The cops came, and got me at school. On lunch, they just called me on the PA, but the whole cafeteria were like “OohH!” They were waiting for me at the office, and they said “You’re not in any trouble son, we just want to ask you some questions.”
Yeah right, like “You told the officers that you didn’t touch the body?” They already had a report on the table, in a study room.
“I didn’t,” I swore.
“We found finger prints on her clothes,” the detective pulled out another file, and opened up to my fingerprints.
“My fingerprints? You can get fingerprints off of fabric.”
She picked up the forensics report, and read. “I don’t know, it’s apparently some kind of.” Her eyes stopped about halfway down. “Polymer sheet, no fibers, just a plastic sheet.” She put it down, and I looked nervously at the uniform standing in the corner. His armor bulging out under the shirt, and his utility belt. Gun, 2 clip holder, pepper spray, and tazer.
“Am I a suspect?” I shook my head.
“At the moment, you’re a witness. You found the body, and you’re one of the last people to see her alive, but we’d like to take some impressions.”
“What kinds of impressions?” We had to wait for the art teacher to show up, with a big lump of clay, on a cart.
Until then, “Just tell me what happened, to the best of your memory.” She got out a phone, and put it down on the table. “You mind if I record this?”
“No, go ahead, I just want to help you catch this guy, but let me explain that. When they asked me if I touched the body, I didn’t know they ment her skirt. I just pulled it down to cover her up, because he left her.” I took a deep breath, and turned away, because I couldn’t look her in the eyes. “Exposed. My sister pulled her underwear up.”
“That’s understandable, but can you go back to the beginning? It was Halloween night…”
“Yeah,” the worst Halloween ever. It’s all fun and games, until you find a real dead body. Beaten half to death, and strangled with a dog chain. Her underwear down around her ankles, and her skirt pulled up over head. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I guess it was made out of some kind of plastic sheet. Like a trash bag, or a shower curtain. “We were out trick or treating, and she was dressed up as some kind of ghost. Not like a Boo sheet ghost, but a creepy little girl in a white dress. No blood on it, or in her hair.”
She flipped back through another report. “It says here that you were dressed as some kind of.” Her eyes stopped scanning to read. “Killer clown?” She looked up, and I turned away.
“A Zombie clown, but yeah. It had a lot of fake blood, but it wasn’t red, it was black.”
“Black blood?”
“Or whatever it is that zombies have in their veins.”
“And your sister was dressed as Princess Jasmine?”
I nodded, and tried not to hyperventilate. “She’s been taking belly dancing classes, and Lakesha accused her of wearing black face, but it was just a spray tan, because she’s middle eastern?”
“From Arabian Nights,” she nodded, “I get it.”
“If only that was the worst thing that happened that night.”
“Let’s just try to get back on track.” She was scanning the report again, before her eyes stopped to read another line. “You said he had on some kind of murder suit?”
“I don’t know if you could call it that, did I really say that?”
“That’s what it says,” she turned the report around so I could read it even in that shitty handwriting, but he was trying to balance that metal clipboard/trapper keeper on his knee. Sure enough, he wrote down “Murder suit.”
“I don’t remember saying that, but he looked more like a burglar? I guess, maybe an armed robber, but not like leatherface, or Michael Meyers. Not the comedian Mike Meyers.”
“I know, the slasher from the Halloween movies?” I nodded, and tried to swallow the lump in my throat.
“It was just a regular mask, you know, like the Covid masks? Is it safe to sit this close, in here without any masks on?” I got mine out of my pocket, but the cop officer moved over to watch my hand, in a blue medically looking mask.
“Honestly, if it would make you feel better, you can go ahead, and put that on, but I’ve had all the shots. Honestly, I’ve had so many shots that my arm feels like a pincushion, and we get tested every week, but if it would make you feel better.”
I just looked at it, but it was hard enough to breathe in here without it, so I just shook my head. “It was black, some kind of cloth I guess, but tied up behind his head, instead of around his ears. A dark blue hoodie, but the hood slipped down.”
“A hooded sweatshirt?” I nodded, and closed my eyes, gripping the mask tightly in my fist, to keep my hands from shaking. “Zip up?”
I shook my head, “Pull over.”
“What color hair?”
“Black, or dark brown. I couldn’t see if he dyed it, but it didn’t look like a wig. Too short, but I didn’t see any gray hairs in it. It was dark down there, he snatched her right off the street. One minute, she was alive, and skipping down the driveway, while Sheryl ran up to say Trick or Treat before the door closed. I only turned my back for maybe 5 minutes, if that. It’s hard to imagine he could strangle her that quickly, it can’t be as quick as they make it look in the movies, but then we’re walking across the bridge, and I heard this.
Huh, horrible sound.”
“What did it sound like?”
I shook my head. “He was strangling her. I’ve never heard anything else like it,” and I never want to hear t again, “but all I could see was her white dress, and the veil.” She was obviously some kind of bride-ghost. Killed on her wedding night, “My sister screamed, and he ran off. I don’t think he got his pants down yet, I couldn’t see him pull them up.”
“What kinds of pants?”
“I don’t know, matching pants. Dark blue, with black high tops. No striped on the sides like his, or cargo pockets I could see.” I wasn’t looking at his pants, but I guess girls notice what kinds of shoes you’re wearing, or pay attention to that sort of then. “That’s what my sister said, it should be there in the report, but we’ve already been through this!”
“I know this is hard for you, but.”
“You have no idea how hard it is, and you think it’s hard for me? She was my sister’s friend!” Maybe not her best friend, but that doesn’t mean that she wanted to see her dead in a ditch.
“All right, maybe we can take a break, have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry, but am I free to go?”
“We still have a lot to cover, but you’re not under arrest.”
“Good, then I think I’ll go for a walk.” I’ve never felt claustrophobic before, but it felt like I couldn’t breathe in there. I could barely stand to put a mask on in the halls, but then I took it off as soon as I was out the front door. “Huh, huh huh!”
“You smoke?” The cop followed me, and the front door swung shut behind him.
“You want to bum a cigarette from me, here?”
“No, you can’t smoke on school property anyway, but come on. I need a smoke after listening to that. You’re right, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, let alone your sister, I can’t even look at the pictures, but how old is she?”
“She was only eleven.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, and shook his head. Peeling the foil back from the corner of a pack of Salems, he pulled his mask down to light up. “You want one?”
“I quit, but. You’re not going to arrest me?”
“I’d have to arrest myself for offering you a cigarette, so no.”
“All right,” he tapped one out, and handed me the lighter. “Honestly, I never really considered myself a smoker. I tried it, but then I decided to quit before I got addicted.”
“Sometimes, it’s the only way to steady my hands when I see shit like that. Short of hitting the bottle, but I can’t drink on duty. I’ve never seen anything like this, I thought the serial killer days were over in the 90s, before I even got in the academy.”
“So, you think he’s going to strike again?”
“Don’t you? You’re the one that said he was wearing a murder suit.”
“I don’t remember that.” I shook my head. “I think, I don’t know what I said honestly, but I can’t even imagine myself saying something like that.” It doesn’t sound like something I’d say.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. When a bunch of witnesses start talking, sometimes you can’t write fast enough to keep up, even with abbreviations.”
“What’s it like, being a cop?”
He shrugged. “Boring, mostly paperwork. Busting speeders, jay walkers, maybe the occasional underage drinker.”
I just dropped the butt, and stomped it out. “You ever feel like you’re doing any good against crime?”
“I don’t know about that. Petty crime, shop lifting, vandalism, even drunk driving. We’re never going to stop that, we’re just fighting to keep it under control, but this shit.” He spat, and flicked his butt off into the street. “You feel any better?” Pulling up his mask.
“No, not really, but you heard the woman. We’ve got a lot to cover.”
The art teacher was waiting for me, with a cylinder of modeling clay, ready to make a cup, or vase or something out of it on the pottery wheel, but this was just on a plastic sheet, on a tray, in the middle of the cart.
“What’s that for?”
“You remember the impressions I mentioned earlier?” I nodded. “Well, I just need you to grip it in your left hand, as tightly as you can.”
“You’ve already got my finger prints.” It wasn’t the clay that was freaking me out, but it was the clear plastic, smeared with red clay, even though it didn’t look like blood. Not even like dried blood, let alone the fresh smears all over her dress.
“Just make sure you cover it with your whole hand. It’s not to identify you, it’s just to prove that your hand isn’t as large as the killer’s.
“HhuhHhuh?” I saw his eyes, when he looked up from the gully. They were wide in surprise when my sister screamed, but before he turned to run. I could almost swear I saw a little fear in them.
“That’s enough, stop, before we have to get more clay.”
“Huh!” I let go, and stepped back. Pulling down my mask, so I could smell the Earthy odor of the clay on my hands. “Huh, huh!” I leaned back in the corner, and closed my eyes. Shook my head, and tried to shake his eyes out of mine, but for a second there, I could almost imagine what they would look like when he went dead. “Huh, I thought he strangled her with a dog chain.” I even saw it hanging out of his pockets, but I thought it was just a wallet chain.
“He did, we recovered it from the scene, because he left it.” Around her neck. “Apparently, bruises don’t show up as quickly post mortum, because there’s no blood flow. So, after the ligature marks, they didn’t really get a good image of his hand print until the other day.”
I nodded, “So he choked her with 1 hand, does that means he’s left handed?”
“Probably not. The working theory is he held her left handed, until he could get the chain over her head.”
“So, she couldn’t scream. If only she could have screamed, I could have done something to stop him from killing her.”
“Don’t think that. Believe me, if you keep chasing thoughts like that around in your head, you’ll only drive yourself insane. There was nothing you could have done to stop him.”
“I saw him before he even grabbed her, before she even went up to trick or treat at the Saunderses.”
“But you couldn’t know that he was going to kill someone, you had no way of knowing that.”
“No, but I saw him following us. He followed my sister, and I even let her run up to the door, so I could tackle him or something if he tried anything.”
“You probably saved your sister’s life.”
“But I couldn’t save her, can’t you see that? If it weren’t for me, he never would have killed Chloe!”
“No, he would have grabbed another girl, instead. You protected your sister, you did the right thing. You need to learn to pick your battles, you can’t save everyone.”
“I shouldn’t have to, isn’t that your job?”
“We can’t save everyone either, and if we can’t do it, then you can stop blaming yourself for not achieving the impossible, okay? You’re off the hook, you can’t blame yourself for anyone. You can’t blame the victim, you can only blame the sick psychos that do these horrible things.”
“All right, I guess you’re right. Am I free to go?”
“Yeah, you better go home.”
“Why?”
“The principal already agreed to give you some time off, it’s not a suspension. If it even appears in your record, it’ll be marked as illness, or injury.”
“Thanks, can you give me a ride home?” I turned to the cop.
“Yeah, sure.” Not that I don’t trust the detective, but she’s probably not going to let me smoke on the way home.
“Good.” I could use another cigarette…
;
Author
Honestly, this is the sort of thing I like to write. Apparently, you’d rather read about other sick stuff like
inbreeding, but this isn’t an Inbreeding stories only site. Somebody’s got to write something else, and I don’t see anyone submitting other psychodramas. (Besides, ’tis the season for Horror.)
Feedback is always welcome.
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