Twisted Little Things and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “You said the diary might help,” Rose pointed out tentatively.

  “My wife had the neatest handwriting I ever saw,” he replied, still flicking through the diary. “Even her shopping lists were perfect, but this...”

  He stopped and stared at one particular page, where a drawing showed a naked woman with blood on either side of her body, almost like angel wings. Although he wanted to look away, something about the horrific image held his gaze.

  “He cracked Julie's ribs,” Tim read from the page, squinting as he struggled to decipher the spidery handwriting. He had to turn the book around, so as to follow the line of letters that twisted around toward the spine. “She...” Sighing, he glanced at Rose. “It looks like she was obsessed with what happened to Julie Martin.”

  “Did Rose even know Julie?”

  “Barely. Maybe to recognize in the street, but no more than that.”

  He turned to another page.

  “None of this -”

  Stopping suddenly, he realized that another drawing showed a close-up of the damage between Julie's legs, with what appeared to be sticks and twigs forced into the poor girl's body. Sickened by the image, he still couldn't stop staring for a moment as he saw how much detail his wife had included. Finally, feeling nauseous, he closed the diary.

  “I never knew Kathleen was into art,” Rose said cautiously.

  “She wasn't,” he replied, staring at the front of the battered book. “She always said she couldn't even draw a goddamn circle, and she was right. It was the only thing I ever saw that woman fail at. We used to joke about it.”

  “She sure seemed to be drawing a lot in the weeks before...”

  Rose's voice trailed off.

  “Before her suicide,” Tim muttered, setting the book down. “I remember hearing her talking in her sleep, just a few nights before she killed herself. She was going on about someone trying to scream. It didn't make much sense at the time, but I guess she was talking about Julie Martin.”

  “Do you think the girl's murder somehow triggered something?”

  “It was a great shock to the whole town,” he admitted. “Everyone was horrified, but...” He paused. “Two suicides since it happened. First Meredith Cooper, and then Kathleen. It's going to be -”

  Before he could finish, his phone started to ring. Grabbing it from the desk, he looked at the screen.

  “Huh,” he muttered. “It's Gary from the police station.”

  ***

  “Okay, settle down!” Amanda called out, holding up a pair of scissors in one hand and some colored paper in the other. “Everybody? Settle down and pay attention!”

  Gradually, and reluctantly, the children began to get back into their seats. Recess had ended several minutes earlier, but the classroom was filled with boisterous voices and it had already taken Amanda long enough to even attract their attention. Now, as she continued to call for them to sit, she couldn't help feeling that once again she was struggling to exert her authority. Sometimes, she felt she wasn't cut out for teaching at all.

  “Okay,” she said finally, forcing a smile, as the last of the children sat and turned to her. “This afternoon, we're going to be cutting shapes from the sticky paper. Does that sound like fun?”

  She waited for an enthusiastic reply, but all she heard was a faint murmur.

  “Well, I think it's going to be fun,” she continues, grabbing a pile of colored paper and handing it to the nearest girl- “Pass these around. Everybody take three, choose your favorite colors, and then we can begin.”

  She watched as the children began to pass the sheets to one another. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she'd only been teaching for eight months, and that it was only natural for her methods to still be a little rough. What mattered, she figured, was that she helped the children to learn, and that she made sure her classroom was always a fun and engaging environment.

  “Alright,” she said with a smile, “are you all ready? Now, what I want you to do is -”

  Suddenly she froze. The smile remained plastered on her face, but somehow it seemed less genuine. Her eyes were still smiling too, although even the children were starting to wonder whether something was wrong. Finally, after holding this position for several seconds, Amanda plunged the scissors into her chest, piercing her heart and letting out a gasp before falling forward and letting a torrent of blood erupt from her mouth.

  The children began to scream.

  Five

  “You've gotta do something,” Gary said, hurrying through to the cells. “He just started ranting and ranting and raving, about an hour ago. When he started banging his head against the wall, I thought I'd better call you. Can't you sedate him?”

  Reaching the first cell, Tim looked through and saw a man sitting cross-legged on the floor, gently rocking back and forth. Nearby, an untouched tray of food lay neglected in the corner.

  “Is this -”

  “John Spencer Baxter,” Gary replied, with a hint of grit in his voice. “He's already confessed to killing Julie Martin, but we're keeping him here for a few more days while we figure out where to send him. There are a lot of other police forces interested in talking to this guy. So far, he's suspected of involvement in more than twenty murders going back a decade and a half. He's wanted in New York, Los Angeles, Denver, Sobolton, Deadston, Chicago... Pretty much everywhere.”

  “He looks healthy enough,” Tim muttered. “Why am I here?”

  “Like I said, he was bashing his head against the wall. He only stopped when I said I'd call a doctor. I mean, personally, I'd be quite happy if topped himself. It'd save us the bother of -”

  He paused for a moment.

  “Sorry, Doc. I didn't mean to be insensitive.”

  “Are his hands bound?”

  “Yes, Sir. They are.”

  “Then I guess you'd better let me get in there and take a closer look at him.”

  “I'll come with you,” Gary replied, as he opened the cell door. “Between you and me, this guy seems like a total lunatic. Unpredictable like no-one I've ever met before. Most people I bring in here, I might not agree with 'em, but at least I can understand how their heads work. This guy...”

  He paused, as a shiver of pain ran through his body.

  “This guy's something else,” he added finally. “I reckon he might actually be an honest-to-God monster.”

  As he entered the cell, Tim looked down at the man on the floor, who in turn slowly glanced up at him with wide, wild eyes. There was blood on the side of his face, and already a large purple bruise was forming on his fractured left cheekbone.

  “Have you seen him yet?” Baxter stammered. “Has he shown his face?”

  “What are you talking about?” Tim asked, before turning to Gary. “I'm a doctor, not a psychiatrist. If this man -”

  “I saw him!” Baxter continued. “He was watching!”

  Tim sighed. “I don't have a clue what you're -”

  “After I killed the girl,” Baxter added, “and I was finishing up, I looked over at the trees and saw... I think he'd been watching me the whole time. Yeah, I'm sure of it. He'd been watching and enjoying it all!”

  “Let me take a closer look at that wound,” Tim muttered, crouching next to him and peering at the bruise. “Looks like you might have cracked your cheekbone there.”

  “It was the Devil!”

  “The Devil cracked your cheekbone?”

  “No, the Devil was watching me while I killed that girl!”

  “Does he need treatment?” Gary asked, sounding a little bored of the whole thing.

  “He sure does,” Tim replied. “How long did you say it'll be until he's moved to another jail?”

  “The Devil said he's gonna stop for a while in this town,” Baxter continued, still slowly rocking back and forth. “He said he likes it here. He said I'd already given him some ideas by...” He voice trailed off for a moment. “Well, he said he was impressed. Can you believe that? The Devil himself said he wa
s impressed by what I did to that girl! I mean, I reckon there's no higher compliment than that. The Devil himself said I did a mighty fine job!”

  “How about you keep quiet for a moment?” Tim asked. “Do you think you can manage that?”

  “I'd already cut open her belly and pulled out her guts,” Baxter explained, “when I saw the Devil's face far off, watching it all!”

  Tim opened his mouth to tell the man to shut up, before realizing that the scene he described seemed eerily similar to one of the drawings in his wife's diary. Still, he was a rational man and not given to wild fancies, so he told himself that the similarity must simply be a coincidence.

  “I told him people'd be upset,” Baxter continued. “I told him the girl probably had a family, but he said he'd take care of that. He was so calm, like he was really enjoying himself. He came over to me and looked down at the dead girl, and he said I'd done a really good job! He gave me a few tips about how to improve next time, and he said I'd let her die way too fast, but apart from that he was really impressed! Can you believe that?”

  He started laughing.

  “Listen,” Tim said with a sigh, “you just -”

  He flinched as Baxter's laugh became louder and more shrill.

  “I don't see any humor in this situation,” Tim told him. “You shouldn't laugh at serious things, Mr. Baxter. It's a sign of a rotten character.”

  Baxter's howling laughter merely continued.

  “This man is insane,” Tim muttered, turning to Gary. “You realize that, don't you?”

  Gary nodded.

  “And then the Devil started walking into town,” Baxter stammered breathlessly, grinning from ear to ear. “He said he was gonna find the girl's family, he said he wanted to see what could be done with them! He said he'd been bored lately and he wanted to play! He told me he'd been traveling for years, reaching his voice into people's heads and making them do things. He made a man in Nevada jump out of a fifteenth-floor window, and he made a kid in Seattle roll out of a speeding car, and he made a woman in Denver stab her husband in the head over lunch. He said it was fun for a while, but now he's bored and he wants to shake things up a little. Doesn't that sound cool?”

  Tim turned back to him.

  “I couldn't believe it!” Baxter hissed, with a broad grin. “I just couldn't!”

  “Me neither,” Tim sighed.

  “He was talking about grief, and about how he could use it to destroy an entire town. He said he had a deal to offer the right person. I begged him to offer it to me, but he said he couldn't, he said I wasn't the right person. Can you believe that? And then he told me..” Pausing, he frowned, as if he was struggling to remember. “He told me my day was done,” he added finally. “He told me I'd done enough to gain entry into his kingdom, and he said I should confess to my crimes so that I'd be known when I died. He said that's important to him. He doesn't let people into his kingdom if they die without anyone knowing what they did. He wants me to be proud of all the bitches I killed!”

  “Okay,” Tim said, getting to his feet and heading back out of the cell. “I think I've had about enough of you, Mr. Baxter.”

  “So are you gonna give him something for his cheek?” Gary asked.

  “Something to ease the undoubted agony he's in?” Tim turned and looked back at the man on the floor. As the town's doctor, he was used to feeling compassion for his patients, but on this particular occasion he was filled with contempt. Rather than extending himself and doing whatever was necessary, he decided that this time he'd stick to the letter of the law. Nothing more. “No. He's not in any danger, he won't die, so let him wallow in misery for a little while longer.”

  “But -”

  “I don't care,” Tim added, his voice tinged with a hint of anger as he watched Baxter for a moment. “The man's out of his goddamn mind. I don't want to spend another second listening to his insane rambling. Lock the door and wait for him to become someone else's problem. I'm done here for today.”

  “That's kind of not the response I expected from you,” Gary replied, closing the cell door and locking it, before leading Tim back to the front office. “I thought you'd have some kind of duty to treat the man.”

  “I do,” Tim muttered, “but right now, I don't give a damn. Do me a favor and don't put this visit on the official record.”

  “The Devil's here!” Baxter yelled suddenly from the cells. “He's in this town! He's struck a deal with someone, and you don't even know who! He's playing you all for fools!”

  “Are you sure you can't knock him out for a bit?” Gary asked. “I'd kinda appreciate not having to listen to any more of that crap. He's something of a chatterbox and, well, it's kinda creepy.”

  Before he could reply, Tim felt his phone buzzing. Slipping it from his pocket, he saw that he had a voice-mail message, so he tapped the screen and then held the phone against his ear as he listened. After a moment, the color began to drain from his face, and finally he lowered the phone and turned to Gary.

  “It's happened again,” he said, as if he could barely believe what he'd just heard.

  “What has?” Gary asked.

  “The...” Tim paused for a moment, as the siren of an ambulance began to ring out in the distance. “Apparently Amanda Clarke just killed herself in front of her class. And around the same time, Elizabeth Hooper jumped off the roof of the library.”

  ***

  Over on the far side of the town square, a small crowd had gathered to watch the horrific scene. Just a few minutes earlier, a woman had tumbled from the roof of the library and crashed against the sidewalk. Her head had cracked open, spraying blood across the ground.

  Nearby, an old apple tree stood outside the town's post office. The tree had been growing in the same spot for many years, but now something was different. Now its leaves were starting to blacken and char.

  Six

  “I refuse to believe that this can be happening!” Tim muttered as he hurried along the corridor, with Sergeant Cowley struggling to keep pace. “Eight suicides in four weeks is unheard of! It's preposterous!”

  “So you think it's murder?” Cowley asked breathlessly. “But the autopsy reports you submitted were -”

  “I know what I said in the autopsy reports!”

  Pushing the double doors open, Tim headed into the morgue and walked straight to the table at the far end, where the latest victim lay under a white sheet. He hesitated for a moment, before pulling the sheet away to reveal the body of his own sister Rose, with her chest having been cut open during the autopsy examination a few hours earlier. A knotted bruise ran around her neck, marking the spot where the noose had tightened after she'd stepped off the bridge.

  “My sister,” he whispered darkly, “did not kill herself.”

  “Right,” Cowley replied, “but... I mean, there were witnesses who said -”

  “Damn the witnesses!” Tim hissed, still staring at his sister's pale face for a moment before pulling the sheet back across. “I was with her just a few hours earlier, for Christ's sake! We were talking about this whole mess, we were trying to figure it out, but she showed absolutely no sign of suicidal tendencies.”

  They stood in silence, each man contemplating his darkest thoughts.

  “Right,” Cowley said finally, before pausing. “But... I'm not a psychiatrist, Doctor Richards, but I was under the impression that people who're subject to mental stress can sometimes... Well, they keep it bottled up, don't they? They're not all traipsing around with a rope in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other, moaning about how they're gonna end it all. Some of 'em just quietly get on with it, so no-one has a chance to stop them.”

  “My sister's death was not suicide,” Tim said again turning to him.

  “But Penny and Louise from the flower shop both saw her!” Cowley replied, sounding a little exasperated. “And Malcolm Turner drove past and said there were was no-one else on the bridge when she jumped. We even managed to get hold of the CCTV footage from the gas st
ation and -”

  “Show me!”

  “Well, strictly speaking it's evidence so I can't really -”

  “Show me!” Tim hissed, stepping toward him with a menacing air. “I have to see!”

  Cowley opened his mouth to insist that he couldn't possibly oblige, but then he sighed and slipped his phone from his pocket.

  “I can access it through the station's web portal,” he muttered, tapping at the screen and bringing up a set of files. “But please, Doctor Richards, you've got to understand... This isn't a pleasant thing to see, and since it's your own flesh and blood, I'd strongly advise you to -”

  “Show me the goddamn video, man!” Tim said firmly. “Don't make me ask you again!”

  Sighing, Cowley tapped the screen a couple more times, before holding the phone up to reveal a grainy black-and-white image complete with a blocky time-code at the bottom right corner. The image showed the parking lot of a gas station, but in the background there was a shot of the MacOakey bridge that led out of town. As soon as Cowley pressed to start the video, a figure could be seen walking away from the parking lot and wandering onto the bridge, which in itself was already unusual since there was no footpath.

  “That's her?” Tim asked.

  “Affirmative,” Cowley replied. “We've ascertained her identity from other cameras near the scene.”

  “And is that time-code correct?”

  “It is.”

  “Then this video was taken less than an hour after I last spoke to her,” Tim continued, watching as the figure made its way toward the middle of the bridge and stopped. “She was absolutely fine, and she said she'd call me later to talk about what's been going on. I swear, she...”

  His voice trailed off as he watched the blurred figure fiddling with something on the bridge's railing, and he felt a twist of sorrow in his chest as he realized she was attaching one end of the rope. Even though he'd seen his sister's body, he couldn't shake the hope that perhaps she'd change her mind, that at the very last moment she'd pull back. Still, he couldn't help but keep watching the screen as the figured clambered over the railing, and finally he watched as it dropped down toward the river, stopping just above the surface as the noose pulled tight around its neck.