Murder - Blog Posts
Killer on the Boat
"Have you caught a good one yet?" I asked, as I felt a tug on my fishing line.
"Come on, Aria, what do you expect? We'd be lucky to find two good fish in a week," Emmy replied.
I pulled up my fishing line. I looked at it, observing the tumor on its back with nearly no emotion. I saw fish like that all the time now, ever since the radioactivity from the bombs had spread to the lake just a few miles from camp. I held it behind my back and turned to Emmy.
"Guess where," I asked, starting a game we invented to guess where the next tumor on our fish would be. It made it a little easier to pretend like the infected animals weren't living, breathing creatures whose lives were affected by our actions.
"Mouth?" Emmy replied uncertainly.
I shook my head and brought out the fish. She gasped and wrung her delicate little fingers. I sighed. She could be so dramatic sometimes. I turned away to stare at the waves for a while, then threw the fish back into the water, watching it sluggishly swim away. I turned back, and I saw the brim of a black cloak and felt the impact of hard, sturdy hands before I found myself falling through air, feeling the rush of wind between my fingers.
Somewhere in my subconscious, I thought, really?, just beginning to process what had just happened. Someone had tried to push me over the fishing boat into the water, theoretically to injure or kill me. Hah, I thought. I curved my body into a graceful dive and sliced through the air, disappearing into the deep water with barely a splash.
I had never been in this river before, mainly because of the sharp stones that never seemed to erode, and the whitewater rapids and small waterfalls that would pocket its otherwise smooth and calm surface. Thankfully, I landed in a calm spot, but I was drifting away fast.
"Emmy!" I shouted.
"I'll throw you a live preserver!" she shouted back, almost too faint for me to hear. Even though I was in mortal danger, I found myself aware of how amusingly theatrical the whole business was, just like those archaic 21st century movies mom liked. I caught the white ring and held on while Emmy tried to pull me back up and shouted for help.
Back on the ship, I sat in the sun and tried to dry my clothes the best I could before we had to head back to the forest. My mom would be worried if she found out if I had fallen into the water, even though the water itself wasn't radioactive. She was over concerned about these kinds of health issues even before the war started, and when it did, she whisked us away to a faraway neutral island that had been recently discovered to wait out the warfare. Little did she know that we would be one of the few hundred people left on the face of the Earth. Something like that had happened to almost everyone in camp. It was sad to see how much devastation World War III had caused. Emmy’s voice entered my conscious hearing as I resurfaced from my long-winded thoughts. "What even happened? You don’t seem like the type to fall off a boat,” she added hastily, as if she was afraid I’d take offense to her unsaid accusation.
“I think someone pushed me over the edge, but I’m really not sure. I think it was an accident,” I told her, trying not to give her any information that would cause her to jump to conclusions. I failed.
“There could be a killer on the loose! We have to find them before they can kill anyone else!” Emma squealed almost excitedly, forever the dark optimist. She could handle murderers in a small enclosed space with her, but not some ugly looking fish. Go figure.
I didn’t bother contradicting her. It was better to go along with her assumptions. There were still a few hours of time before we had to go back to camp, we weren’t allowed to fish anymore today. It seemed like a good way to pass time, I figured. There was no one else on the deck at that time, so I began with a list of suspects.
“Who could have tried to push me off the boat for a personal motive?” I asked Emmy, since she had been here longer than I had and knew most of the people really well.
“Well, there’s Billy, and Valerie, and Dorin, and Brad, and that rude chef with a big knife, Trod-something,” she said, counting them off on her fingers.
“Anyone who was in the area at the time of the incident, or someone that I, oh, I don’t know, possibly ever interacted with me and had a reason to attempt murder?”
“Eh, no not really, unless you’re planning to suspect me. I was kinda busy thinking about that horrible fish you’d shown me, so I wasn’t paying that much attention to the other people on fishing duty,” she said sheepishly.
I sighed and buried my head in my hands. Well, this wasn’t actually a murder anyway, most likely, I tried to convince myself. But still, I conceded, if it was, this was a big problem for us all. I was pretty sure I had felt that push into the water, and the railings were quite high. My mind began to whir. There were plenty of people on this ship who might have had something against me, since we were all from different places which had been fighting against each other during the war. There were many people who hated each other for being part of the enemy country, maybe even to the point of murder. I was from America, and America had plenty of enemies, so many I could barely count them all.
I decided to drop this theory for a while, and instead look at people I might have personally offended. I was relatively new here, so there weren’t that many enemies I had made, but there was this small group of girls that I had tried to befriend first coming here, but they were obviously the last people I should have tried to get along with. It was absolutely horrible.
“What are you guys doing?” I had asked, watching them stare at the water.
“Oh, we’re just waiting.” they replied enigmatically.
“What are you waiting for?” I asked, trying to stay polite.
They whispered amongst each other.
“Should we tell he-”
“No! What are we stupid?”
“Maybe we can do her next…”
They turned back to me, the leader of the group flipping her bright pink hair and clicking her heels.
“So we have this, like, thing, where we give someone a dare, and like, today it was Raya. Oh. My. God. She was so annoying I just couldn’t stand her face. We told her to go take a swim in the water, and she downright refused. To me. So we pushed her. It was so much fun.” She giggled girlishly. At that point, I tuned her out and looked at the other girls, who looked just as cruel and traitorous.
“Doesn’t she remind you of Raya? Such a wannabe,” one of them whispered.
My face burned, and I began to storm out. Just as I did, I felt Annoying Leader Girl’s obnoxiously hot pink nails dig into my back.
“Don’t you dare tell anyone else about this, or there’ll be hell to pay.” she said, glaring at me with such intensity I wanted to melt into a puddle of radioactive mush right there and then. I nodded, and she let go of my shoulder.
She flapped her hand, twisting her face into a disgusted expression for the amusement of her disciples, as if she was trying to get the dirty germs off. She flipped her hair and put on a wide smile, like a great white shark.
“Great. By the way, my name’s Sophie!” and went back to her clique.
Later I found out that Raya had nearly died, but some kind passengers had jumped in and dragged her to shore.
I crinkled my nose at the memory.
“There is one person,” I told Emmy.
“How did you not remember this earlier?” Emmy asked in exasperation, leaning against the railing even though I had told her not to thousands of times. She loved being the dangerous, risk-taking detective, even if the only risk she was taking was leaning against a creaky railing.
“Well, it was as soon as I had come to camp, and right after getting off the boat, I saw you with that missing dog of yours and I had forgotten about her until now,” I said, smiling at the memory. I had found Emmy at camp, right after I departed the ship and encountered the Special Sophie Society. She had been searching frantically for her pet dog, which we had eventually found soaking wet after a dip in the creek, clinging to a piece of driftwood and licking it as if it had the most expensive red wine splattered across it.
“Fair enough,” she giggled, also, evidently, remembering the memory.
Her smile turned a bit wistful. She had to have the dog put down when he became too much to care for.
“So, do you think Sophie would have done it?” I asked her, trying to change the topic before she erupted into another fit of tears.
“I guess she could have been the murderer, but that would be no fun. Can’t we have a proper mystery for once? With clues, and a thrilling car chase? ”
“First, we have to make sure it really is her. Don’t get your hopes down just yet,” I told her, not believing the words that were coming out of my mouth. Wow, she must have been rubbing off on me.
“WERE YOU THE ONE WHO PUSHED MY BEST FRIEND OVERBOARD, YOU MEANIE?” Emmy asked Sophie, leaning forward with her hands on her hips in just about the most imposing stance in the history of the world. Emmy could be terrifying if she wanted to be.
Sophie didn’t even bother to cower in fear. She checked her nails, cleaning out small specks of seaweed.
“Ew. No. Why would I bother with, like, her?” shaking her head at the thought. She had obviously heard of my big ‘falling overboard’ story, almost everyone on board had.
Emmy brightened. She started to bounce on the balls of her toes, her hands clasped together. I tugged her down just as a maniacal grin began to spread on her face.
“ It could still be her,” I whispered.
She regained her common sense.
“Prove it.” she said, more of a statement than a plea.
“Well, you can ask, like, literally anyone with me. I was in the spa room all day long, getting myself a seaweed wrap.” she said, calling over a tall, dark haired girl as her witness.
I waved her away, turning to Emmy.
“We should go ask the workers,” I said. The spa was basically just a place where all the fancy rich kids, or some people looking to try something new, would go to have their nails filed by some small children looking for a cent or two. The seaweed wrap Sophie was talking about involved covering your arms and legs with seaweed, staying like that for half a day, and then trying not to scream when you got it all off and saw how slimy everything was. I spoke, regretfully, from personal experience.
“Sure! Oh, this is going to be so much fun.” Emmy said, skipping towards the door.
Sophie performed another extraordinarily flappy hair flip, exaggerated her rolling eyes, and left the room.
We picked our way through the hoards of people on board towards the main deck, where the chairs were set up for the day. Nobody seemed to mind the setup, since everything else was stinky and crowded anyways, and it was so heartwarming to see the small children smile brightly when somebody walked by.
I walked to some of the kids that I knew. I had never bothered to socialize with them too much, since they were so tiny and most of their time was used up massaging people’s legs, which I surely did not want to do.
“Hey, Robby!” I waved to him.
“Hi Aria! Hope you’re feeling better after that big fall!” he replied jovially.
So he knew. This would make the job a lot easier.
“Do you remember which customers you guys were serving around that time?” I asked him.
“Um, well, I only really remember Sophie, since she was being so annoying about her customer service,” he said, the loathing in his voice extremely obvious.
“That’s all I needed to know. Thanks!” I said, trying to conceal the frown on my face.
If it wasn’t Sophie, then who was it?
“ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS!!!!!!!!” the loudspeaker announced.
We all covered our ears.
“AHEM! Okay, I think that’s better now. Bring me my coke.”
We cringed as his personal assistant dashed to a large box marked ‘Cap’s freezer’.
“People are reporting good fishing channels around this river. I’m going to be around here for as long as rations allow it. Word will be sent to your families, and NOBODY GETS OFF. We might want to do night shifts as well. EMMY, NO!” he said, preemptively answering Emmy’s volunteering hand.
All heads turned to Emmy.
She blushed and shrank down.
“Anyone who has been previously banned will NOT be allowed to fish on this expedition. The waters are extremely fast, and I don’t want a death on my hands.” he said.
Could he be the one who tried to push me overboard? Was he using reverse engineering now? I put him on my list of suspects.
Emmy leaned over my shoulder.
“Oohh, that’s a good one. And, he probably wants to kill everybody on this ship, pick them off, one by one, until he can venture to new lands all by himself and conquer the remaining population,” she whispered, jiggling her fingers near my face.
“Eh, why not.” I said. This whole thing was absurd anyways. Although, I didn’t suppose the captain would be so murderous.
He would keep himself a skeleton crew of servants.
I tried not to make any noise as I climbed up the stairs to the captain’s cabin. He was truly a horrible man, who didn’t truly care much about others and wanted to take as much advantage of his position as he could, taking all the prime food and electricity from our few solar grids to power the only iPad on the base, which, coincidentally, belonged to him. He was super self-obsessed, flashing a “handsome” grin at everyone he passed and wearing what he considered “fashionable”, but actually made him look like he was wearing a blanket of whale skin. He was only elected captain because fishing was essential and he was the sole person who vaguely knew how to work a boat. Of course, we could have fished ashore, but there were too many rocks and not enough opportunities or ground space, and the only fish stupid enough to wander around the jagged rocks were the radioactive ones.
I was extremely nervous about what I was going to say to the captain, so I began to rehearse it all in my head before I had to actually say anything. I considered starting off with regular conversation and then hinting at my accident, but the doorway appeared too soon and I began to consider stopping and turning back.
Emmy would have murdered me, so I forged forward.
The door was open, so I stepped through it nervously, hoping both that the captain was present so I could get this over with, and hoping he was somewhere else so I could have more time to overthink this.
“Ah! If it isn’t for our very own on-board daredevil!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms wide and smiling to reveal his pearly whites.
“What?”
“That little stunt you pulled, jumping into the water. Oh, it was dangerous, but it reminds me just of how I used to act in the good old days,” he told me with a reminiscent smile on his face.
“Um…”
I slowly backed out of the room.
“So, you were here to see me?” he asked me, raising his eyebrows suspiciously.
“Yes,”
“Well then, what for?”
“I just wanted to check out an, um, an, um, estimate, of how long, um, we will be… staying here!” I said, hoping he wouldn’t see through my lie and also scanning his monologue on the announcer to check whether he had already given one.
“Oh, well, I’m not really sure, but I’m confident that we will find some good fish soon!” he said, and I practically melted with relief as my spine relaxed and I sauntered out of the room, feeling like the queen of the world.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation I had just had, but it seemed that the captain absolutely did not want anyone to think that this was something intentional, since it would spoil the reputation of his boat. He also, apparently, thought I was five.
It could also just be that he thought I was feeling hot and wanted a dip in the lake.
Obviously, the rumor had twisted quite a bit as it traveled throughout the boat.
Still, the captain was not to be taken lightly after today’s events.
I immediately went to Emmy and reported my findings.
She decided to begin writing a book about our recent adventures.
Of course, running around with Emmy wasn’t the only thing I did on the boat. When I returned to my room, I found one of my other friends waiting on my bed for me.
“Hi Aria!” she said. She was the ‘bright and bubbly’ kind of person, the person you’d go to for book recommendations and the kind of person who always got A++++s at school on every test. At least, for the moment. She changed her personality every week. Last week, it was ‘super sassy’ and I could barely stand her.
“Glad we got past last week,” she said with a smile.
“I was definitely avoiding you on purpose,” I admitted.
“I know. TBH, I kind of hated myself. But hey, I picked out the personality,” she said, shrugging while I marveled at how far ‘TBH’ had come. Apparently, it was super common in the olden times, but now people only used it when they were being uber personal.
“Are you okay after your, like, fall on the boat?” she asked.
My eyes widened. Had Kelly been the one? I dismissed the thought, but it still haunted the back of my mind. If she could have done it, I reasoned, even Emmy could have been the murderer.
“Yeah. Just a bit rattled,” I added, to make it look like I wasn’t just trying to act tough.
“Cool. I just came by to see whether you wanted to go get some snacks. I can’t stand the thought of going to that horrible place alone.”
“Maybe later. I’m kind of busy right now,” I said. I didn’t want to involve her in our investigation, since the less people involved, the easier and faster solving the whole thing would be.
A while later, I decided that I should go and check out the food rations with Emmy, to get a feel for how long we’d be here.
“Come on, I want to see if the captain really does have enough time to kill us all slowly and not have to return to shore until he’s satisfied,” I said to Emmy.
She smiled and ran to the supply room, which was supposed to be off-limits.
I was scared to death of being caught. I slowly tiptoed towards the third door on the hallway, wincing at every creak of the rotten old floorboards. A waiter made his way down the hall.
“Oh. My. God.”
“Why is there so much stuff?”
“WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE AT THE HANDS OF THE CAPTAIN!!”
“How come they don’t give us any of the canned chicken?”
It was basically the two of us in an enormous, gargantuan, so-many-supplies-I-don’t-have-any-words room filled to the brim with non-perishable food.
We were doomed.
If, that is, the captain was evil.
It all could also be a big mistake and some random person was actually the psychopathic murderer who thought I looked like a good practice suspect for a larger murder, like the murder of the president of a country nobody has ever heard of, like, Nauru or something. He was actually staying at our base, so that was a possible theory. I decided to drop the captain lead, since that just made me more depressed, but I didn’t cross it off my suspect list.
Emmy politely excused herself to the bathroom, where I heard a hoard of gagging sounds and fearful sobbing.
I left upstairs to see what I could do. I heard the bathroom door open, but I decided to give Emmy some alone time.
Stretching out on a lounge chair, I opened my newest book savoring the feel of a fresh new page.
I started on page one.
I was on page 467 when I heard a scream echo in the distance.
I raced to the dining room, where the sound seemed to have originated. Where was Emmy when I needed her? I could totally use her mood lightening commentary right now, since my brain was already cooking up worst-case scenarios for everything.
The boat was generally a quiet place, and there was never any commotion, save for the recent events and the Special Sophie Society disaster.
My feet skid on the old wood as I screeched to a halt in the doorway of the mess hall. They tried to maintain the dignity of the little food we had to eat, but nobody really bothered to keep decorum. It was a disaster, people talking to each other so loudly that I could barely hear myself think, some old, moldy food on the ground being carried away by a team of ants, and small children spilling water everywhere. I tried to identify who had screeched, but I couldn’t figure it out.
Then I saw the cluster of people around a young boy in a bright blue shirt.
He seemed to be telling everyone about something horrible that had just happened. He was around eight, just four years younger than I was.
I walked closer to the huddle.
“And then, that mean kid over there-”
“Which mean kid?” I interrupted.
“That one.” he said, pointing to the kitchen.
He frowned.
“Huh, she’s gone.” he said. He swiveled his head around, reminding me uncomfortably of a snowy owl with his blond hair whipping around, but couldn’t seem to spot her.
“That’s okay, tell me if you see her again,” I said.
I gave him a go on motion.
“Yeah, okay, so, then she came up to me and,” he shuddered, “she had a big fat butcher’s knife and she had me cornered while I was on kitchen volunteering duty, and then she tried to carve me up like a big fat hunk of beef. I screamed as loud as I could, ducked under her, and bolted. I heard a loud clatter, so I think she might have dropped the knife and fled from the scene as well,” he said. He sounded pretty smart, but this was concerning news. I now knew that this killer was a girl, and I didn’t even know if the murder attempts were by the same people or representatives of some evil cult. The worrying part was, this was clearly not a mistake. Someone had truly evil intent in their hearts. The killer would strike again soon, I knew it, but I didn’t know how soon.
“Did you get a good look at her face?” I asked, hoping desperately that he did.
“Kind of ish?” he said.
I sighed.
Suddenly, Emmy came up to the group. I ran over and hugged her.
“Okay, come on. The murderer struck again!” I whispered into her ear.
Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of Kelly in the background.
I let go of Emmy and tried to turn to talk to her, but she turned sharply and exited.
She was really looking suspicious now.
“I have a friend named Kelly, I think she might have done something. I haven’t been spending that much time with her recently, and maybe she had a grudge against the little kid or something,” I said to her, already leading the way to Kelly’s cabin.
“I don’t think-” Emmy said, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.
“Yes you do. Come on,” I whined, tugging her sleeve.
We pushed the door open and found her crying on the bed.
“See what I mean?” Emmy whispered.
Kelly looked up.
“Just go away.”
We obliged.
“Wait, why did we just rule her out like that?” Emmy asked as she followed me down the hall.
“Ah, see, but we didn’t just rule her out,” I told her smugly.
I took an assured right turn and arrived at what I thought was the right cabin area.
“I’ve been asking around a bit while you were in the shower, and I think this could help us come further in our investigation.”
I opened the door and saw the young boy again sitting on his UFO-themed bed.
“Hi!” he said.
“I didn’t catch your name in the dining hall earlier, I just wanted to ask a few questions about what had happened. I think that someone might have tried to push me overboard too.” I said.
“Oh. My name’s Evan,” he said, not sure how to continue.
“Okay, I’ll take it from here. What color was the girl’s hair?” Emmy asked.
“I couldn’t really see. She had a black hoodie on, and her face was kind of shadowed.”
“Was she really tall, or super short, or what?” I broke in.
“Well, she was pretty average sized, kind of around you guys’ height”
Emmy stood a bit taller.
“Chillax, he doesn’t mean it’s one of us,” I said to her.
“Plus,” I added, “Kelly is super-short. There is no way he could confuse someone our size with her. And, I really doubt that she owns any ‘hoodies’. They’re so antique.”
“Who knows?” Emmy shrugged.
“Do you think you can remember anything else that might help identify her?” I said, turning back to Evan.
“No… But are you guys trying to find the killer? Could I help?” he asked eagerly. Someone had read a few too many mystery books.
“Aren’t you worried they might strike again?” I asked him.
“Exactly! We have to catch them before they do!” he exclaimed, still excited.
I sighed. There would be no convincing this child.
“Okay, fine. But you can’t do anything dangerous, and you have to tell me,” Emmy glared at me, “-us, everything, okay?”
“Sure! Sometimes, I don’t brush my teeth at night,” he whispered.
I did a facepalm.
“Oh, like the-the-um, sure, yeah, um, okay,” he muttered.
“Mhm. So, now, let’s get started. Emmy, I want you to go to the captain again and see how he reacts to Evan’s near-death. Evan, I want you to go and make me a list of everyone that hates you, and I will go and visit all of Sophie’s friends, to see what they say to all this nonsense,”
I was so excited I was almost trembling. I’d have to start a diary soon. My life was getting so eventful, just like the audiobooks I loved to listen to.
Evan trudged off to his desk, while Emmy slowly extracted herself from the dent she made in his bed, and I marched off to my room.
First off:
Ava.
She was easily the most evil of all of Sophie’s gang.
She. was. Absolutely. HORRIBLE.
She was the one in the purple sequin vest, that one girl at school that just thinks she owns the world.
That one girl who pretends to be her friend and then pushes the brainiac with glasses into the mud and then asks about its corrosive properties to human skin.
Her.
I walked down to the spa, where she was getting her nails glitterized, also known as putting-dirt-on-top-of-sea-gunk-on-top-of-your-nails.
“Hey Aria!” she said in a sing-songy voice as she used her free hand to adjust her immaculate ponytail.
I glared at her.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how I am after the fall?” I said in a flat voice.
“Well, you’re here, so you must be okay,” she tried innocently.
“Aren’t you curious how it happened?” I asked her.
“Why would I care?” she sounded genuinely confused now.
“Oh, I think you would if I told you someone pushed me in,”
“What?! Oh, and now you think I did it, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“Well, I didn’t. You can ask Sophie. We were all in the spa at that time, except for Mia.”
“And I believe what you say. Totally.”
“Go ask!” she nearly yelled, sounding exasperated.
“Okay, okay, chill,” I said, on the defensive now.
I knew she would expect me to go verify all this, since Sophie must have told them about my investigation and inquiries around here.
It should be fine, I figured.
I could ask around later.
But for now, she’d given me a lead.
“Emmy?” I called. I had already looked for her in the captain’s cabin and in her room, and now I was stuck wandering the deck and hallways.
“EMMY!” I shouted after a few more calls. I was beginning to get worried, and with a killer on the loose, who knew what could have happened to her. I wanted to tell her my latest theory.
Sophie had mentioned that Mia wasn’t with the Sophie Society at the time of my fall, and all I had to do now was ask around some more to see where she was when Evan was attacked. I ran to her cabin. She wasn’t there either. I went to the bathroom on each floor, checking under the stalls and peering around the walls at the rusty sinks. Nothing.
My heart began to race. She wasn’t in any of her usual hiding spots.
I ran around, asking everyone if they’d seen her. Maybe she was above deck, but that was one of the worst places to be with the fishy scent that she had always hated.
She was so scared of the murderer, the fact that we might be stuck here forever. And then, she goes missing? Something didn’t add up, and I was afraid it was staring me right in the face.
I rushed to Mia’s room.
I found a knife, a pool of blood, a lifeless body on the floor.
I screamed as the knife was pressed against my throat.
And then I was fall
ing
in
to
the
void.
I woke to find Emmy staring at me concernedly.
I slapped her across the face.
“Shoot,” she muttered.
Chapter 1: Five Hours Before Death
"AMELIA!" My boss exclaimed as he walked over to my desk.
"Yes, sir, do you need something?" I say while still looking at my computer.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I need you to tell me about my agenda for this afternoon," he says urgently while looking at his watch.
"Ah well, sir, you have a one-thirty meeting with one of the board of directors and a six o'clock dinner reservation with the misses" I told my boss while looking up at him.
My boss looks at me and says, "Before I leave for my one-thirty, I need you to come to my office; I need to speak to you about something urgent. Got it."
"Yes, sir, I understand," I say, confirming it.
'What does he want to tell me? Oh, I hope it isn't what I found out a few days ago,' I thought as I looked back at my computer. Two days ago, I found out that my boss: Nicholas Anderson, had an illegal import business up and running. And in turn, he paid the mayor to keep quiet about everything. I shook those thoughts out of my head, focusing on my work.
Time flies by and now it is twelve-thirty. I get up from my desk and head to Mr. Anderson's office on the next floor above. Walking over to the sliver elevator doors, you press one of the buttons on the wall next to the doors. The doors open, and you step in, turning around while the doors shut, pressing the button heading up to the next floor. Hearing the irritating music blaring into the rectangular box, the doors open; indicating, that I am on the next floor.
Walking up to his door, I knock, telling him that I am there. "Come in," Mr. Anderson said. I open the door and walk into his office. Noticing a few pictures of his family here and there, he looked up from his computer.
"Ah, excellent timing Ms. Cameron; I was about to call you up," Mr. Anderson said as he pushed himself up from his black leather chair, making eye contact with you.
"May I ask what this is about; you made it seem crucial," I said looking curious but deep down I know what he may say.
"Uh, yes, I know that you found about my uh business. I must warn you if you tell the authorities or anyone for that matter, you might not get to be forty. Am I clear?" Mr. Anderson says
"Ye-ss, sir-r," I said, fear plastered onto my face.
"Good, then you may leave." I placed my hands onto the arms of the chair, pushed my legs up, feeling the pressure of standing. I leave the room and head back downstairs, thinking of what he was saying.
The day went by faster than the flash himself, a mixture of colors; pinks, oranges, and yellows stating that the sun is setting within the west. Shutting everything down and grabbing my purse and coat. I look down at my watch; which looks like it is from the nineties, and it reveals that it is 8:50 p.m. 'Huh has it been five hours already; who would have thought' I left the gray building and straight to my 1999 navy blue chevy corvette. I slammed the car door closed as I sat down in the driver's seat. I took out my keys from my purse so that I could start the engine. My keys have two keychains attached to them; one of them is a Slytherin crest, the other is a Gryffindor crest. I placed the keys into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, I got strapped in and I reversed back into the parking lot to head the main road.
It did not take long for Amelia to get to her apartment. She pulled into the parking lot outside the complex, making sure she did not touch the curb, she turned off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition. She grabs her purse, slips her hand into door handle to open it. The door opens and she steps out into the crisp cold air. She steps onto the sidewalk and looks back to her car. Her car was shining from the light created by the lamp post. The wind blowing against her skin, the hair on her skin standing up and she gets a shiver crawling down her spine. Amelia did not pay attention to the ever-growing feeling within the pit of her stomach as she started climbing the stairs to the second floor.
I got to the top of the stairs of the second floor. I walked down the hallway a little bit to reach my apartment. It was about five minutes of walking; I reached my apartment: number 4. I looked over to my right and saw the door where my neighbor Minerva Barnes lives. 'She is such a sweet woman' I thought as I grabbed my keys to unlock the door. I got my keys into the lock, and I unlocked the door. As I was stepping into my apartment, I am suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of dread; like I should not have entered the apartment. Due to the lights not working, it gave me an eerie and creepy feeling to the atmosphere of the apartment.
It kept getting stronger as I took off my coat, my shoes, and when I placed my keys into the tray. I turn around and locked the door. I went into the kitchen, grab a small glass from one of the cabinets, and went over to the sink to get water. Placing the glass down, I went to turn the faucet on when everything went black. What I did not know right now was that my time to pass on had come.
Opening my eyes, I squint at the moonlight shining through the teal curtains. I tried to move but could not. I looked down and saw my hands were bounded. I turned my head so that I can see my feet, turns out my feet were also bounded.
"I wouldn't do that if I was you" someone said while standing in the shadows.
"Who are you? Why are doing this?" I asked fear rising within me.
"Did you really think he wouldn't know that you were gathering evidence to give to the police? I mean, Mr. Anderson knew that you knew about the business, so he made an educated guess, and what do you know he was right after all." The figure said while chuckling slightly.
Fear took ahold of me once I realized what he was talking about. You see, I have been gathering up evidence on my boss. Apparently, he has been bribing the mayor to cover up his import business. I look back at the figure wondering who they are.
"Who are you?" I asked as I stare into the shadows.
"That is unimportant lady" he said while pulling something out of his pockets. I couldn't tell what it was, but the feeling grew even more stronger as it was before. The figure then walks out of the shadows. His body was slightly brightened but you couldn't make out his face.
Since you now have a semi-clear view of the man, you notice that he had a Glock 19 9mm Compact. Your grandparents taught you how to hunt and when you were older you went to the shooting range, so you know different types of guns. You watch as he loads ammo into the gun. You look back at the curtains taking in the light of the moon. Hearing footsteps behind you, you realize that the man had walked up to you from behind.
'This is it; this is how I go out, huh' I thought as I felt the gun was placed on the back of my head. I opened my mouth tasting salt, which meant tears. I was so scared I didn't realize that I was crying. The tears were flowing down my face at a rapid pace as the man pulled the trigger.
**BANG**
Amelia fell to the ground as blood flows out of her head. Blood spatters across the lightly colored walls and floors turning them crimson red. The man walks towards an open window. Putting the gun back into his pocket, the man got up onto the windowsill. The man looked back at the body, blood pooling around her and glistening in the moonlight. The wind blowing steadily as the man jumped out of the window and onto the pavement below. Walking away from the crime the man had just committed, he wore a sadistic smile on his face.
Hello there,
This is my first murder mystery novel. First chapter is up. If you comment on it please be nice.
An OC I’m working on.
In a world where raising the dead isn’t all that unusal, she was raised from the dead.
She worked as a nurse both before and after she died.
She was shot a bunch of times in the torso.
“Need I remind you of your grandmother’s murderous intentions?”
-Me, probably about to get murdered by one of my friends grandmas
I thought i could make a librarian Out of this mute dignitarian Turns out he's just mean And cannot fit the scene So I'll above him at this murd'rous ferryman - Mod E
Vigilante justice can often be a very dangerous thing. People can be accused of crimes that they did not commit, leading to unjustified revenge. Furthermore, vigilante mobs often consider bloodthirsty violence as a method of revenge for petty non-violent crimes.
In May of 2016, 42-year-old Venezuelan chef, Robert Bernal, fell victim to unjust vigilantes. An elderly man accused Robert of stealing the equivalent of $5 from his pocket while Robert was on his way to work. Following this accusation, a group of men started to beat a bewildered Robert until he was semi-unconscious. While coming around from the brutal beating, a man poured gasoline over Robert’s head and body and set him on fire.
Robert was a well built man from serving years in the army. He spent much of his free time cooking for his friends and family - it was his passion, they would say. He was a deeply religious man; just the night before his death, he sent his loved ones text messages hoping that God filled their day with blessings.
“These guys I work with every day had turned into demons. I could hear the man’s flesh crackling and popping. When I put the fire out, they threw bottles at my head,” said Alejandro Delgado, the only passerby that attempted to help Robert as he was up in flames. Robert was eventually taken to hospital where he perished from his severe burns. Disturbing footage of the event was uploaded online, where people praised the ruthless and cowardly act.
Before he passed away, he told his wife and children that he was innocent of the crime he was killed for. But even if he was guilty, the punishment certainly doesn’t fit the crime. His brutal murder highlights the growing problem of vigilante and mob justice in Venezuela.
Lizzie Borden House, Fall River, MA
“Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks. When she saw what she had done She gave her father forty-one…”
Lizzie Borden was born on July 19th,1860 in Fall River, Massachusetts. She, along with her sister Emma lived with their father and step-mother in a two story, dark green, Victorian-style home. Life was not happy at the Borden home. Mr. Borden ruled his household with an iron-fist and had absolute control over everyone that resided there.
On the morning of August, the 4th , 1892 Abby Borden was the first to be murdered. She was in the guest bedroom when her killer struck her with the axe and landed the first blow into her forehead. She collapsed to the floor, dead. But that wasn’t enough, the killer then decided to drive their axe into her 19 more times.
At lunchtime Mr. Borden came home early and decided to take a nap on the couch. It was then, the killer slipped in through the window and attacked him from behind, then hit him 11 more times before the axe finally broke leaving the blade wedged into Mr. Borden’s skull. The handle was later found in the basement by investigators.
It was determined that this wasn’t a break in, but an act of hate and revenge. When authorities arrived and proceeded to question Lizzie, she acted in a cool, calm, demeanor despite finding her father and step-mother dead. She was arrested days later when her story kept changing. She was charged the 3 accounts of first-degree murder for her father, step-mother, and for killing them both. After 10 days it was determined that she was not guilty due to a lack of evidence against her and no witness to link her to the crimes. After spending 10 months in jail, she was released. However, the people of Fall River believed she committed the murders and shunned her from society. She and Emma received the full inheritance and moved to a classier neighborhood, buying a mansion that they called Maplecroft.
In 1918, the Borden home was sold to a private family who had problems with people who were curious and wanted to get a better look at the notorious home. It wasn’t until 1948 when the house was sold to the McGinns who restored the mansion and opened it up to the public.
The Borden house has a long line of paranormal activity tied to it. In the guest bedroom people claim to have seen an indentation in the bed as though someone was lying there, and they hear cries as well. Mr. Borden however continues about his business and has even answered a few EVPs from time to time. In the maid’s room people have reported cold spots and have seen an apparition in maid’s clothes doing chores around the house. An apparition of Lizzie herself has also been seen. She appears in the basement looking around, perhaps making sure that she has hidden all the evidence? The lights also appear to have minds of their own, turning on and off. Upstairs staff would hear doors open and shut, followed by disembodied footsteps. Shadow people have also been seen wandering around the house, particularly in the main hallway. Photos of misty forms have appeared in photographs taken in the living room where Mr. Borden was hacked to death. This place is so haunted that several paranormal shows have investigated here such as Ghost Hunters and Ghost Adventures.
Do you think Lizzie Borden committed those murders and do you think the house is haunted?
The picture above is Mr. Borden’s skull. Yikes!
From -And then there were none
Jack the Ripper: A Statistical and Typological Analysis
Introduction
Jack the Ripper was an uncaught British serial killer who operated in London from August of 1888 to November of the same year. He has five canonical victims, all of which were prostitutes. The confirmed victims include Mary Ann Nichols (31st of August), Annie Chapman (8th of September), Elizabeth Stride (30th of September), Catherine Eddowes (30th of September) and Mary Jane Kelly (9th of November).
Typology of Jack the Ripper
Serial killers can usually be organized into six typologies each with their own unique incentive, ideas, thoughts and methods of killing. The varieties of these types are the organized killer and disorganized killer and the main types are the visionary killer, the mission-oriented killer, the hedonistic killer (thrill, lust and comfort) and the power-oriented killer.
Though the killing of prostitutes may suggest a mission-oriented motive, the letters loosely suggest a thrill variety hedonistic killer (he gained obvious enjoyment of taunting of the police and the "Dear Boss" letter had a generally jovial or humorous attitude) and crime scene characteristics match the lust variety (controlled crime scene, overkill, specific victim and body mutilation after death).
The organized vs. disorganized concept is another system of criminal typology that uses crime scene analysis. Using this system we can use conjecture to determine certain personality traits (organized killers might have a higher IQ, for example). I’ll use this rating system to figure out his orientation on the O/U scale:
-Victim known: 0
-Stranger targeted: 1
-Poisoned: 0
-Chaotic scene: 0
-Controlled scene: 1
-Weapon planned: 1
-Weapon left: 0
-Body transported: 0
-Act focused: 1
The answers to this checklist suggest an organized typology by a minor amount. Though the closeness of results his organization and calmness during the course the crime suggests the result is accurate.
For personality factors we can use the OCEAN model:
-Openness: Moderate to high. Somewhat open and creative. He named himself and was one of the first serial killers to send letters. -Consciousness: Unknown. Likely moderate to low. He was organized during the course of the murders. -Extraversion: Unknown. Likely low. Considering the statistical likelihood of feelings of loneliness he'd likely have low social adequacy and social introversion. -Agreeableness: Low. Uncooperative and hostile. Partakes in crime behavior, taunting police and murder. -Neuroticism: Mid to low. Calm and unemotional. Was able to calmly avoid police and surgically remove body parts of victims precisely without anxious slip-ups.
An extra cluster will be included in the next section not discussed here. Specifically statistical analysis of prostitute homocides.
Speculation, Comparisons to Other Killers, Statistical Traits
We know that the Zodiac Killer could be profiled into both the visionary and hedonistic category based off motivation. However, what could possibly be the cause for these behaviors and what could be gleaned from these classifications?
From statistical analysis of prostitute murderers and the earlier typological analysis it's most likely he had these traits :
1. Poor academic record. [Statistics]
2. Average to high intelligence. [Statistics]
3. Highly lost in thought or a daydreamer. [Statistics]
4. Unsteady employment and holds low-level jobs. Though he was most likely employed at the time of the murders due to most of his killings taking place on weekends or holidays. [Statistics & Conjecture]
5. Chronic feelings of isolation or loneliness. [Statistics]
6. Was in his early thirties. This indicates a most likely correct witness description of Jack. [Statistics]
7. Even if he had poor academic performance he was most likely educated considering the use of a paragraph indent and correct spelling in the "Dear Boss" letter. This supports the idea has had parents with stable work. [Conjecture]
8. Has a controlled mood in general or during the crime. [Typology]
9. Follows the crime in news media. [Typology]
10. Parent's work was generally stable. [Typology]
11. If he was a lust killer he most likely gained sexual gratification from murder, killed strangers, planned the murders and was highly organized. [Typology]
12. If he was a thrill killer he likely enjoyed of the thrill of killing itself, killed strangers, created processes for murder and was highly organized. [Typology]
13. Uncooperative, calm affect, introverted, moderately hardworking/organized and somewhat creative. [OCEAN]
Outro
Even over one-hundred and thirty-three years later Jack the Ripper is still one of the most discussed Serial Killers in history. The shadowy moustached figure stalking the misty streets of London's name will most likely always be Jack, however, even now we can possibly still shed some light on who was behind the name Sources:
https://www.casebook.org/ripper_letters/
https://www.ojp.gov/pdffiles1/nij/grants/198117.pdf
https://www.biography.com/crime-figure/jack-the-ripper
https://www.casebook.org/victims/
https://europepmc.org/article/med/30544084
https://www.researchgate.net/publication/307819660_The_Traits_and_the_Thrill_of_Serial_Killers
https://www.marshall.edu/forensics/files/Baber_Seminar2014_ODcsp.pdf
(Note: I am not a psychologist, just interested in criminology)
Served them right
You might have indirectly caused someone’s death without knowing it
Chapter-2: Flashes of the past
Song: Maa by Shankar Mahadevan
मैं कभी, बतलाता नहीं
पर अंधेरे से डरता हूँ मैं माँ
यूँ तो मैं, दिखलाता नहीं
तेरी परवाह करता हूँ मैं माँ
I never, tell anyone
But I am scared of the dark, mother
I don't, show it just like that
But I care for you, mother
You sat inside the train back to Sendai and put on your earplugs. As the train started, you remembered how you finally opened your eyes...
Flashback:
It was the final year of college, you finally gathered up the courage to tell your mother about all the sexual abuse you took. Your mother divorced your father and lived alone with you. She was the one person you knew you could trust after Nanami, Haibara and all your other friends moved away.
The day you told her about the abuse she was furious. Not at you, but at the people who did this to you. She rushed to the dorm room of Satoru, Suguru and Shoko who simply laughed and beat her up. Because of her old age, she died on the spot.
You were watching...
You were crying...
Tears were streaming down your face as you just stared at your mother's dead body. It was that moment the trio noticed you. They're eyes widened as they had never seen you cry non-sexually. But that was the day you finally let out your inner demons. The ones that everyone has but keeps hiding until the correct buttons've been pushed.
Your face darkened with anger as your eyes twisted into an inexplicable look of rage and your mouth contorted to scream in anger as you cried.
You rushed yourself at Satoru and pushed him to the ground. You punched him bloody as Shoko and Suguru tried to stop you. You knocked Satoru out and beat up Suguru and Shoko until they passed out too. You ran away as you cried.
That was the day you would graduate...
Your mother promised she would attend your graduation day...
That was also the day you swore to avenge your mother...
Flashback end:
You were finally back at Sendai. You walked towards your house near a river as the sun set...
@vivinomi, @sweatywitchtree
Hidden ritual
A short horror story I wrote a while back:)
Word count: 888
TW: Blood
In truth I've always known that the house I live in is haunted.
The soft sounds of soft footsteps when you're home alone, the whispers when the house is empty...
You know all the signs.
All have been told before already after all.
We were just lucky that it never got worse than that, yes sometimes small objects would have been placed elsewhere, but we never got the feeling that we were dealing with something that was dangerous or angry.
So we just let it be, whatever it was.
Then one day, one of the kids was playing in the room with a tennis ball, I told them not to, but they did so anyway.
The ball bounced around the room, first hitting the floor, then the walls, then the ceiling and then it went into the hallway.
Full force it smashed itself through one of the walls.
I scolded my child, because we heard something break and then we quickly went to assess the damage.
And there it was, a hole as big as the ball itself showed a dark space behind the wall under the stairs.
"What's behind this?" My child asked me and even though I was angry I found myself to be curious about it as well.
I went to get a flashlight and shined it inside.
Something had been painted, or maybe written, but all was unreadable.
I didn't remember any room with such writing in it, for all I knew there shouldn't even be a room behind this wall.
After the whole family had gathered under the stairs, I decided to take out a hammer and see what could possibly be behind it.
BANG!
BANG!!
BANG!!!
The hole was now big enough to see through.
I took out the flashlight again and shone its light inside to reveal...
A person.
A person, as pale as a ghost, unmoving, perhaps even unbreathing.
A person lying in a coffin without a lid.
A person dressed strangely old fashioned.
"Don't look children." My wife tried to have our kids close their eyes.
We immediately took to the phone and called the police.
The entire wall was getting broken down now and shortly after they told me that the person in the coffin was in fact deceased. From the look of it, it hadn't been very long ago either.
All of us got questioned, but of course none of us knew.
That wall had been sealed off far before we started living here and none of us knew of any other way in.
The same day we were allowed to leave the station and stay with the neighbors, a nice elderly couple.
Even before these events my children have seen them as their grandparents, it wouldn't be possible for them to have committed such a heinous crime in our home.
I did tell them about what happened, but they seemed just as surprised as we had been when we found it.
The next day I decided to check up on how it was going, only to not find a single police officer there anymore.
"What's going on here?" I asked the people inside my house, to which they replied that they were archeologists sent by the police to investigate.
The strange story they told me was something about the fact that the corpse had actually been there much, much longer than we had initially thought.
The body had been lying there for centuries, the archeologists suspected that the walls might have been sealed shut in a way to make it air-tight. That way no bacteria would have been able to grow nor live there, making it impossible for the body to decompose.
It didn't take long until we were allowed to go back again, we weren't sure if that was something to be happy about, but we still did so anyway.
The first night we went back, none of us were able to sleep, so we let the kids sleep with us in our bed. Luckily all of them are still rather young, so it all just fitted.
When I finally fell asleep I had the strangest dream, I was sitting in my room, but unlike how it was, it was completely empty.
There was a knock on the door I was facing.
"Come in." I answered and silently the door opened to show a figure behind it, somehow the person looked familiar, but I couldn't seem to remember them.
The next night I dreamed that I was looking at a ceiling that had been chalked up with the strange writing I had seen in the space under the stairs before.
Not much else happened in that dream, but it felt strangely eerie.
Then on the third night I dreamed that I was walking in the hallway, someone was behind me, a woman that somehow resembled my wife.
She held a knife.
At the moment I turned around, the weapon was already stuck in my chest.
Glistering red victoriously.
The day afterwards I decided to talk to some of the archeologists and asked if they knew anything about the writing was on the walls.
I was told that their translator had found out that it somewhat looked like a ritual of some sort.
It might even have been a ritual of resurrection.
As you might believe I had too many questions to ask and very few answers to it, since all of it was still being investigated.
I decided to talk about it with my wife and as I did she suddenly said something strange:
"He really looks like you, doesn't he?"
"Who do you mean?"
"The man in the coffin."
This one night
Short Story:
I turned into someone else, someone that I hated and envied all at once. I stared at him, knowing he was my undoing, all at once afraid and in love with him. His years of grip on me was tight and strong, but my more logical side breathed for freedom from his chains.
He had told me that I was his, that I belonged to him, that every kiss, be it forced or done in silent surrender, was his branding of me. His touch was like fire now, pain so intense that I wanted more, just to have a feeling of no longer feeling empty. Sometimes, the slighted touch would make me whimper, wanting more, needing more, needing him.
Every night he is like a warrior, he being the sword, and I, his scabbard. No longer do I resist, it has been years since I’ve last resisted, but with stillness in need and thought, comes the realization of freedom, of it being so close in grasp that I can taste it. The more I succumb to him, the more logical side of me knows that what I’m starting to love; him, his grasp of me, my willingness to stay, my acceptance of everything, is wrong and deviant.
So tonight, here I stand, with my own sword in hand; a chefs knife, from under my pillow, I straddle him, moving against him like butter, he awakes, both his desire and his eyes open to me above him; him staring at my slightly mad eyes. I kiss him, putting all my sorrow, all my love, all my years wasted in his silent threats, and take my revenge.
When I remove myself from his final hold on me, his blood dripping down my chest, I look at him. With every beat of my own heart, I remember everything he’s done to me. I wipe his blood from me, and I remember wiping blood from my own wounds, from the tears shed. I dress myself and remember when he would cut away my clothes with knives, or sheer force of will. Finally, I walk out the door, the door that I was pushed though, time and time again, the door that I walked through willingly, holding hands with him.
The air tastes sweet; new. I am still left empty.
Do You Remember Mary Mount?
That’s the question I asked my younger sister as we worked together, peeling the skins off the apples we’d picked at a neighbor’s orchard. Here I am, 51, my sister three years younger. We still live not far from each other in the Fairfield County town we grew up in. My sister doesn’t remember. She was too young. But I can’t forget.
If you want to create a weird goth/true crime-loving child, my parents had the perfect formula, which was moving our family into an abandoned convent on the grounds of the former seminary for the Congregation of the Holy Spirit & the Immaculate Heart of Mary in Connecticut.
It was the summer of 1972 and I was 7. Our new home had two family graveyards on the property, an old greenhouse full of broken glass, and a well house with an infinitely deep hole in the floor. The house was in a heavily wooded area on the border of a town called New Canaan. During the summer, my mom would get a break from us by loading my sisters and me into the station wagon and driving us to Nature Day Camp. About a mile away from our house my mom would point to an area in the woods as we drove by and say, “that’s where little Mary Mount was murdered.”
Mary Mount was a 10-year old girl who police first thought had been kidnapped. That changed when her body was discovered by 2 boys looking for a fishing spot. She had been bludgeoned to death with a rock, and that’s all we knew. It remained an unsolved case; something that kept my sisters and I wondering at night after we were tucked into bed in our big creepy house. The area where poor Mary was discovered looked identical to the woods we played in (unsupervised) all summer long. The mystery of her death never left me. Also, what the hell was wrong with my mother for telling us that?
One night, as I sat at my computer with a glass of wine, I googled Mary Mount. In a few key strokes I saw her name appear. I learned that Six other girls had also gone missing over the course of several years in Connecticut, their bodies all found in the woods. Then 5-year old Jennifer Noon disappeared as she walked home from school (It was the 70s, remember? All kids were free-range). The discovery of her body brought the number of children who had been slain in Connecticut from 1969 - 1972 to seven.
It wasn’t until 23 years later that local police interviewed Harold Meade, a 52-year-old former tow truck driver and god-damned ice cream vendor who was serving a life term for three other murders. A month before Jennifer Noon's disappearance, Meade had killed three mentally disabled residents of group home who were out taking a walk. The skulls of all three were smashed with rocks, and their bodies left in wooded areas.
Harold confessed to the group home murders, but denied killing Mary Mount, Jennifer Noon, or any of the other children. In 1972, he was sentenced to life in prison. According to police and other sources, while he was incarcerated he repeatedly bragged that those three were not his only victims. In a letter written to the state's Board of Parole nearly 20 years after the murders, the Connecticut State's Attorney said that prosecutors at the time considered Meade a suspect in the girls' killings, but did not follow through because they assumed he'd be in prison for life anyway. He wrote, “As a result of this assumption, other serious crimes in which Mr. Mead was a suspect were not pursued to the point of arrest.”
Investigators have re-examined some of the cases over the years, but none of the investigations have resulted in arrests. In a phone interview, Meade said he was tired of the accusations. He told a reporter, “If they think I'm a killer, then come and get me.” Harold Meade passed away on December 9, 2007 in the MacDougall-Walker Prison in Suffield, Connecticut.
I think about Mary Mount a lot, as I live with my husband and son in a house about 2 miles away from my childhood home. My parents eventually managed to redo the dilapidated convent and sell it for a profit. My sisters and I always played in the woods, and despite the uncovered well and the shattered greenhouse, none of us died, although I did get bitten by a non-poisonous snake once. I look back at my bizarrely unsupervised childhood and worry that my son isn’t as tough as my sisters and I were at the same age. On the up side, he never worries that he’ll be hit over the head with a rock.
How do the people who have killed feel about each person they took their life being carried for 9 months in the mother's belly? And was it carried with care?
I think this could be a nice movie if it was real...
Happy 5th birthday to Dusttale
Dust/Murder!Sans and Dusttale belongs to @ask-dusttale