulcrum. It was piercing through the air as it shot a missile with a direct hit on the chopper on our tail. The last thing I remember before seeing dark was the one on our right, flanking to our rear and shooting what bullets it had left into our tail. When the bullets struck, the floor started to shake and drag us as we started spinning in midair. I could hear the pilot say, “BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!” The sound of harsh wind and loud beeping from the dash screamed along with the pilot.
I held on as tight to my seat as I could as the spinning was pulling me out of the helicopter door. I remember a loud crash and then I was out cold.
When I woke up, my eyes were so blurry—just masses next to me with sparks flying from the chopper dash. My hearing was going in and out, through a tunnel with echos. My right ear was blocked with warm blood. When my eyes started to adjust, I started to pull myself up, but I couldn’t. My right thigh had been impaled by a shard of metal—must have been at least a third of a meter long on the inner part of it. As I started to move the leg, the pain was so sharp. I was afraid of removing the metal because of the main artery there. But that very metal was connected to the seats bolted to the flooring. I pulled out the tourniquet from my belt and wrapped it tight around my groin area, around the leg, I wound up the lace as tight as I could. I decided to take a strap from my backpack and use it to bite down. It took several tries, but with the pain as intense as it was, I was surprised by such little bleeding. I cut the rest of the strap off the backpack and wrapped it around the wound. That pain was much more excruciating.
When I finally got calm, I started hearing whipping of enemy choppers heading towards me. My right leg was practically useless, but I had to at least get out in case they were to blow the chopper. With all the pain I had in my leg, the pain in my head had a pulse as fast as my thigh. I pulled myself up to the door, tugged it open and saw a bright cloudy sky with nothing but empty streets, burned down houses and trees leading to woods—I was in Kyiv. What was once our home, was now a land full of rubble. I could hear the chopper getting closer. My only option was to make it to the tree line, with the time I had. The pain in my leg was intense, but manageable. I had no time to hurt. I limped as fast as I could to get to the trees. I heard the banging of machine gun bullets coming from the chopper behind me, hitting the chopper I just got out of. If they would have seen me running at that moment, I wouldn’t be alive today. I kept running to the tree line. My head was pounding at the beat of my pulse and my leg was carrying the same tune, faster and faster, as I ran. Suddenly a giant light hit behind me as my body drew a silhouette to the ground in front of me.
“FREEZE, LOOTER,” the chopper said over their loud speaker. I froze. I knew it was over for me. They told me to “TURN AROUND!” I did so, with the strength I had left. I heard them trying to shoot their machine gun at me, but I heard it make a “ch-ch-ch”sound. That sound meant one of two things: either the gun was jammed or unloaded. If they still had rockets to shoot, I would have been dead already. I heard the chopper still whipping in the air. That was my only other chance, so I turned back around and ran as fast as I could toward the tree line. I heard the chopper start to fire but only for less than a second, when I saw bright lights coming from behind me. I turned as I saw decoy flares shooting from the sides of the chopper. Then a missile whipped right past them. It wasn’t another chopper on them. It was something else. The same MiG-29 Fulcrum fighter jet I saw, before we crashed, came flying passed us and whipped back around. The chopper turned and started unloading their machine gun toward the Fulcrum. The Fulcrum was weaving through the air. I had no clue where he came from. We were never told a jet was being dispatched to help us.
The chopper shot a missile at the Fulcrum. The Fulcrum dodged it. The Fulcrum must have run out of bullets and rockets because there was nothing coming from it. The chopper, before running out of rounds, got two or three shots in the Fulcrum. The Fulcrum started to fly opposite from where we were. It was leaving. I watched it go out of my sight. My only chance of survival, left me to die. After the firefight between the Fulcrum and the chopper, all I could do was just rest to my knees on the ground. The hole in my thigh was roaring as I cried. The chopper had returned to where I was. “DON’T MOVE, LOOTER,” the chopper told me, as I raised my hands high. In that split second, I heard a CHEWWW coming from the chopper. A missile was heading right towards me, until the Fulcrum came up from behind me, piercing the air and shooting a missile. He wasn’t out of missiles. It was jammed. The missile hit the chopper, demolishing it into thousands of pieces, shining a bright orange mushroom, blowing me to my back on the ground. I never saw that Fulcrum again. That MiG-29 Fulcrum was my Ghost. And it saved my life.
I made it halfway to Zhytomyr, headed west alone, before any others found me. They nursed me and commandeered me to the injured crew. We are slowly making our way to the Poland boarder. We are stopping place by place to help civilians as best we can along the way. I’ve seen things that no man should see—I have pulled dead bodies, dead babies out of complete rubble where hospitals used to be. I have seen charred bodies and children riddled with bullets on the streets of Kyiv—our home. And in that, any man could just lose all their compassion in the world with what I’ve seen. But I see hope here. There was a liberation camp on the outskirts of Rivne, taking in surrendering soldiers. I saw hope there. One Russian soldier was given bread and water by our own people as they lent him a phone to reach his own mother in tears. I saw him blow her a kiss with his fingertips, knowing that was probably the closest he would ever get to her again. Knowing that when he went back to Russia—if he made it back—he most likely would have been executed.
Beyond all of this, there is hope. Beyond all of this tyranny, I see a beautiful future filled with hope that there will be peace in the Ukraine—our home. It is knowing I was saved by the Ghost where I find this hope. I watched hope soar the day I almost died. And because of that, hope will thrive, forever.
I feel every heartbeat. I hear every breath I take. I watch every second pass by, knowing that very last second, that last heartbeat, that last breath, won’t ever happen again. I count every moment as a blessing knowing that I will see you again. As the Ghost of Kyiv prevails and as our hearts beat, so the heart of Ukraine will prosper.
Your Son,
Igor
Every town has its buildings, houses, and cemeteries, about which locals whisper, and school children hurry past when walking by. Ghost Legends are powerful, they're one of the few events today that still survive mainly by oral traditions. The tales of ghosts encounters get retold, and soon certain locations get a “haunted"reputation.
But those stories started somewhere. There is basis in fact behind every legend. And in many locations people still experience the unexplained, they may tell one or two others about their experiences, and soon words of those encounters spreads and adds fuel to the supernatural fire that burns a haunted location into the collective memory of a region's folklore, almost as if the ghosts and spirits demand to be remembered and acknowledged. Many people are afraid of ghosts, fear comes from a simple lack of understanding something other people actually go looking for ghosts these people have many labels, ghost hunters, paranormal investigators, ghostbusters, or supernatural researchers. These are people who delve into the unexplained because they are seeking their own answers, and they're driven to help others who may be trying to cope with supernatural phenomenon in their own homes and businesses. Some paranormal investigators take a very technical approach - believing that if some form of spirit energy is manifesting itself to the point of moving a physical object, or causing a cold spot, or even materializing in some way, then equipment should be able to measure and record the change in the environment.
Tennessee is home to Graceland, The Smoky mountains, Nashville, Chattanooga, Andrew Jackson's Hermitage home, Jack Daniels Distillery, country music Loretta Lynn and hurricane mills, and the final roaming grounds for several ghosts of the Civil War and Indian spirits. Tennessee is a most beautiful state. Most of it is still rusted and forested, with its natural springs and waterfalls. Tennessee has survived a history of violence and social turbulence during the civil war. It's no wonder that this state has so many ghosts and haunted houses and haunted Southern mansions. So many in fact that most Tennesseeans accept these paranormal events as every day life, so it was in my case.
My interest in horror, sci-fi, and haunted stories and movies let me down the path of becoming a researcher. I currently live in West tennessee, in my time here talking with friends and family and strangers willing to share their stories and legends, have inspired me to tell a few of my own and share some wisdom about things that go bump in the night. I've seen and visited places by just what I've researched on the internet and read about and of course by word of mouth.
My haunted tales
In the summer of 2007. Me and some friends decided to go do some ghost hunting for the fun of it. Our group consisted mostly of girls, unafraid of anything. Dead or alive. We went to a town called Big Rock Tennessee it was almost dark , there was rumors of an old abandoned house ( an old two story Greek revival style) I remember seeing it in the dust of the evening it was very creepy looking to say the least. We had to park the car on the road and walk up to the house, the road that went up to the house was covered with grown up brush and down trees. we made our way up to the house by walking a path that went through some trees and brush and vines. As we got to the end of the trail I could see the house better, I also got the feeling we shouldn't be there.
As we entered the old place I got the feeling that we were being watched, and as we walk through the old house it was as if we took a step back into the 1800s. The darkness was upon us now it was dark and very hard to see even with flashlights. We were in a room on the main floor just sitting there listening to The sounds the old house was making when all of a sudden we all heard what sounded like footsteps upstairs, they sounded like footsteps of a small child. It gave me goosebumps. We went to investigate but saw no one. We also took several photos but never captured any evidence of a ghost child but we all agreed that we heard a small child running. We did capture an orb with no flash being used, it gave off its own illumination. The reason we went to this place is because of the stories of a murder and a suicide that supposed to have taken place there. Also the story of a little boy about the age of three, supposedly died of cholera here or a fever of some kind that's why we were drawn to it in the first place.
For people who are experiencing a haunting, it's difficult to know who to turn to for help. This is where paranormal investigators come in.
They're ready to listen, and in many cases have heard similar stories from others.
Sharing the stories itself can be a part of the healing and understanding of the event. And the investigators can quite often offer validation of what they've been experiencing.
The good news is that things are changing in our modern society throughout technology and understanding of the universe around us increases every day.
There is a growing trend and accepting at least the possibility of ghosts and hauntings. The evidence which becomes proof is up to each individual to decide.
(For Mama, who graciously gave me the idea and let me run wild with it)
It was done. Julian’s hands shook as he closed the laptop lid. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. The last 36 hours had been nightmarish. He looked out the window as the sunset filled the sky. What had he done? It was like his whole world was plunging into darkness, and he had been the one to slam closed the lid. Nothing would ever be the same. He licked his lips nervously. Maybe some coffee would help. Good strong, black coffee.
Josh had liked him, trusted him, taken him under his wing, and what did Julian do in return? Stabbed him in the back. Julian shook his head, too literal. He had to lay low and keep his head clear, and maybe one day all this would blow over. He wasn’t sure he could wait that long. The money was already in his account, all thirty million, just like Cal had promised. He was just waiting on the papers to be finalized, then the vineyard would be his. A measly thirty million dollars these days, but it would get the sharks off his back and purchase the vineyard he’d always dreamed of running. He’d thought to maybe go somewhere oversees, but then the others might expect that. So, he’d stayed stateside for safety. Yet, he didn’t feel safe.
It hadn’t started out this way. When Josh had started the company, it had seemed like a great idea. Several guys Julian knew had sunk everything they had in the company when Josh asked them to join up with him, Rocky, Justin, Joe and the others. Josh had made Julian CFO after a little persuasion. It had been a nice position for a couple years. But Julian knew he could never go back now, not after what he had done. What had he done? It was one thing to sell someone out to their competition, but he’d never expected Cal to go this far. Surely it was a joke or something. It couldn’t be real.
Julian was only supposed to exploit the company’s weaknesses. To sell out to the competition. It had been easy to say yes when the opportunity presented itself to get out of the company. Rez Co. was becoming such a drag. Josh had said the company was about helping people live life to the fullest, about resurrecting hope, but Julian hadn’t felt any of that for himself. Still, Josh had a mega-following, and there were endless ways for him to advance. Yet he seemed content to keep doing what he was doing. No ambition. The company was going nowhere. In fact, it was likely to go under. The feds were beginning an investigation, and rumors were swirling all around that the big dogs were coming to play. Josh wouldn’t listen to reason. Julian had tried so many times.
Did Josh know he had been skimming off the top and cooking the books? Julian couldn’t be sure. Josh had certainly never treated him any different if he did know about the money. Not that it was ever very much or very often, just enough to get by. Times were tough, and finances could quickly get tight. Julian’s gambling hadn’t helped anything, but that’s where the thirty million would come in.
They’d had a special dinner conference meeting a couple days ago. Friday night. All the board members were there, just like Josh had asked. The meal was okay, nothing too fancy, but then that was Josh’s way. Julian hadn’t been hungry. He was consumed with one thought: getting this over with. Cal’s plan had sounded simple, so he went along with it. All he had to do was sell his share of the company to Cal, and that would be that. Julian had acquired and conjured enough to make that position quite powerful. Josh would have lost control of the company, Cal would be in charge, and Julian would be out of it all.
It was almost like Josh had known, somehow, when he looked at Julian after the meal and said, “Go do whatever it is you need to do.” Like lightning, Julian was out the door and down the road in his red sports car. His suitcase was packed and already in the trunk, and in his pocket was the key to the vineyard property he was buying. Julian had known Josh, Rocky, Justin, and Joe were best friends and that they always hung out after meetings. They’d said something about the botanical garden at Josh’s house, so that’s where Julian arranged for Cal to come. He hadn’t expected Cal to show up with a bunch of goons, but thankfully Josh went quietly. Almost like he’d expected it. Rocky didn’t like any of it, but there hadn’t been much he could do. Rocky had looked like he wanted to murder Julian right then and there. So had the others. That’s why Julian needed to watch his back, just in case the others came looking for him. Cal hadn’t told him about the rest of his plans. Or maybe he did but Julian hadn’t listened or cared. It was over now. Surely Cal wouldn’t try to do anything worse to Josh. The only thing left for Julian now was get away and forget it all.
Julian had taken antihistamines, trying to rest, but sleep evaded him. Nightmares woke him as the whole situation played over and over in his mind. The lies, accusations, and insinuations Cal had shouted at Josh in that awful fake trial video played on loop. None of those things were true, yet Josh hadn’t said a word during the whole sham. Josh was a stand-up guy, a friend to everyone. Now, he had no company, no friends, no reputation, and no way back. Just like Julian. He woke up in a sweat, panting and yelling.
Julian’s part was just to make sure his shares were enough for Cal to gain control and push Josh out. Julian had seen to it personally. That had been the plan, right? No, that had not been Cal’s plan. Julian knew that now. Cal hadn’t wanted to push Josh out, he had wanted to destroy Josh. Completely. Forever. That’s why he made that video, which went viral and made all the mainstream nightly news. People would believe anything these days. That’s why he made sure Josh would never be anything again. Julian had helped him, and he’d been paid handsomely for his contribution. Blood money.
The Lone Tree Vineyard was just what he’d always wanted, but now the beautiful house felt like a prison. The endless rows of grapevines seemed so monotonous, so strict and straight-laced, so unlike who Julian had become. Could he really stay here, knowing how he’d gotten the money? Knowing he’d destroyed someone who had called him friend, even in the garden? No. So he’d called Cal on the burn phone and told him so. Cal had just laughed at him, told him it was too late, that he was in this too deep to back out now. Cal hinted that he wasn’t done with Josh just yet, but Julian didn’t want to hear anymore. He hung up and called the bank instead. They wouldn’t return the money to Cal’s account no matter how hard Julian begged to be rid of the money. He was stuck with it.
Now he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Coffee had been a bad idea, and his hands were shaking. He couldn’t live like this. The guilt was crushing him. So, he decided he wouldn’t, couldn’t go on like this. He had written it all out in detail on his laptop, then he made a video confession, just in case. “If you’re seeing this…” In both, he left the money to Josh, if he was still around to collect, and, if not, then he wanted it used to buy the vineyard after all. Maybe someday they’d call the wine “Josh’s Spirit” or “Blood of Salvation” or just “Rez Co”. The sick irony made Julian smile wryly. He’d have no part in it, either way. There was no other way out. Taking a piece of rope with him, he took a shaky breath and set out for the only truly large tree on the property.
[Julian never knew that the feds were really investigating Cal, never knew that Josh really had known about all of it, never knew that things had turned around and turned out better than anyone could have imagined. He never knew because he died by his own hand. If only he’d have stayed. He could have repented...]
August 29, 1944, Paris, TN
“Hurry up, Ruthie! Let’s get your stupid water!”
Ruthie fought the urge to stick her tongue out at her brother. And she would have too, but then he might leave her behind as a cruel joke. He’d forget about her, and then the lake would swallow her up tomorrow.
She tugged at her braid, staring at the fresh mud puddles on the ground. Mama would skin her hide if she got her new shoes dirty. Mama would skin both their hides if she knew where they were right now. She nervously searched for her older brother, finding him between two hickory trees. “Eli, wait for me!”
Eli let out a frustrated yell but stopped to wait. “You’re lucky I missed my knife. Otherwise I wouldn’t take you.”
“It’s not your knife. It’s Daniel’s.”
“Well, it’s mine now!”
Ruthie took a nervous step back. At twelve, Eli was almost as tall as Mama, though still not as tall as Paw or even Daniel. He could certainly belt Ruthie if he wanted to.
Eli cleared his throat. “Now hurry up. We have to be away from here before dark.” He trudged forward through the mud, his long legs moving faster than Ruthie’s short ones could manage.
The land steepened further on, inclining up a hill then down into a flat-base valley. Daniel said that a hundred years ago, people would come from all over Tennessee to drink from the Sulphur Well water. Some came from even farther. But now the land was just one big, muddy pit. And tomorrow it wouldn’t even be that, which was why Ruthie desperately needed the last of the magic well water.
Ruthie smiled, excitement coursing through her as she spotted buildings in the distance. “Eli, we’re home!” she shouted.
“Not our home anymore!” he shouted back, but Ruthie wasn’t paying attention. She raced down the hill as she had many times before, minding the mud. Down below, piles of wood and metal littered the ground, covering up the dusty streets Ruthie used to walk down. The people were long gone. And no one could come back either. But Ruthie secretly hoped maybe someone stayed.
Further on were several shamble houses, splintered doors left open, disarrayed items thrown about. Though, some people took everything, even the boards on the walls. Ruthie remembered Mama crying when she had to leave her growing-board behind. It had all their heights and ages through the years. Mama even had a picture of Daniel standing next to it in his army uniform…
“There it is,” Eli said, pointing.
Ruthie couldn’t help but laugh at their old house. Leaves covered their small porch, smearing dirt and animal scat on the splintery wood. The inside wasn’t much better: scattered papers, muddy boot prints. They’d left their couch, their stove, and most of the cabinets. “Only the essentials,” Mama had said. She had really hoped they wouldn’t move the new Kentucky Lake out here. Her and Paw had even stayed until the rangers came and made them leave. Ruthie didn't like their new house. It smelled funny, and the city air burned her lungs. She missed having a bed too.
Eli was busy searching for Daniel’s knife. He threw down papers and old toys to the floor, stuffing a few items in his pockets as he went. Ruthie went to her own room, deciding to pick through her toys too. She had cried when Mama said she couldn’t take all of her dolls with her. After several minutes, she had Ester, Margaret, and Monique ready to take with her. She especially held tightly to Monique. She was a gift from Daniel on her last birthday.
“No, no, no!”
A crash sounded across the hall, followed by glass breaking. Ruthie raced into Eli’s room to find his bed upside down, his window broken. “It has to be here!” he shouted.
Ruthie started to scold him for being messy, but then she saw the tears in his eyes. “Eli… what’s wrong?”
Eli didn’t turn around, but he let out an angry sniff. “It’s not here.”
Ruthie tried to think of something nice to say. It was hard since Eli was always so mean. “Maybe Paw will let you have one of his knives?”
“No! It has to be Dan – It has to be this knife. He left it to me…”
“When Daniel comes back, maybe he can–”
“Daniel got himself blown-up, Ruthie! How many times do I have to tell you that?”
Ruthie clutched Monique closer to her. Eli gave another sniff then sat down on the edge of the lop-sided bed. Ruthie cautiously crept closer.
“Just get out of here!” Eli shouted, hiding his face.
“But what about the well water?” Ruthie asked.
“Go by yourself.”
“But Eli –”
“Get outta here! And don’t come back! If I ever find Dan’s knife, I’ll cut you with it! Now scram!”
Tears sprang to Ruthie’s eyes as she rushed out of the room. She didn’t stop until she was outside, and even then, she kept running. It was only after she’d run clear back up the hill that she realized she’d forgotten Monique, which made her cry all the harder. Why was Eli so mean? Why did he always want to hurt her? Daniel had always belted him for it when he was around. But who would protect her now? Eli really would leave her out here all night. And in the morning, when the rangers opened the new dam, he’d leave her to drown in the lake.
Ruthie wiped her face. If Eli could be mean, then she could be mean too. She’d leave him out here to drown. But first she had to get the magic water.
The sun was setting by the time she made it to the well, spotting the large, broken stone wall marking the entrance. A long time ago, the well water was magic. Daniel said that it healed a whole town in 1837 when yellow fever broke out. That’s why every year, on December 31, Mama would take the whole family down to the well to draw up a bucket of water. Then they’d drink the magic water into the new year and no one would get sick. Daniel didn’t drink anything last year. He was already gone for war. Ruthie wondered, if he had, would he still be here?
“Ruthie, where are you?”
Ruthie stuck up her nose at the sound of Eli’s voice. She didn’t need his help. She found a heavy bucket on the ground and heaved it onto the stone wall, tying the end to a rope. With one great shove, she pushed the bucket inside the well, hearing a loud thunk as it hit something solid far down.
“Ruthie? There you are! Come on, we’ve got to go –”
“I’m not leaving without my water!”
“Ruthie, we don’t have time –”
Ruthie ignored him, hoisting up the bucket from its rope.
“Ruthie, you can’t lift that.”
But Ruthie could, and she did. After several grueling minutes, the pail was finally visible above the wall. Eli stepped in front of her and grabbed the bucket, tilting it so she could see inside. “I told you, Ruthie. That well dried up a long time ago.”
“But… but it’s magic! Daniel said –”
“That was our well water, Ruthie. Daniel just… he made that up for you –”
Ruthie started bawling. There had to be water. There just had to be! This was her last chance to get it. Tomorrow everything would be underwater, and the magic would be gone. Maybe the magic was already gone…Just like Daniel.
“Ruthie…”
Ruthie cried until her throat hurt and her handkerchief was drenched in snot. Tomorrow everything would be gone. And she could never come here again.
Eli pushed something soft against her arm. Ruthie looked up for a split second and saw Monique. Eli had rescued her after all.
“Thank you,” Ruthie mumbled, clutching her tight. Eli didn’t say anything, but she heard him sniff a couple of times.
“Let’s go home, Ruthie,” he finally said. Ruthie could only nod. This place wasn’t home anymore after all. Eli was right.
They stood up to leave, Ruthie keeping her head down as she walked. Paw really would belt them for staying out this late. It’d be dark by the time they got home.
Suddenly, a light caught her eye, the sun reflecting off something silver near the well pit. Ruthie bent down to pick it up. “Eli! Eli! I found your knife!”
“What?” Eli raced over, frowning as Ruthie deposited the knife in his hand. Eli fingered the wooden casing in amazement, and sure enough, found Daniel’s name carved down its side. “How in the world –”
“Told ya the well was magic!”
And with that, Ruthie skipped back the way she came. The magic was real here, even if the well wasn’t. Now she’d just have to find a new well.
“Phew it is finally 8 pm… time to close up shop,” said Fern. Hannah and Fern have
worked together for the past two years at a bakery in their town. They also go to Richmond High together. Both girls have grown quite the friendship together, even though some say that they are quite the opposite of one another. Fern is a tall white female, with gray eyes, and long red hair that looked like a burning fire. Hannah, who is of South African descent, wears long dark braids and has amber eyes like a gold array of light. Fern is a girl who some would say grew up “gifted” and “well off”. She never struggled in life. Hannah on the other hand was a different story. Her family came to The United States when she was just a little girl at the age of seven. Her mother passed away in South Africa, which drove Hannah’s father to move her and her brother away to the city of Richmond, TX.
Hannah and Fern both love working for the bakery in their town. They make things like bagels, bread loaves cakes for all occasions, cookies, and so much more. Working there for two years, the girls had almost all recipes memorized. This came in handy for Hannah because oftentimes she would remake the recipes at home for her father and brother. Hannah always seems to be looking for ways to help out around her house. Since her mother’s passing her father struggles a lot to get the bills paid and support Hannah and her brother. By getting a job at the bakery, Hannah was helping bring in a little income to help support her family. Fern never really had to help around her house, since both of her parents were lawyers and made great money. She got the job at the bakery, simply because many Richmond High boys would come into the bakery to eat since it was just down the street from the high school. The boys would flirt with Fern, not only because she was rich, but also because of her beautiful red hair.
“You know, many people from my home country believe people with red hair are good luck?” said Hannah to Fern as she washed a dirty pan.
“That is crazy, because here people see my hair, and all they can ask is if it's natural or not… I get stopped in the bakery sometimes by old people who tell me that they had red hair
when they were younger, or that they have some type of grandchild who was born with red hair. It gets quite annoying…” said Fern.
They were finishing closing when Fern looked up from sweeping the floor and saw a human figure sitting on the court square steps staring at her. She sternly walked up to the door and locked it in a heartbeat. After the door was locked Fern called Hannah to come to look.
Hannah also saw the creepy dark figure staring at them. They waited in the kitchen of the bakery, hoping that the person would go away. After waiting fifteen minutes Hannah got up off the counter and went to the door. The dark human figure was gone and nowhere to be seen. They began talking about what they saw.
“It almost seemed like the guy was stalking us…” said Fern.
“How do you know it was a guy? All I could see was someone wearing a dark coat with a hood on. Those eyes make me sick….I don’t know something about this person is not setting right with me…” said Hannah.
“Well let's go out to my car and I can give you a ride home…I want to make sure that we both make it home alright…but if this figure comes for me, I will be ready with this pepper spray, and my crazy southern whoop ass attitude….” said Fern.
They both exited through the bakery’s back door and made their way to Fern's car. They made it to the car without a problem and Fern drove Hannah home. After making sure that
Hannah got inside of her house, she finished her drive the rest of the way home. Fern could not help from thinking about the figure that she saw. It stayed in her mind until she pulled into her driveway. She entered her house key and quickly locked it back. She made her way to the grand staircase and began making her way to her bedroom. Fern was startled by her mother at the top of the stairs.
“Hey love bug, how was work today?” said Fern’s mother.
“Awe you know how it is, same old, same old bakery stuff….” said Fern.
“Well goodnight honey, I have a big day tomorrow so I am heading off to bed. Mommy loves you so much!” said Fern’s mother.
“Goodnight mom, I love you too…” said Fern.
Fern walked to her dresser and brought out a silk pajama set. She sat the set on her bed and walked inside of her personal bathroom that is connected to her room. She began running herself a bath. She washed her red hair with the expensive products that her mother bought her. She always loved using that stuff because people always complimented her on how healthy her hair looked all of the time. When her bath was over, she got dressed and got into bed. She woke up startled in the middle of the night, to see something in the corner of her room. Was this the shadow human that she saw earlier that night? She hurried for her phone, turned on the
flashlight, and there her robe was hanging where she had left it a few days ago. The sun began to rise in what had seemed like minutes but was hours in the real world.
“Good afternoon Fern! I just wanted to take time to remind you that Hannah is not going to be working a full shift today, she will be leaving at break time.” said the owner of the bakery.
“Thank you for reminding me…I completely forgot about her needing the time off. She had told me a few weeks ago, and it slipped my mind.” said Fern
Fern and Hannah worked until it was break time, and Hannah parted her way from the bakery. Fern sat at a table in the back with her phone and a bagel, reading up on some drama that was going on between a former celebrity couple. After the break was over, Fern worked the rest of her shift, and it became closing time again. She cleaned up the place and locked up. She was walking out to her car when a person appeared from behind her car. It was the shadow human.
There they were with their sicking eyes showing and a disgusting look. They grabbed Fern as she was reaching for her pepper spray. Not having enough time, Fern disappeared into the darkness of the night while being held by the shadow human’s grip.
The next day came and Fern was not seen at school or work. Everyone including her parents became worried about her, and they notified the police and a search for Fern began. Her car was found at the bakery by the owner. Next to her car lay a piece of fiery red hair, and a note that read, “I’ve always wanted red hair…”
***END OF STORY***

Writing Competition

Sarah Ann Sargent http://www.leleandbeane.com

Hair-Raisers and Nail-Biters Win Big in Contest

Published in the Paris Intelligencer

------- Local Winners

Judges' Choice Award - Child's Play, by Susan White of Buchanan

First Place - St. Christopher and the Timekeeper, by Ted Scott of Paris

Second Place - Forgetting and Forgiving, by Linda Massa od Buchanan

Third Place - The Surge Street Nightmare, by Amanda Mathis of Puryear

------ Out of Town Winners

First Place - Cookie Consumption Conundrum, by Victoria Pierpoint of Big Sandy

Second Place - The Gavel, by Bonnie Lill of Tennessee Ridge

Third Place -The Awful Alibi, by Cheryl Caylor of Dyersburg

------ Youth Winners

First Place - And It Was Unfair, by Allison Williams of Henry

Second Place - Love and It's Consequences: A Study in Red, by Arlen Gray of Paris

------ All Entries

Alarming

Fallen Angel

Finding the Truth

Flight 2875

What exactly is a Haunted House?

Horse Sense

Hunting A Changer

Immortal Holmes

Justice

The Ghost of Kyiv: A Message of Hope

Memoirs of a Modern-Day Researcher

Rez Co.

Sulphur Well Swamp

The Stolen Fame

Mamma Mia! The Musical 2023 by HCHS

The 31st Annual Photo Showcase