Tongues
Virginia Strickland
©
Copyright 2018 by Virginia Strickland
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A shadow began dancing
towards my bench. Every night I sit on this bench and wait for
someone to show up. Well, two people to show up. They are different
every night. There is no way that the same people could be reused.
The shadow seemed to be swaying back and forth with its arms moving
to and fro. Its owner came shortly after, walking away from the
streetlight. There was my second person. He had a tall stance, brown
hair, and was wearing a shirt from the nearby high school. I want to
stop him, he seems too young to see what he is about to see.
The
street tonight was dull. I glanced down at my watch. It’s 9:29.
There is not enough time to wait for another person. Usually, there
were people everywhere. Well, at least before the attacks. The
attacks have been happening less and less as the city has gone more
and more silent. It was harder to find people at night to wait for.
The buildings are dying as
well. Their once lively spirits have left. Their lights stopped
shining, the music stopped playing, and doors remained shut. The
night sky has shown brighter. Another plus side of the attacks.
I
stood up from the park bench. I took one more look and began walking
home. I am thankful that I can finally sleep and that the city is
quiet. It took ten minutes, but I finally reached my front door. I
entered and turned on the television and flipped to my daily showing.
I came home just in time for the news.
“There has been
another killing by the infamous Front Street Killer. There was
reported a witness to this occurrence. The report came at 9:49 PM and
the incident was estimated to have occurred at around 8:37 PM. The
victim, unclaimed, was found in the backwoods area in front of
Front
Street,” the television screeched out causing me to turn it up,
“If you were anywhere in the area and can provide further
details please call 1-800-349-8290. Thank you and stay safe.” I
picked up the phone and dialed the phone number. They have been
changing it more recently. I knew the police would be more active
tonight, so I decided to just call from the safety of my home. Every
night I leave the police clues. Well, clues as in a letter or a
number. Tonight was the last night of the murderings. I have run out
of letters and numbers to spell out everything.
“Hello?”
the
lady on the other end asked.
“Yes...um…
I
know who the shooter is.” I replied in a weak voice.
“Wonderful!
What are
your name and address?” she said with a voice almost too
cheerful for the subject at hand.
“
That surely is not
necessary,” I said back.
“It
is only in case
of prank calling from kids and teens seeking attention,” she
replied still too cheerful. It was strange that she was asking for
this information.
I hesitated for a moment
before replying, “Um… my name is James Richardson. I
live at 294 Hillcrest Drive.”
“Thank
you, we are
sending an officer your way to gather-,” she replied.
“ -
no that is not
necessary! Do not send an officer!” I yelled into the phone.
“Sir,
it is
protocol, we have stopped allowing submissions of details over the
phone.” the lady said. I then heard her whispering something
about me. It sounded like she said ‘We found him.’ How
could this have happened? Have they been tracking me? They couldn’t
have gotten on this line that quickly. I call from a different phone
every night. Why am I so stupid? I shouldn’t have used my
actual address.
“Goodbye
then,”
I said slamming down the phone. I gathered my thoughts and realized
what they have done. They have figured it out. I looked around the
house and grabbed my backpack. The police station is only a
twenty-minute drive away from my house, but they can get here in
about five. I need to make this quick. I grab my handgun. Its barrel
shows no mercy. The lives that it has ended has only begun. After me,
it will be passed on from one hand to another. I dash outside and put
it inside of my neighbor’s mailbox.
I then dash inside and get
ready to make my great escape. Though I much prefer to walk places to
enjoy my surroundings, I must take my car. I get in and back out of
the driveway. I begin to creep my car around making left turns and
right turns until I reach my perfect position.
I got out of the car and I
snuck into the trunk. Inside the trunk, I put my most valued
possessions including another handgun, a camera, a knife, and the
only thing I’ve ever taken from others.
I set up my camera and
began to speak into it, “ You see, I hate loud noise and
lights. I prefer darkness and quietness. The only reason I began this
series of murders is to silent this loud town. Now that this town is
silent, I can rest in peace. Now, whoever discovers this, please look
inside this bag. Goodbye.” I shut off the camera. I only have
one more mission. One more thing to do.
A FEW DAYS LATER:
“Hello,
I am Casey
Casey and I have a follow-up on the case of the Front Street Killer.
The killer was found dead after a long search inside the trunk of his
car. The gun was found in his neighbor’s mailbox which was
reportedly supposed to be picked up by a customer who bought it off
of Craigslist. Inside of the trunk containing the killer was a second
gun which he used to kill himself with, a knife, and a bag of tongues
taken from each of his victims as well as himself. This is Casey
Casey out,” the news reporter finished.
I
am a sophomore in high school and love reading and
writing. I am heavily influenced by Edgar Allan Poe. I enjoy writing
stories that take the reader on a new experience. I love crime and
books about crime.
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
won't know where to send it.)
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