by Willow Rose
I decided to leave it alone and got up from my chair. I poured myself another coffee and found a candy bar that I ate in one bite. I felt sorry for myself. The Facebook page had almost two hundred followers by now. Were there really so many people who hated me? I didn’t like the thought. I called Morten and told him everything. I even cried a little.
“Calm down, sweetheart,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. But I did warn you about it. It’s not something that the chief of police will look upon lightly. I just got off the phone with him and he told us to look into the matter. I tried to tell him it was just a smear campaign, but he wants us to confiscate your computer. I bought you some time by telling him that we didn’t have the resources for that just yet, since we had a double homicide going on, and that took all of our time. Hopefully, he’ll leave it for now, but it did sound like it was a pressing matter. Like there was someone higher up trying to get him to react to this. It’s not good, Emma, but you already knew that.”
I hung up, feeling slightly nervous about the whole thing. While chewing on another candy bar, I thought about Mrs. Bang and how she had lost everything, and decided this was a small problem compared to what she was going through. I still had my family and, like everything else, this would blow over at some point too.
I sat down at the laptop again, still wondering about Mrs. Bang and what she had said while sitting in Jack’s fire truck. The guy who had set the house on fire had no face and was wearing a black suit and tie. He was tall and skinny. Where had I heard about that before? It rang a bell of some sort, but I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I tapped the keyboard and googled it. I used keywords such as skinny tall man suit and black tie. More than four million results came up. I looked at the first page. They were mostly sites selling clothes for big and tall men, a list of top five mistakes men make when wearing ties, and seven rules for skinny ties. Finally, at the bottom of the first page, something appeared that looked interesting. A page in Wikipedia about someone called Slender Man. I clicked it and started reading.
Later that night, when Morten came for dinner and the kids had gone to bed, I brought it up.
“I read this today,” I said, and showed him the screen. “You might want to take a look at it.”
“Slender Man?” Morten looked tired. “What’s that?”
“It’s like this Internet creation, a legend or a myth, if you like. According to an article I read in The Washington Post, it’s an invented character who can be traced back to an obscure forum where, in 2009, some users Photoshopped old pictures and improvised a backstory for their creations. He is depicted as a thin, unnaturally tall man with tentacle-like arms, a blank and usually featureless face, wearing a black suit. Stories of Slender Man commonly feature him stalking, abducting, or traumatizing people. The stories about him tend to change, depending on who is writing them. But, in most stories, he abducts children by making them like him, by watching them, and persuading them to do things for him. To please him. Proximity to Slender Man is often said to trigger a ‘Slender sickness,’ a rapid onset of paranoia, nightmares, and delusions, accompanied by nosebleeds. There are lullabies written about him and so on. It’s a whole world we don’t know anything about. It’s like they almost worship him.”
“Wait, now I remember something. Wasn’t there a case, a murder in the States once that was inspired by this Slender Guy?”
“Slender Man,” I corrected him. “But, yes. I was getting to that. On May 31, 2014, two twelve-year old girls in Wisconsin held down and stabbed a classmate nineteen times. And get this. When questioned later by authorities, they reportedly claimed that they wished to commit a murder as a first step to becoming proxies—kind of like acolytes of Slender Man. They had read about it online. One of the girls said Slender Man watched her, can read minds, and teleport. She was later found incompetent to stand trial, and her prosecution was suspended until her condition improved.”
“So they tried to kill their friend as some sort of tribute to this Slender Guy?” Morten asked.
“Man. And yes. You could say that. They wanted to impress him. They said they wanted to prove that Slender Man was real.”
“So, you think this has something to do with the killing of Mayor Bang, is that it?” Morten asked with a yawn. I could tell he thought it was too far out.
“I don’t know. It just sounds like him, right? The description Mrs. Bang gave in the truck.”
Morten leaned back on the sofa with his arms around his head. “I don’t know, Emma. It sounds a little out there, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. I just thought that maybe this killer was somehow inspired by this Slender Man. You think that Lisa character could be behind it? Maybe dressing up so she wouldn’t be recognized?”
Morten chuckled. “That’s a conspiracy theory alright. Come on. Why would she kill someone? To win the mayoral election? It’s not the president we’re talking about here. It’s the mayor of an island with a total population of three thousand people. It’s hardly that attractive. Why do you think there have been no opponents to Erling Bang for years? Because no one wants the seat. I wonder why this Lisa Rasmussen even wants it. I’m sure she doesn’t want it that bad, though.”
“You might be right. It does sound a little extreme.”
“We took in someone today for the murder of Ulrik Larsen, by the way,” Morten said.
“Yeah? Who?”
“I pulled the serial number on the hunting knife and found that it belonged to a Jens Krohn. He lives here in Nordby. Down by the DK gas station.”
“Oh, yeah. I know where that is. Krohn, you say? I think his son Rasmus is in Maya’s class at the high school.”
“Yes. We went there to get him. The old man blamed it on his son. He told us the boy had taken the knife. We didn’t believe him, of course. He was drunk and pathetic. We talked to the son for an hour or so. He told us he didn’t know anything about a hunting knife, that his dad would never let him touch his things. The mother confirmed that Rasmus was never allowed even close to the dad’s hunting equipment.”
“So, you kept the father locked up?” I asked.
“Yes. He had to sleep it off anyway. Looked like he could use a little time to think, judging by the bruises on his wife’s face.”
“Oh, I hate that!” I exclaimed. “A drunk and a wife-beater.”
“We talked to the principal, who told us Rasmus hadn’t been able to do PE for two weeks because of a severe bruise on his back. They suspected the father had done that as well.”
“How I hope you’ll put him away for a long time,” I said, grinding my teeth. It was one thing for him to beat his wife, but the son too? How could anyone hurt a child?
Morten shrugged. “I’m afraid we probably can’t do that. It was his knife, but there were no fingerprints found on it. It could have been stolen to put the blame on him. It won’t stand a trial.”
25
November 2014
THE NUMEROLOGIST CLAPPED HER hands in excitement. She was sitting at home, going through her recordings of Emma Frost reading her article online and freaking out about it. She had installed cameras in Emma’s home many months ago and knew her every move. Oh, what a joy it was to see her this perplexed, this baffled. She had no idea what just hit her.
The numerologist grabbed Misty and put her on her lap. She caressed the rat while watching Emma opening her second candy bar. She was stress eating. It was such a wonderful sight. She was clearly in distress. It was all going according to plan. But the numerologist wasn’t done yet. Yes, she had hurt Emma; yes, this would definitely end up having consequences for her one way or the other, but it was far from being enough.
The numerologist clapped her hands again. This was such a fun time. She had reached more than three hundred followers on the Facebook page. People were writing on the wall how they were appalled by Emma’s methods. How she should be ashamed of herself. And, most importantly, people were so angry that they told each other to start boycotting
her books.
“I threw mine into the fireplace and burned them,” someone wrote.
“I’m never buying any more of her books, and I’ve told my daughter to get rid of those we have,” another wrote.
“I can’t believe she would use illegal methods just to sell more books. It’s disgusting. What else might she have hacked into? Hospital journals? Private computers? Is she monitoring all of us just to create a good story?”
The numerologist read the comments with much joy. This was going better than she had hoped. A journalist had messaged her and asked if they could do an interview to know more details about what she knew. But the numerologist didn’t want to talk to journalists. She loved that they printed her post and made it go viral like that, but she wasn’t going to reveal who she really was. She was still visiting Emma’s home in the afternoons, and today, she had the pleasure of seeing the distress on Emma’s face and had even given her a few words of comfort.
“I’m sure it will all pass in a few days,” she said. “They’ll find someone else to bully. There will always be haters out there. Pay no attention to them.”
She had said the words while repressing a smile planted on her lips by the knowledge she carried, that she was behind this smear campaign, and knowing that there was more to come.
The numerologist laughed out loud while preparing her next move. She went to the public library and used their computer. She found the right file and the email address to send it to. She had created a fake email address to send it from, so they couldn’t trace it back to her. Emma Frost was a genius with a computer, but the numerologist had her skills as well. She knew enough to cover her tracks. She chuckled behind the screen as she hit the send button. She gathered her bag, with her rat comfortably sleeping inside of it, then ran to her Toyota and drove back to her small apartment. She meditated for a few hours, sitting on the small mat on the floor, but it was hard to clear her head properly. So many thoughts flickered through her mind. She kept getting up and looking at the computer, wondering if the email had been opened, wondering what the reaction was going to be. What if he ignored the email? What if he didn’t click the link?
Stop it. You’re being paranoid. Of course he will. Relax. It’ll be fine. The numbers are with you. The universe and stars aligned. It couldn’t be a more perfect time. Remember, November is the month everything will change. The numbers told you. Remember the five in the upper right side of the pyramid.
The numerologist closed her eyes and sighed deeply, feeling relaxed. Yes, it was all going to go exactly as planned. Nothing could stop her now.
Five was her number. The number of change. The number of death.
26
November 2014
THE PHONE WOULDN’T STOP ringing the following day. Journalists from every media outlet wanted to ask me if the accusations against me were true, if I wanted to make a statement. I told them I wasn’t interested in talking to anyone. I knew I would come off as guilty, but then again, I was guilty. I had done those things. I had hacked the police files, I had hacked into private bank accounts, and I had hacked the government. I had even, at one point, hacked into the national social security register, the register that contained everything there was to know about everyone in the country. It was a felony, and not one looked upon lightly. I had known it all along, but never thought I’d get caught. I was very careful. My ex-boyfriend had taught me everything I knew, and especially how to not get caught. I couldn’t believe someone had tracked me anyway. The question was whether they had the proof they claimed to have? Or if it was all just a bluff. If they had something solid, would it be enough to have me convicted? If so, I could face up to years in prison for this. It was sensitive information I was messing with. I had no idea how much they knew. I stared at my laptop and wondered what to do. It wouldn’t be long before they demanded to take it. It contained all the information and would reveal just how busy I had been.
I had to get rid of it.
I felt awful. This computer had been with me for years. But it was also evidence. I opened the cover and started transferring all the data, including all my books, to a micro SD card. I ran a program to wipe the hard drive clean, but wasn’t sure it was enough. I knew there were still ways to recover the data. I couldn’t risk that. I hid the SD card inside a hollow wooden chesspiece in my living room, then took the computer outside and smashed it onto the tiles on my back porch. I found a hammer and started smashing it to pieces. Kenneth circled me, barking, then grabbed a letter from the keyboard that sprang loose and ran away with it.
“Don’t eat that, Kenneth!”
The dog kept running and hid among the trees. I ran after him and fought him to get the piece out of his mouth.
“You’ll choke on this,” I said, showing it to him once I had won the battle. “Annoying as you might be, my daughter really likes you, so I intend to keep you around for a little longer.”
I had just gotten back to the remains of the computer when I heard a car drive up in front of the house. I looked through the windows of the house and saw a big black van drive into my driveway on the other side. I had a bad feeling about it.
Frantically, I attacked the computer with the hammer and smashed it into bits and pieces, but I wasn’t sure it was enough. I was afraid they might be able to get to the hard drive anyway. I pulled the hard drive out and smashed it with the hammer, while hearing someone knocking hard on my front door. The hard drive cracked, but didn’t seem to break. I heard voices yelling and more knocking, then I spotted a small can of lighter gas next to the barbeque grill. I poured it on top of the remains of the computer, then lit it on fire. The fire crackled and it smelled awful, but it melted fast. Soon, the hard drive turned into liquid piles of molten goo.
Seconds later, some guy in a suit stormed into the house and soon spotted me on the porch. Three other guys, also wearing suits, flanked him. They looked like they had just stepped out of a movie about secret agents or the FBI.
“Outside,” one of them yelled.
The first guy came out. He showed me his badge. It looked different that Morten’s. “PE,” he said.
I swallowed hard. The National Police Intelligence Force, Politiet’s Efterretningstjeneste? Here? In my backyard? It was surreal.
They stared at the computer on the tiles, or what was left of it. I tried to smile, but it came off awkward.
“My computer caught on fire while I was using it. It was old. Probably the battery or maybe I used the wrong charger, huh?”
The man looked seriously at me. “That’s evidence. Destroying evidence is a serious offense.”
“Is it evidence? Ah, well I’m sorry, but it just caught on fire accidentally a few minutes ago. I was lucky I managed to get it outside before it burned down the entire house, huh? Real lucky. Phew. Boy…”
The man looked at his three colleagues. “We’ll take it in anyway.”
The three guys started picking up whatever was left. The man who had spoken came close to me. “Do you have any other computers in the house?”
“Only my daughter’s upstairs, but that’s…”
He lifted a hand to shut me up. “We’ll take that one as well.”
“You can’t do that. My daughter has all her stuff on it. She’ll kill me. She needs it for homework.”
“She’ll have to manage without.”
“Come on, guys! She’s just a teenager. You know how they are. They play Minecraft, use Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. They can’t live without their computers.”
“As I said. She’ll have to manage. Our orders are to remove every computer from this house. So, that’s what we’ll do.”
27
November 2014
“THEY TOOK ALL THE COMPUTERS?”
Morten sounded as surprised as I was. I was holding the phone to my ear as I watched the men in suits put Maya’s computer into their van and take off. I felt violated somehow, like they were robbing me, invading my private life. I hated the way they looked
at me, like I was some criminal.
Which I was, of course.
“Yes, but luckily mine had caught on fire before they got here,” I said. I felt paranoid and didn’t want to tell him what had really happened over the phone, in case they were listening in on this conversation. If PE was involved, anything could happen.
“It caught on fire? How?” Morten sounded confused.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “But they took the remains and Maya’s computer. They told me I couldn’t even go close to a computer for a long time, since there was an investigation going on. I can’t even go to the library, they said. If I use a computer, they’ll lock me up.” I was about to cry as I spoke. I felt such a mixture of emotions. Anger was definitely among them, but I was also nervous and scared.
“What will they do to me? Could I go to jail for this?” I asked.
Morten exhaled. “I don’t know, Emma. It’s pretty serious stuff. They just sentenced a guy to four years in prison for doing something similar.”
My heart dropped. “I read about that case. It was a Danish guy and some Swedish guy, right?”
“Yep. They broke into the police files and the social security register. Didn’t steal anything or do anything, but breaking in is enough.”
I leaned on the counter in my kitchen. I felt so bad. I had always thought it was all right since I had good intentions, since I did it to gather information about and help solve cases, but they didn’t know that. They didn’t care what my intentions were. Breaking in was breaking in. A crime was a crime. I had even broken into people’s bank accounts. Not to steal, but that didn’t matter. I could have stolen from them if I wanted to.
“I feel terrible,” I said.
“I’m sure things will work out, but for now, lay low, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. And whatever you do, stay away from computers. Promise me that.”
