| Supernatural Fiction posted June 9, 2015 | Chapters: |
...38 39 -40- 41... 
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Things are not always as they seem
A chapter in the book Miscellaneous stories
Mayhem at Maple Crescent
by CD Richards
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
"My sister says mommy killed her."
These are the words that Officer Paul Davies could not get out of his head as he surveyed the scene before him. He and his partner were first to arrive following the 911 call that had come in only minutes ago. Neighbors had heard screams coming from the house at 23 Maple Crescent.
It occurred to Paul that he may never be able to erase from his mind the image of eight year old Kylie Marshall huddled in the corner of her bedroom, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring at the grotesque sight of her brother's broken body. Aidan Marshall lay with his back arched at an impossible angle, his head twisted so that it faced almost backwards, across the small single bed. He was wearing only dark grey pajama shorts. Purplish bruising was visible on almost every exposed part of his body.
Paul could hear muffled voices from the bedroom next door, where Officer Sharon Tyndall had taken Kylie. His eyes swept again across the scene, back to the body of twelve year old Chrissy Marshall, Aidan's twin. She was laying face down; the once pale blue nightdress that covered her slight frame now a deep crimson. The presumed murder weapon -- a wooden handled kitchen knife with a blade around eight inches long, and dripping gore -- lay around six feet away by the metal base of a standard lamp.
As the policeman noted the overturned book case by Chrissy's left hand, the titles were what you'd expect from any normal child's collection -- Charlotte's Web, The Cat in the Hat, A Wrinkle in Time... What didn't look normal was her blood drenched fingers, and in bright red, the letters MO -- presumably painted in the child's own blood as she lay dying. The poor youngster hadn't even had time to complete the word "mommy" before she had succumbed to her horrific wounds.
"Why don't you speak?" was Officer Davies' silent plea to the only known witnesses to this horrific crime. He was addressing the assorted collection of stuffed children's toys and dolls that were scattered around the room. At the head of the bed across which Aidan lay was a doll Paul had christened 'Electrocution Barbie', because of the insane hair that adorned her shiny, smooth, but otherwise flawless head. On the top mattress of the double bunk bed on the other side of the room, was the complete set of Sesame Street characters -- all seemed to be gazing mockingly at the hapless victims, except for Bert and Ernie. They were locked in an embrace, as if seeking each others' protection from the calamity that had been unfolding in front of them. In the "African Quadrant" as the policeman had mentally dubbed it, a giraffe and an elephant with more pink and less grey than seemed likely appeared oblivious to the events that had taken place.
As he turned his attention to the shattered picture frame on the floor, with a photo of Peter and Ellen Marshall -- the childrens' parents -- smiling happily (obscenely) at the chaos surrounding them, Officer Davies wondered to himself what could drive somebody to do something as horrendous as this to their own flesh and blood. The Marshalls were loved and respected members of their community, people whom Paul knew personally. Decent, church-going, Christian folk didn't butcher their own offspring. Peter was a keen member of the local Volunteer Fire Service, and Ellen was active on the school PTA board and several other community organizations. Sure, there had been rumors about Peter and the receptionist at the Real Estate office where he worked; but those who knew him were convinced those rumors were simply the mischief of a disgruntled client -- the result of a sale gone wrong. Ellen had suffered postpartum depression following the birth of her third child, but that was eight years ago now, and anyone who you cared to ask would tell you she was a loving and devoted mother.
Officer Davies reached for his radio handset to call in an APB on the missing couple. Before he could raise the handset to his mouth, there was a frenzied burst of activity behind him. At exactly the same time as his feet were pulled out from under him, he heard the door behind him slam shut. As his chin hit the floor, obliterating the twelve hundred dollars worth of dental work he'd had done only last week, he heard the key turn in the lock. Reaching out, his right hand just fell short of being able to reach the leg of the bed as he felt himself being dragged backwards. With his left hand he lunged for the only thing he could reach -- the wooden side of the overturned bookcase.
As his prone form was tugged along the pile carpet, the last thing that Officer Paul Davies saw in this world was the two previously hidden letters that appeared as the bookcase slid along the floor with him. Kylie Marshall was wrong. On the freshly uncovered carpet in big, bold, red letters was one word:
"ELMO"
Super Scary Supernatural Story contest entry
"My sister says mommy killed her."
These are the words that Officer Paul Davies could not get out of his head as he surveyed the scene before him. He and his partner were first to arrive following the 911 call that had come in only minutes ago. Neighbors had heard screams coming from the house at 23 Maple Crescent.
It occurred to Paul that he may never be able to erase from his mind the image of eight year old Kylie Marshall huddled in the corner of her bedroom, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, staring at the grotesque sight of her brother's broken body. Aidan Marshall lay with his back arched at an impossible angle, his head twisted so that it faced almost backwards, across the small single bed. He was wearing only dark grey pajama shorts. Purplish bruising was visible on almost every exposed part of his body.
Paul could hear muffled voices from the bedroom next door, where Officer Sharon Tyndall had taken Kylie. His eyes swept again across the scene, back to the body of twelve year old Chrissy Marshall, Aidan's twin. She was laying face down; the once pale blue nightdress that covered her slight frame now a deep crimson. The presumed murder weapon -- a wooden handled kitchen knife with a blade around eight inches long, and dripping gore -- lay around six feet away by the metal base of a standard lamp.
As the policeman noted the overturned book case by Chrissy's left hand, the titles were what you'd expect from any normal child's collection -- Charlotte's Web, The Cat in the Hat, A Wrinkle in Time... What didn't look normal was her blood drenched fingers, and in bright red, the letters MO -- presumably painted in the child's own blood as she lay dying. The poor youngster hadn't even had time to complete the word "mommy" before she had succumbed to her horrific wounds.
"Why don't you speak?" was Officer Davies' silent plea to the only known witnesses to this horrific crime. He was addressing the assorted collection of stuffed children's toys and dolls that were scattered around the room. At the head of the bed across which Aidan lay was a doll Paul had christened 'Electrocution Barbie', because of the insane hair that adorned her shiny, smooth, but otherwise flawless head. On the top mattress of the double bunk bed on the other side of the room, was the complete set of Sesame Street characters -- all seemed to be gazing mockingly at the hapless victims, except for Bert and Ernie. They were locked in an embrace, as if seeking each others' protection from the calamity that had been unfolding in front of them. In the "African Quadrant" as the policeman had mentally dubbed it, a giraffe and an elephant with more pink and less grey than seemed likely appeared oblivious to the events that had taken place.
As he turned his attention to the shattered picture frame on the floor, with a photo of Peter and Ellen Marshall -- the childrens' parents -- smiling happily (obscenely) at the chaos surrounding them, Officer Davies wondered to himself what could drive somebody to do something as horrendous as this to their own flesh and blood. The Marshalls were loved and respected members of their community, people whom Paul knew personally. Decent, church-going, Christian folk didn't butcher their own offspring. Peter was a keen member of the local Volunteer Fire Service, and Ellen was active on the school PTA board and several other community organizations. Sure, there had been rumors about Peter and the receptionist at the Real Estate office where he worked; but those who knew him were convinced those rumors were simply the mischief of a disgruntled client -- the result of a sale gone wrong. Ellen had suffered postpartum depression following the birth of her third child, but that was eight years ago now, and anyone who you cared to ask would tell you she was a loving and devoted mother.
Officer Davies reached for his radio handset to call in an APB on the missing couple. Before he could raise the handset to his mouth, there was a frenzied burst of activity behind him. At exactly the same time as his feet were pulled out from under him, he heard the door behind him slam shut. As his chin hit the floor, obliterating the twelve hundred dollars worth of dental work he'd had done only last week, he heard the key turn in the lock. Reaching out, his right hand just fell short of being able to reach the leg of the bed as he felt himself being dragged backwards. With his left hand he lunged for the only thing he could reach -- the wooden side of the overturned bookcase.
As his prone form was tugged along the pile carpet, the last thing that Officer Paul Davies saw in this world was the two previously hidden letters that appeared as the bookcase slid along the floor with him. Kylie Marshall was wrong. On the freshly uncovered carpet in big, bold, red letters was one word:
"ELMO"
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