by Luis Samways
Ian looked up at his boss and shrugged.
"Nothing seems to surprise me anymore. That kid was just 16 years old. He was so young. I don't think he deserved that, no matter how much of a troublemaker he was."
Hunt nodded.
"Nobody deserves to die, Ian. Unfortunately, they do. We all do. And it's our job to make sure that their deaths are thoroughly investigated, and their killers are thoroughly humiliated in court. That's what we do. Now, I know it's probably difficult for you to comprehend the level of violence that festers in some people's souls, but, after a while, you'll certainly get used to the idea that anybody is capable of anything."
"How the hell can someone carve somebody's insides up like that? It's like they're taking this Halloween thing seriously."
Hunt's eyebrows raised.
"What do you mean? You've got an idea on the MO behind the attack?"
Deputy Ian sucked down on his cigarette, incinerating it in no more than three puffs. He then looked up at his boss and shrugged his shoulders.
"I wouldn't say that I'm 100% certain about what's going on here, but I did pick up on a vibe in there, a vibe I just can’t shake."
Hunt nodded.
"I know what you mean. It does seem a little eerie, doesn't it? I know it’s Halloween night and all, and any time there's some sort of murder at this time of the year, cops are quick to think that a serial killer is involved. But so far, we only have one body. So I remain optimistic."
Ian was fidgeting in his trouser pockets, jangling his keys as he thought about Nathanial in the barn.
"I dunno, sir. I have a bad feeling about this. I don't know what it is yet, but something is going on. I just know it in my gut. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that I'm a little worried."
"It's understandable, Ian. It's not every day that you see a teenage boy disembowelled on a pile of horse excrement.
The two of them were silent for a while. The only sounds audible to either of them were the ambient sounds coming from the farm around them. It was getting later by the minute. The moon had decided to do a disappearing act. If anything, it just made the two of them even more uneasy. DI Hunt was about to break the silence when his mobile phone rang in his pocket. He reached for his Samsung and quickly answered the call.
"Detective Inspector Hunt," he said, condensation billowing out of his mouth as he blew hot air into his free hand whilst gripping the mobile with his other.
The temperature was most definitely falling and it was falling rapidly.
"Hunt, I'm afraid there's been another murder. Your services are requested," the male voice on the phone said, a male voice he recognised as clear as his own. It was Station Chief Sampson. He manned the phones every evening. And he'd been the man responsible for hundreds of DI Hunt’s sleepless nights.
"What do you mean there's been another murder? This ain't Chicago, it’s bloody south-west England for Christ's sake!"
Sampson was never one to argue. And tonight was no different. Hunt didn't get a response. He didn't need one. He knew that whenever Sampson called, it meant business. And, unfortunately, business was booming this evening.
"Okay, where the hell is this new murder, then?" Hunt snapped, shaking his head in exasperation.
He caught a glance of Deputy Ian’s face, he’d gone pale white.
Hunt didn't know if the kid was ready for yet another murder scene.
"Well, the good news is that you won't need to travel that far, Hunt."
"What? The scene is nearby?"
"I'm afraid so. Half a mile up the road. A cul-de-sac on the East. You can't miss it. There's about 50 police cars parked outside. This one is messy."
"Messy? Jesus!"
"What can I say? Halloween 2017 is the gift that keeps on giving…"
Chapter Seven
"Did you see Sarah tonight? She was right off her head?! I've never seen anything like it! I tell you what, she can drink for England," Mark said as he stumbled down the street with his girlfriend.
The two of them had just returned from a Halloween party at the pub, where their factory had thrown an impromptu costume contest, a contest that the two of them had come in first and second respectively. To say that they were happy with their evening would be an understatement. They'd had a blast, but now the effects of the copious amounts of alcohol they’d both ingested and the few recreational hits on Mark’s bong behind the garage was starting to catch up with the two of them.
"She can't help the way she is, Mark. She's had a tough time. Her husband just left her, so I think we can cut her a little slack, don't you think?" Erica said, noticeably less cheery than her other half.
"I'm not trying to start a fight, Erica. I'm just saying that she can be a little bit embarrassing sometimes. It's hard enough dealing with her constant need for attention at work, I don't want to deal with it when I'm off the clock, trying to have a good time. Surely you can understand that?"
Erica wasn't best pleased. And even though the both of them were more than half cut, they were still conscious enough to recognise the street they were on. It was their street. But the problem was their house was uphill. And hills were best not mixed with alcohol or weed. So the argument continued, but at a much slower pace.
"I just don't get you, Mark! You can be a right arsehole sometimes. There's more to life than being a negative Nancy. And I have you know, Sarah is over her husband! She has been for a long time now. Maybe if you paid enough attention, you'd realise that. But instead, you constantly find faults in others, whilst overlooking your obvious and many flaws. It's getting a little tedious, if I’m being honest."
Mark shook his head.
"Here we go again! You always find a way to ruin a night, don't you? It wasn't enough that you had to dress like this tonight, but you also had to find a way to annoy me."
"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed?"
"You know what's wrong with the way you're dressed! We've had discussions about this before. Don't you remember last year? Everyone was looking at you. Everyone. Dave, John, and even that asshole, Seb! Everybody was just staring. I felt embarrassed!"
Erica stopped walking, Mark soon followed.
"You weren't embarrassed, Mark! You were just being your usual jealous self, weren’t you? I can’t dress in nice things, can I? That's what you're saying. You don't want people to be gawping at me. Because you're scared, you're scared they'll see that you have a hot girlfriend. Well, newsflash Mark, they already know! So stop getting your panties in a twist."
"You’re mighty confident, aren't you? You really think that I'm getting angry because I have a hot girlfriend? Please! Don't be so stupid. I'm not embarrassed because of the way you look. I'm embarrassed because of the way you act."
"I don't act in any way. This is who I am. If you're so upset and embarrassed of me, then why don't you just back off and let me walk home by myself?"
Mark laughed.
"Yeah, sure. I'll do just that! I’ll walk home all by myself, leave my girlfriend all alone in the middle of our street, in the dark, with a short skirt. Sure, that makes sense, doesn't it? What man wouldn't leave his girlfriend in the dark, alone, with nobody to protect her. I know, me!"
"Don't act so high and mighty, Mark. You're not a bloody caveman. And I'm not some insular wincing girl that needs protecting from the big bad monsters outside our dwelling. I'm fine. If you really want to go on without me, then feel free. I won’t stop you."
Mark shrugged.
"Okay. If that's what you want, I’ll do exactly just that. I'll leave you by yourself and you can walk home. And no, I ain’t carrying your stilettos or your handbag. You can do that by yourself."
Erica was just about to reply when Mark stormed off up the hill. It wasn't long before the shadows swallowed him whole. Looking around, she was soon reminded of her whereabouts. Not too long to go now, she thought. But the alcohol was still affecting her rather badly. And the fight she'd just had with Mark wasn't helping matters, in fact, it was j
ust exasperating them. Any time she found herself in some sort of argument, her brain fogged up. That's exactly what was happening to her now.
Everything was a mixture of fog and dizziness. She could hardly tell East from West, let alone where her bloody front door was.
But she continued to trundle up the hill. She had no choice in the matter. It was starting to get cold. Colder than before. Like ice cold. It was as if the weather had all of a sudden turned. She'd never felt anything like this before. But she knew something was off. And the more she walked up the hill, the more she realised just how much the cold was affecting her. Her teeth were chattering and the hairs on her neck were standing on end. She continued to walk up the hill, but then something caught her eye. She spotted a black silhouette in the distance. And as she got closer, she noticed something else. A glowing light… No… Two glowing lights. They looked like a Halloween lantern. But it wasn't coming from a pumpkin on somebody's doorstep.
It was closer than that. Much closer. In fact, it was right in front of her! Standing a mere 2 meters away from her, the shadowy figure stepped forward. It was shrouded in darkness. The only light was coming from its glowing eyes. Eyes that pierced hers.
Erica was just about to let out a scream when she heard somebody moaning. It was then that she stumbled.
Erica fell to the ground. Lying right next to her, Mark gasped for air. Her boyfriend had been stabbed in the face. And as she looked up, the shadowy figure with the glowing Halloween-esque eyes stood over her, bending down, getting closer by the second.
"Trick or treat?" She heard the shadowy figure, say, before the large blade in its hand came crashing down toward her.
Chapter Eight
"Two of them this time?" DI Hunt said as he stared down at the two people on the living room floor in front of him.
The woman had had her head cut clean off, fragments of bone were scattered around the hardwood living room floor. Unfortunately, her partner had also been dismembered. But his wasn't as severe. Which made Hunt think that maybe the woman had attempted to fight back.
In his many years of investigatory work, Detective Inspector Hunt had seen many different murder scenes. But one thing remained consistent amongst all of them. Any time somebody fought back, chances were their death would be much more severe and brutal compared to the ones that went quietly into the night.
But it was the brutality of this particular crime scene that was starting to make Hunt very nervous. He had every reason to be nervous. This was the second murder scene he'd attended that night. And there was only a mile or so to separate both of them. So the likelihood that there was indeed some sort of spree killer in the area was very high.
High enough that he was even thinking about bringing the press into this.
No cop likes to deal with reporters. But they do serve a purpose. It’s a purpose that a lot of them aren't even aware of. If he was going to use the press to his advantage, then at least he could do so knowing that lives could be saved because of their involvement. The last thing that any detective wants to do is panic the residents of a town or city. But sometimes it's best to be safe than sorry.
"This place is a war zone!" Deputy Ian said as he continued to fidget in his trouser pockets, his keys jangling loudly, piercing the solemn atmosphere.
"It certainly is. I'm starting to think that you were right."
"Really?"
Hunt nodded.
"Yep. Looks like you were right on the money. You had every reason to be worried back at the barn. Your intuition was correct. We’re dealing with something quite large, here. And I'm sure that Ashton Black is gonna drool over the prospect of chasing a spree killer through the countryside on Halloween."
Deputy Ian stopped jangling the keys in his trouser pocket and began cracking his knuckles instead. Hunt was tempted to call him up on his repetitive fidgeting, but he decided that maybe it was best not to. The last thing that he wanted to do was cause the poor deputy to snap. Two horrifying gory crime scenes was a lot to take in for a rook. Hell, it was a lot for him as well. So, he could only imagine what the deputy was going through.
"You reckon Ashton is gonna be able to help us solve this case?"
Hunt smiled.
"I'm afraid there's no solving this, deputy. Murderers like this, spree killers, they don't tend to go away gently into the night. They take as many victims as they can. When we finally catch up with them, they’ve usually blown their heads clean off, or they’re shooting directly at our heads, making us shoot back. It's a damn big mess, that's for sure. This is no longer just a Devon and Cornwall police issue, this is a United Kingdom / Scotland Yard / Metropolitan Police / Ministry of Defence issue. When this hits front-page news, there's going to be outcry. And outcry always results in stand-offs with the perpetrators."
"So you don't think this guy is gonna get caught?"
"That's not what I'm saying. It's probably difficult for you to understand this, deputy, but things aren't just black-and-white. There's a whole range of colours out there, a hue of destruction and despair. Every man is different. And every man commits crimes for different reasons. Now this man, this man could have a plethora of triggers that we aren't aware of. And anything we’re not aware of means that, in essence, we are firmly left in the dark. Darkness only serves to impair our vision even more. So, if you ask me, we’re pretty much fucked."
"Guv, you never know, we might get lucky. He might just fall right into our arms!"
"I don't know if I'd call that luck. I mean, look around… These poor bastards weren’t lucky when he fell into their arms, were they?"
A plump man wearing spectacles sidled up beside both deputy Ian and Detective Inspector Hunt. He had a clipboard in his hands and was writing something down. Hunt managed to catch a glimpse of the guys written notes. He could hardly make heads or tails of the calligraphy.
Just like a doctor's handwriting, it was like staring at a message from outer space, written in symbols not known to any living Earth mammal. The man noticed detective Hunt looking at is clipboard and instinctively angled it toward his chest, so he couldn't get another peep.
"Excuse me, and you are?" Hunt said, the bitterness evident in his tone like a good ale.
"Ah, I do apologise, the name’s Ronson. I’m the medical examiner. As you can see, I've been pretty busy."
"Okay. Nice to meet you. My name is Detective Inspector Hunt, and this here is my partner, deputy Ian."
Ronson looked amused as he glanced at Hunt's deputy.
"Something funny?" Deputy Ian asked.
"No, not really. Just never really met a deputy before."
"Well, now you have."
"Okey dokey. So, got any news for us?" Hunt interrupted the dagger-like silence entombing all three men.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Usually, in my line of work, I have to rely a lot on visualisations and assumptions. But thankfully, with this case at least, we seem to have lucked out."
"Lucked out? Is that right? Well, we were just pontificating whether these two right here were lucky or not. Both my partner and I came to the conclusion that they weren't. So, I'm quite eager to hear why you think that we are the lucky ones here."
"Well, I've heard about your other case down the road, the one Tricia is working, and I'm pretty sure that the two of you are considering the possibility that these two crimes are linked, right?"
"Yes. You are correct. But until we get solid intel, our assumptions are just that, assumptions."
"Yes, I hear that. But, I have a little bit of interesting news for you."
Hunt arched his eyebrows.
"Really? Please, do tell."
Ronson cleared his throat.
"Well, there were more than three people in this house when the intruder entered."
"So, where’s the third body?"
Ronson smiled.
"That's the thing, Detective, there is no third body. Just a witness. We found her upstairs. Hiding in the wardrobe. A young girl. Blonde
. Pretty little thing. She said that she heard noises downstairs. At first, she heard laughing and giggling. Then she heard screaming. So, she got out of bed and snuck into the landing where she peeked through the banister. That's when she saw, and I quote, a pumpkin."
Detective Inspector Hunt's face was a picture. Like a Picasso, it was a picture of confusion.
"What do you mean, a pumpkin?"
"Exactly just that. She said she saw a pumpkin. A life-sized pumpkin."
"Life-sized? So this sick son of a bitch was wearing a pumpkin costume?"
"It would appear that what she really meant, after I did a little bit of digging and asked her to describe what she saw fully, is a man wearing a pumpkin on his head."