James Larpson
The Girl That Was Obsessed With Murder
First published by James Larpson in 2017
Copyright © James Larpson, 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
Find out more at reedsy.com
Contents
She Knows Murder
She Knows The Secret
Danger In The Attic
Hearing The Mystery Voice
Get Out of the Road!
Knocking On Strangers’ Doors
Killer Party
Murder: Round 2
A Photographer And A Killer
Lunch Plans Down The Drain
Dull Memory, Sharp Evidence
Busted
Framed
No Dead Body Here, That’s For Sure
The Interrogation Room
Kate Is Road Kill
The Body Count Rises
Skeleton In The Closet
He Knows Who Killed Vivian
Waiting Outside Your Window
Tension
Putting The Pieces Together?
You’re Seeing A Killer!
Charlie VS. The Darkness
1
She Knows Murder
Inside of us lives a battle between good and evil. Where good is, evil tries to follow. Whether or not you believe it, one side will take control. And the worst part is there is only thing that can stop it.
Mary. An innocent girl most of the time. Well, when she wanted. She tried, really did. But she always stirred up trouble. Her distinctive, pale face and baby blue eyes made her easy to spot, and she wore her long blond hair combed to the side to symbolize separating all the bad things in her life from her, like her parents. Neglected. Her brother, who relied on alcohol instead of his parents, spent most of his time behind a jail cell talking to his shadow. She was an interesting girl, Mary. A real character. Things changed when Sophie came into her life. “Imaginary friend?” Please. There was nothing imaginary about Sophie—or friendly. It was when she realized how dysfunctional her family really was when Mary started letting the wrong things—and people— in. One night Mary died. She’s still here, though. She knows what’s about to happen, and who is behind it all. It’s the beginning of a twisted game, and Mary can’t do anything to help. All she can do is watch and pray nobody gets hurt too bad.
The air was muggy that night. The streets so silent you could hear the flickering of the old street lamps, which, like the neighborhood, was rotting. As the sun left, dark clouds emerged. If only that was all that happened that night.
Mary stood outside talking with Sophie—soggy leaves breaking under her shoes—and she pouted when she felt a raindrop land on the tip of her cool nose. She had no desire to go inside to the small, yellow house and listen to her parents fighting. It was already enough they didn’t realize their daughter was out here alone without any supervision. But she wasn’t alone; she had Sophie. She figured one more toss of the red bouncy ball wouldn’t hurt. Sophie ran three steps, reached her arm back, and released the ball towards Mary. But Mary knew something was wrong. The ball didn’t stop.
“Sophie help!”
It was like Sophie wanted the ball to roll onto the road ahead. She stayed still. Mary felt something inside of her push forward, like she lost control of herself, and soon she was sprinting to the ball, which had halted in the middle of the road.
“Watch out,” Sophie whispered before disappearing.
The girl’s eyes bulged and she froze as her hand touched the muddy, slimy rubber ball. At first she questioned if she was seeing Heaven. It must have been God telling her He existed, since she had been questioning it lately, even at her young age. A second later, two tires appeared under the Heaven-like headlights, with no intention of slowing down. It must have been the now pouring rain that made the car slip and slide against the sides of the road.
“I got it, Sophie,” Mary said to herself before attempting a grip on the ball.
Her black Sketchers slipped from under her, scraping her knee and giving her seconds to dodge the speeding vehicle. It was too late. Mary’s body was taken with the car, crushing and cracking it on impact. Her forehead smashed the windshield and thousands of glass particles made their way into her eyes. The car reached a stop at once and Mary’s body, now almost in two, rolled off onto the ground and into the mud. Mary was dead.
The driver opened the door too shaken to realize an empty beer can now broken on the ground. They slurred several cuss words, ones Mary often heard her parents yell. The driver picked up what was left of Mary, now smeared with dark blood from the impact, and walked near the parkway bridge under a stream. Mary’s body was placed in the red-streaked water, and sunk at once. The sobbing and chaotic driver rubbed his bloody hands together and looked at the stream with curiosity. Not noticed by the driver, a strand of Mary’s blond hair surfaced—but it looked black. Maybe it wasn’t Mary anymore.
2
She Knows The Secret
Charlie Stillman ran his 11-year-old legs down the squeaky wooden stairs of his small, brick home.
“Bye mom,” he said before reaching for the door.
His mom, Clare, who was dressed in a pink robe and slippers, chased behind him with a paper bag in her hand.
“Charlie, your lunch!” she said before peering at an empty street, no kids or school bus in sight. She sighed and before the shut the door, something caught her eye. A girl, nine years old perhaps, was glaring back at her with black eyes and through her blonde hair that was combed forward, hiding her forehead. She had unhealthily pale skin, and had legs resembling pool cues. Clare questioned if the girl had been there a moment before. She didn’t look intent on catching the bus, considering she just stood at the opposite side of the road, staring. Clare’s stomach kicked, and she forced the door close. Distracted by the girl, Clare grunted and looked down at the toy soldier dug into her heel. Behind her walked a teenage girl talking on the phone in a pair of short jean shorts and a pink tank top twirling her brown hair in her finger. Clare picked up a small blue baby blanket and threw it over the sleeping child in the living room. Clare could not help but smile at the precious child’s face, but; her smile disintegrated at the picture of a man above the crib. The man appeared to be in his forties and had blinding teeth. Clare forced herself to stop staring and continued on.
Charlie eyed the clock. It was 3:28 PM. He was listening to one of his classmates’ presentations on president Lincoln when all he could think about was how his mother had not packed him a lunch, and what he would give for a Happy Meal. The bell rung on cue and the kids flooded out of the building. When Charlie approached his street, a pair of high heels stomped behind him. It was odd considering there was never any sign of life on his street when Charlie walked home. He looked back, seeing everything but a pair of high heels. He shrugged then walked down the rest of the street, approaching his home. He still couldn’t shake the feeling of someone following him. He took out a house key from his backpack and heard it click in the door. He shut the door, and right behind him in the driveway, staring, stood Sophie.
Clare met Charlie’s eyes and held a paper bag to her chest.
“Forget something?”
“Sorry,” he said.
“You must be starving. You can finish this after you change the light bulb in the att
ic.”
Clare handed him a 70-watt light bulb and he took several steps before pulling a string hanging from the ceiling, revealing a staircase. The attic was small, as expected, and had light shining from downstairs anyway, making Charlie question why there needed to be a light bulb in the first place. He hunched forward to prevent hitting his head against the inward-sloped ceiling, and shoved two dusty boxes—one containing baseball gloves, basketballs, and numerous yard tools— out of his path to the light bulb. Without worry, Charlie began to replace the light bulbs before feeling a tingle in his palm. The new bulb attracted an orange, florid color and there was a high pitch whistle. The bulb hissed and seared Charlie’s hand, making him drop the old light and send glass shattering. The now-red bulb continued to shake. Charlie jumped the staircase and left the attic-way open, hearing an explosion behind him. While he ran for cold water, a strand of blonde hair hung from the attic opening.
After about twenty minutes of ice water, Clare reached for her purse: “Keep the ice on it. You’ll be fine. I’m going on a grocery run. Lock the door behind me.”
Clare closed the door and drove down the empty street. Charlie walked to the door when he saw a young girl dressed in white from head to toe. Something in Charlie pushed him forward, and his hands fell to his waist, dropping the bag of ice.
“Hi there,” the girl said in a polite tone.
“Hey,” Charlie said.
“What’s your name?”
Something told Charlie he wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers, but this girl looked so pure and nice he couldn’t help it.
“Charlie, what’s yours?” he asked.
“Mary. Sometimes I go by Sophie,” the girl spoke while forming a smile that Charlie couldn’t tell if he was scared of or fascinated by.
“Why do they call you that?”
The girl paused and ignored Charlie’s question, his arm capturing her attention.
“What happened?” she looked sincere and concerned.
“Oh, that. I just...it was a freak thing. It feels a little better now. So, do you live around here?” Charlie pointed around the neighborhood even though he doubted she did. Hardly anyone left his or her houses.
“I do now,” Mary said without looking at Charlie.
She stood fascinated with the home.
“Who lives in there with you?”
“Just my mom, brother, and sister.”
“No dad?” she asked.
Charlie swallowed a lump in his throat that he thought was an Adam’s apple growing in.
“No,” he forced out.
“Are your parents divorced?” she kept asking. Charlie looked up at the sky.
“No, he died.”
Mary took a step back, but something about her looked like she wanted to ask more questions about him.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Mary only looked in Charlie’s eyes after she said something, but she sounded so convincing, like she actually cared.
“How could you have,” Charlie mumbled.
Mary shot him a smile and touched his arm. Charlie felt her touch and dropped the ice bag, but she kept holding on. Her hand tightened brushed against his fingers. A moment after, Charlie bent down to the bag and Mary’s grip became lose.
“Do you know how he died?” she asked. Mary could see Charlie struggling, but something was making her ask more questions. His eyes began to water, and she found it hard to look at him after the questions she continued to ask.
“Nope. One day he’s here, and the next he isn't. He just disappeared.”
Charlie took a step back and began to turn his back against Mary.
“Then how do you know he’s not still alive?” she asked.
Charlie bit his lip and didn’t even turn around.
“I don’t think so. I gave up on that a long time ago. Sorry, I just don’t like talking about it. Besides, we would probably would have heard about it from some of our relatives.”
Mary looked strangely curious and stared at him with wider eyes: “Like your Aunt Ella?”
She took a second to wonder if she had said that, almost like she was scared.
“How do you know that?” Charlie turned back around, staring at the girl.
She must have realized how she was acting, so Mary shot a sincere, apologetic look at Charlie.
“I’m really glad I met you, Charlie. You’re different. I’ll see you around?” she asked, holding her hands together in anticipation of his answer.
“Yeah, I guess,” he said, and turned around, closing the door for the final time.
There was no sign of Mary outside.
3
Danger In The Attic
Charlie, still confused, took his hand off the doorknob and saw Kate on the phone.
“Okay I’m on my way,” she said.
“Who was that?” Charlie asked.
“Mom. I’m going to pick her up from the hospital,” she said while panicking to find her keys.
“What’s wrong? What happened to her?”
Charlie put out his hands and his eyes bulged out. His hands began to sweat thinking of what might have happened to his mother.
“She didn’t say she just wanted me to hurry.”
Kate ran out of the door, forgetting to close it. Charlie stuffed a baby blue pacifier into crying Nick’s mouth. Charlie stared at the innocent child, and wondered what it would be like to have another baby around the house. He couldn’t help but worry for his mother. He would somehow blame himself if something happened to the baby. Charlie’s thoughts shifted from his mother to the girl he had earlier met outside his house. The way she seemed to approach Charlie from nowhere, and know all about him was so weird. It didn’t make sense. He had never met the girl before, and she knew things about his family only they knew. He walked past Nick’s crib and towards a black Dell sitting on a small desk in the corner of the room. Several names came to mind when thinking of the girl, but Charlie later remembered and typed Mary—Denver, Colorado,” and anticipated what might come up.
He clicked on several links but nothing connected with the same girl he had talked to. Of course the Internet would hopefully not have pages dedicated to a nine-year-old girl living in Colorado but it was worth a try. He shut the computer, hearing it shut. For a moment, he heard the same noise of the computer shutting. He waited a second, but something made another noise. He looked over Nick in his crib incase it was him, but he was already back asleep. It must have been Kate back from the hospital already.
“Kate? Are you already back with mom?”
There was no reply. Charlie turned off the heat to make sure he wasn’t just hearing that, but the source of the noise, at this point it was almost like a hum, seemed to be the attic. Sophie’s thin, cold voice echoed within Charlie’s ear: Like your Aunt Ella? The question repeated in his head, each time in a higher pitch and with an added giggle at the end. The laugh turned into a scream, and soon Charlie’s thinking was clogged by a girl’s scream that sounded like she scared and running for survival. Charlie questioned if it was just in his head or if there, somewhere in the house, was in fact someone screaming. Charlie touched his ears but the screams got louder. They were coming from the attic. Charlie took the first step up the wooden, splinter-infested way to the attic. The screams made him lose his balance, and he was forced to grab onto the upper step. He raised his head but a scream shattered his brain and Charlie fell off the ladder onto the hardwood floor. The television boomed and Charlie found himself on his feet seeing a frantic girl screaming on the screen. The only other person in the house was Nick, who remained in his crib. He unplugged the television and a moment later the voices were silenced.
The front door creaked. Clare stood disheveled with messy hair and red eyes that must have spent time crying.
“Mom what happened?”
She took her feet out of her worn out shoes and turned to Charlie.
“I was worried. My stomach was killing me and I didn’t want t
o take chances,” she said.
“What did they say?” Charlie asked.
He took her coat and motioned for her to sit down.
“It’s only serious if the pain continues. The doctor said it might harm the baby eventually. I don’t want to talk it about it anymore. Where’s CJ?” she squeaked.
“He just woke up. I think he’s hungry.”
Clare dropped her purse in the middle of the kitchen floor and tended to the crib.
4
Hearing The Mystery Voice
As Clare tried to sleep, lightning bolts continued flashing her eyes open—open to the past. Clare’s mind focused on the police officer at her door that night: We’ve tried everything but we will not give up. I’m so sorry. She impulsively threw the covers off of her sweaty body and ran to the bathroom with her hand covering her bloated stomach. Behind her, for a mere second, an outline of a figure stood for the second-long lightning flash.
Clare knelt, holding up the toilet seat as she vomited for what seemed like the whole night.
When the sun rose, Charlie shielded his red and exhausted eyes from the blinding light. With one eye open, he moved down the stairs to see a sobbing Kate hiding a tissue crumbled in her hand.
“She didn’t want to wake you. You seemed tired,” she said.
Charlie shot her a confused look while running his hand through his morning-Mohawk.
“Mom might have lost him last night.”
The words acted as an alarm clock for Charlie and he moved his hand from his hair to over his mouth.
The Girl That Was Obsessed With Murder Page 1