Chapter 3 The card was amusing and obviously a ruse, like his fantasy story put on by the detective to have some fun with the grim reality of his work. I did think it was interesting that there was a homicide department in such a small town. I left his office with nothing good other than secondhand smoke and a worse headache. As I walked from Detective Golding's office to the front, the Christmas lights glare became more of a nuisance.
A Christmas corpse stood in the middle of the office. Cop-themed ornaments hung from the corpse's arms. A picture rested on one of the arms. It must have been from a previous year's Christmas party. Everyone was wearing an ugly sweater except Golding, who sported the same suit he had on just moments ago. It looked like one of those doctored pictures you see online. A time traveler from the past captured in the present. Something else caught my eye. One of the victims was in the picture.
She had her arms wrapped around one of the cop's back. I took the picture to the front and asked the rookie if she knew who the cop was in the picture. The rookie looked at me with a frown. That's Lieutenant Smith. He passed away last year from an overdose. Hmm. He doesn't look the type. But you never know, right? I didn't think so either. He was one of the only people in the force nice to me when I started. It's a real shame. Yeah, it sure is. I responded.
The poor lady in the picture with Smith. First your spouse dies, then you get killed only a year after. I thought as I walked back to put the picture on the tree. As I did so, I overheard one of the cops taking a nap earlier run into Golding's office after slamming the phone. Hey, Matt, we got another body. Shit, Golding said as he got up and grabbed his coat on the hook. The cops ran past me to get to the front. As they did, Golding looked at me. As I said, stay away from this kid.
Psh, as if, Grandpa. I wanted to run to the scene so maybe I could see something no one else sees. I got the impression that Golding was a decent cop, but the others couldn't find the killer of a housefly. I decided it wasn't worth getting arrested following the cops to the scene. I would wait it out. I could, however, look into the other victims. I drove to the local library, and the snow was still falling as I did. Once there, I got on one of the computers and began my research.
Is there a serial killer in town, or is someone else for revenge? How can someone kill people in such a horrific manner? These questions burrowed deep in my mind, but I couldn't shake what Golding mentioned. I ended up down a rabbit hole, looking for evidence of his fairy tale. I found news articles and old newspapers dating back to the beginning of Ivy Hollow. In these articles, it mentioned strange ways people were killed. It aligned with what Golding was talking about.
One stated during the 1800s there were animals being found mauled by what was assumed to be wolves, despite them not being in the area. Another, only a few years old, showed multiple victims killed with bite marks on their neck. Despite every reason to not believe in all this, there was something deep within myself that felt it to be true. My head ached in pain, but I needed to push on. I decided to look further into the recent killings.
All the victims were killed in a similar manner, a hole blasted through them. I tried finding a weapon or something that could do that kind of damage, but nothing was found. After spending hours at the library researching, I couldn't take the blue light much longer. I wondered if the most recent crime scene would be calm by now. I regrettably turned on Ivy Hollow's own true crime podcast, Ran By One and Janet Lancaster. I knew she started doing live podcasts since the killings.
I saw a poster at Dugs saying as much. The latest victim was found only a few miles out of town. Is the killer getting more confident, or just sloppy? The body appears to have been found in the Hollow River. I tried speaking with the cops, but they refused to speak with me. Stay with me as I stay on the scene. I couldn't take much more of Janet, but at least I now knew the location of the latest victim.
Not sure how she came to know this, but I closed out on the live podcast and I could see her past episodes. She had episodes dedicated to each victim, and she even claimed to have a profile of the killer. I thought maybe it might be worth listening to, even if it made my ears bleed. The library was about fifteen minutes from the Hollow River. The Hollow River was one of the only bodies of water in the town. It was mostly destitute, other than kids pretending it was a beach in the summer.
This time of year the river would be almost frozen, if not completely. This made me feel somewhat better that a kid hopefully didn't find the body. I figured if Janet could be at the crime scene, then another local citizen could be as well. I drove to the river listening to the podcast. Once there the scene was almost empty. Janet's van was parked on the street. I could see her working on something while trying to stay warm in her van.
In the distance, close to the river, I could see the back of a jacket. Golding stood staring into the abyss. That was the snow covered woods beyond the river. I slowly approached him. Jack, I told you to stay away from this. How did you know it was me? I asked. I could smell the skunk on you a mile away. I stood next to him, trying to figure out what he was looking at. I've been doing some research and your fantasy stories are starting to sound less like bullshit.
Yeah, well, I've been doing some research of my own. You got kicked off the force for psychological reasons. Your head hurting right now? He asked, still staring into the woods. It never stops. Hmm, is all the response I got to my suffering? You aren't going to stop looking into this, are you? No, I'm not. Well, I'm not sure if you're just a local loser or a suspect. But as the old saying goes, keep your friends close and suspects closer. I don't think that's how that goes, I responded.
I got a slight grin from the detective. You were a good detective back in Denver, closed a lot of cases. Nothing like these, but you have potential. I'll let you work with me on this so I can keep an eye on you. How's that sound, kid? I don't plan on arresting the killer, Golding. Just another reason for me to keep an eye on you. We both went back to staring into the abyss, our breath visible from the cold as the snow glistened from the sun.
The detective grabbed a lighter from his coat pocket and lit a cigarette. Nature is the biggest mystery there is, a case that can't be solved. Was it created by God or just a random bang? What are we doing here? Is this work even worth it? Killing is part of nature. It's the cycle of life. As the detective was having an existential crisis, I asked, the latest victim, who was it? We don't know yet. Couldn't ID. Were they killed the same way? That's a strange thing.
We found a dead flower, just like the others. A dead flower? I haven't heard about that yet, I thought to myself. What's the strange part then? I asked. The detective dropped the cigarette in the snow and crunched it with his polished shoe. The victim's neck had two bite marks. The sun started setting as both myself and Golding looked at each other with confusion. We walked back to our cars, Janet was gone and the snow was letting up.
Meet me at Doug's tomorrow, six a.m. sharp, the detective said as he got into his blacked out Ford and drove off. The Ford's exhaust pipe smoked in the cold, as if emulating the driver. Six a.m. came fast and my night's beauty rest was as good as normal. I hadn't had a dream that night, at least that I remember. Even with the lack of rest, a night without such a nightmare was a good one. The weather outside was still frightful, as that Christmas song says.
It's almost Christmas, a holiday for which I haven't celebrated since my father's passing. He died doing what he loved, taking pictures of nature. Despite the beauty of nature, nature can also be a bitch. He died in an avalanche, which I know sounds kind of rare, but according to the Colorado Avalanche Information Center, an average of 25 to 30 people die in one per year in the states. A fact I found out when he passed. In the end, we were all just statistics.
I've been thinking about him a lot lately. I left my apartment and went straight to Doug's. It was cold, but the only snow was of what remained from the day before. The old radio greeted me with Christmas music still playing in the background. The smell of coffee brewing brought me to life. Doug was behind the counter, which was strange as he almost never worked the front. Hey man, where's Susan at today? Your guess is as good as mine. She was a no-show.
I tried calling, I even texted, which you know I hate. Susan was always working here in the mornings. I couldn't help but worry. Let me know if you hear from her, okay, Doug? Doug handed me a black coffee without sugar. I had to put the sugar in myself. As I said, he doesn't work the front. Doug was mostly emptier than the regulars. A man sat in the back corner, a newspaper in hand. His glasses hung on for life on his mountain of a nose. I've seen him here a lot.
He never looked up when I came in. He must really be into the Daily Crossword. I sat at a table where I could see the front door from my position, a habit I learned after barely escaping an active shooter back in Denver. Detective Matthew Golding was yet to arrive. I got to Doug's early. I figured Grandpa would beat me here given his wrinkle-free suit and polished shoes. I waited impatiently, thinking about where Susan could be. Susan and I were friends.
She was one of the only ones I had in this shitty town. She came to Ivy Hollow a few months after me. I don't know what brought her here, but I can guarantee it wasn't Doug's or small town living. As the clock struck six, the bell rang on the door. He was wearing the same suit and coat. He sat on the opposite side of me. What can I get for you, sir? asked Doug. Doug gave me a look like he was asking what I did this time. Coffee. Black. Thank you, said the detective. Doug walked away.
Damn kids these days and their diabetic coffee drinks. The detective said as he looked at the menu, I drank my coffee, a lump of sugar dissolving. You got any? I asked. Kids? Yeah, kids. One daughter. She lives in the city. The detective's face showed the topic was not one he wanted to talk about. So, kid, you believe in my fairy tales now? I'm not completely convinced, but I'm starting to think you might not be as full of shit as I thought. Well, good.
The detective slammed a picture down on the table. See these bite marks from the latest victim? Looks like we got a vamp on our hands. Yeah, you mentioned that yesterday, but it doesn't add up. If one of these things you claim are real killed this person, why would there be no bite marks on the rest of the victims? It's possible we missed them or the killer is trying to frame someone else. Either way, the killer knows about vamps, which means these killings are part of the nightlife.
The nightlife? I asked. Yeah, that's what I call it. They usually aren't ones to be out and about in the daytime. Okay, so let's say these things are real. Does that mean other creatures are real? Werewolves, dragons, goblins, ghouls, and maybe even mat- The pain on my forehead created a cloud, the last word unable to be translated from my brain to speech. Werewolves, yes. Dragons and such, no, that's fantasy as far as I can tell. I've come across the nightlife a few times in my years.
They seem to mostly reside in big cities, but Ivy Hollow appears to be suburbia for them or something, believe it or not. Let's say this is all real. What do we do? Grab some garlic and wooden stakes and go pillaging the village? The detective chuckled. This is real life, son. We do what we do best, follow leads until we find the bastard. It doesn't matter if it's a man or a creature of the night. Either way, it's a monster. I have a source in the city who said some vamps might be in town.
While it seems to be true that vamps need to consume blood to survive, I've been told most of them these days prefer to lay low and live off animals like the rest of us. Who's the source? Someone you'll never meet. Now, I've got a lead. A ranch just outside town. It's had its cattle gone missing. Might be a place to start. This was all a bit much, and I decided to look over the counter. Doug still stood behind it. Where's Susan? I thought to myself. Have you ID'd the latest victim? I asked.
Not yet, but should be any time now. I'm gonna head down to the morgue, actually, if you want to go. The doc is a bit of an ass, but he might have an answer. On the car ride over to the morgue, I tried calling and texting Susan. No response.