by Evan Bond
An aroma of coffee sprang through the home and Sasha stood up. As she poured herself a cup, she spotted a truck drive past the house. It was black with white doors and she was almost certain the words Carlisle Sheriff had been scrawled on the side. Judging by the dust cloud left in its wake, she assumed there was some sort of emergency. The notion nearly made her laugh. An emergency, out here? Did someone’s chickens get loose? She could only assume the people out here had no clue what an emergency was. She, on the other hand, knew all too well.
It had been a rainy day, the first time she had called the police on her husband. She could recall the memory clearly, like most of the traumatic experiences in her life. Her husband, Brent, had been drinking. This time, like many times before, he had one too many. He was the kind of man who was fun to be around while drinking. As long as you didn’t get him upset. Unfortunately, he was easily triggered when inebriated. And when you pissed him off while drunk, you might as well have tried to punch him in the face.
Tara, then only a six-year-old girl, was fast asleep in bed. Sasha wanted to keep it that way but Brent was having too much fun. He cranked the music on the disc player and started dancing around the living room like a buffoon. Sasha rolled her eyes and turned the music down.
“Tara’s trying to sleep,” she said.
“She’ll be fine.” Brent turned it back up.
Sasha wanted to unplug the damn thing and toss it out into the rain but remained silent. She tried to reason with him once more but he only shook his head and waved his butt in her face. When they were younger she would have found it funny, maybe even arousing. But all his years of drinking and verbal abuse had given her a disdain for him, though she was hard-pressed to admit it. Instead, she buried the emotion deep down inside herself like so many other emotions. She lied to herself, saying she still loved her husband. Tara needed them to stay together. Growing up in an unhappy marriage was better than a broken home. At least, that’s what Sasha told herself.
Brent had sat on Sasha’s knee and started singing along to the blaring music. He was only inches from her face and she could smell the disgusting scent of beer. He pretended to be a burlesque dancer and swayed on her knees, caressing her face with his hand. It annoyed her to her very core. “Please knock it off, you look ridiculous.” She said and knew it had been a mistake before she had finished the sentence.
Instantly, his face turned an unnatural shade of red. To this day, she was almost convinced she saw smoke billow out of his ears like an old cartoon. His head vibrated with the tell-tale sign of gritted teeth. Sitting there on her knee, he raised a hand and slapped her hard across the face. The force had been enough to topple her to the floor, but her husband’s weight across her lap kept her still.
She could feel the red mark left behind by his palm. It stung like a swarm of a thousand bees. Tears instinctively rolled down her face. Brent began to yell and scream in her face saying how much of a rude bitch she was.
“I’m trying to have fun with you and all you do is bitch. What the fuck is your problem you stupid whore?”
Sasha cried. “I’m sorry, it’s just-“
She couldn't finish her sentence before he had grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her from her seat. The floor came up faster than she expected. Brent straddled her like a horse and bent down into her face. He screamed and yelled directly in her face. She could feel droplets of spittle splash on her cheek and the alcohol on his breath was revolting. Bile began to rise in her throat and she did her best to hold it down.
Sasha wiggled out from under Brent and ran down the hallway. As tears raced down her face, the television remote arced past her head and exploded against the wall. She dove into the bathroom and locked the door behind her.
He banged and pounded on the door, demanding she open it immediately. She sat down on the toilet, stuffed her face in her hands, and cried. Her biggest fear was Brent busting down the door to get to her. She would not have been surprised if he had.
"Go away or I'm calling the police" she screamed. It only worked to anger him more. He kicked the bathroom door and yelled the most obscene names she had ever heard. Finally, Sasha had had enough. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed.
The emergency operator quickly recognized the terror in her voice and helped calm her down. "Take a deep breath, explain the situation to me."
Sasha did her best to explain the night's events. Saying them aloud to another person made the event seem foolish. All this anger over something so simple. How could this really be happening? Now, she was afraid he would cause her bodily harm because of a simple request of silence and peace.
"Ma'am, where are you now?"
"I'm in the bathroom."
"Can he get in?"
"I don't think so."
"Ok, good. Just stay there. I have an officer on his way to your location now."
"What about my daughter? She's in her bedroom. What if he hurts her?"
"Is he mad at you or your daughter?"
"Me."
"Then he's not going to hurt her. The best thing you can do is stay where you are. An officer will be there shortly."
The operator had been correct. Less than five minutes later a patrol car had pulled into their driveway and the officer approached the front door. Sasha could hear Brent try to keep his composure as he answered the door and acted confused and surprised. From the bathroom, Sasha heard the officer call out for her. Quickly, she stepped out of the bathroom and approached the officer.
"Ma'am, are you OK?" He asked as she walked into the living room. She could feel his eyes fall on her cheek. Clearly, the mark was still visible. But Sasha remained silent and only nodded. With the police there, she felt foolish. Having them there was now only serving to embarrass her. She remembered wishing to take it all back. He would have calmed down on his own eventually.
“Mind if I talk to you outside for a moment, alone.” The cop looked at Brent after uttering the last word as if to accentuate his point. Don't even try to follow us, his tone said.
Sasha nodded and stepped past Brent nervously. There was a deep anger in his eyes. Of course, he had turned his head away from the officer to hide his glare. She would pay dearly for this later and she knew it. It had been a mistake. Once outside, the officer said, “Did he do that to you?”
“Yes, but it was an accident.”
“Ma’am, I’ve heard that excuse many times in my career. Never is it true. You can press charges, you know. We can take him in tonight and this can all be over.”
Sasha shook her head. “Can we just take him somewhere for the night? He’ll be better tomorrow, I know it. He just needs to cool off.”
The officer let out a sigh and watched Sasha intently. It was obvious he wanted her to press charges. She could almost feel him begging her to do so. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. To be honest, she was scared. Everything would change if he was hauled off to jail and that frightened her. Brent may have been a jackass, an alcoholic, and an abuser, but he provided. Sasha had not spent much time on her own and couldn't do much for herself. Without him, she would be lost. Somewhere in her subconscious, she knew Brent had molded her this way on purpose, though she would never admit it. Though, it didn't matter. He would get better one day. She had to believe he would. Things were tough right now, that was all. Money was tight. He was in line for a promotion at work. Once he got it, everything would improve.
“Are you sure? You really don’t have to stand for this. We can process him and take care of all of this tonight.”
Sasha shook her head again and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please, just take him somewhere for the night. We’ll be alright.”
His eyes dropped and the corners of his mouth curled with disappointment. He stepped back inside and instructed Brent to gather whatever belongings he needed. “If you have a place you can stay, I’ll take you there. You’re going to sleep this off. Understand?”
Brent nodded but Sasha could tell he was already plo
tting. There was a familiar and sinister look in his eyes. She would obey his every command when he got home. She would have to. This was all her fault, or so she felt. If only she had not been so stupid and asked him to stop bothering her.
The coffee burned her tongue and she snapped back to the present. Her memory had been so vivid and lifelike. Now, she touched the spot on her cheek where he had slapped her. She could almost feel it. She remembered the terrifying and helpless feeling of being trapped in the bathroom while Brent slammed on the door. It was like something straight out of The Shining. Worst of all, she remembered the feeling of being to blame. She knew better now, though. No longer did she blame herself for the abuse. Brent had done it all to her and, in the end, he got what he deserved.
Chapter Four
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sheriff Harrison said. He looked down at the small man who had reported the body inside Claire Shepard's home. Looking back up at the house, he shook his head.
“I couldn’t believe it either. Claire’s always outside watering her plants when I go for my morning run. I knew something was wrong when I didn’t see her. Then I noticed the wide open door and…” he trailed off.
“Who the hell would do something like this? Claire Shepard never hurt a soul.”
“I don’t know Sheriff. It’s awful. Nothing like this has ever happened here.”
“Alright, Mason. Why don’t you head home? I’ll see what I can make of this. Oh, and don’t tell anyone yet. Let me have a look around first. I’ll call a town meeting later this afternoon.”
“You got it, Sheriff,” Mason said, visibly shaken.
Sheriff Harrison removed his hat and held it by his side as he entered the home. His boot heels clicked on the wooden floor as he made his way towards Claire’s bedroom. There had never been a murder victim in Carlisle. He was not excited to see the first.
As he feared, it was a gruesome sight. Lying on the bed was the pale body of Claire Shepard, the woman who loved to bake cookies for her neighbors and always kept her garden fresh and lush. Reality had yet to set in for Sheriff Harrison. He was convinced he would wake up from this horrid nightmare any moment.
It took a few moments to gain composure. Eventually, Harrison worked up the courage to take a closer look at Claire’s body. He expected the body to come to life and offer him a cup of tea. Claire Shepard had always been the inviting type. Staring at her lifeless corpse seemed unreal. The gaping wound in her head was definitive, though. There would be no coming back for this woman.
Cause of death had been a knife wound to the brain, that much was obvious. Blood had been streaked on her cheeks to resemble upside-down crosses. It was disturbing and confusing. Sheriff Harrison looked everywhere for a murder weapon but found nothing. All he found was a solid black candle under the bed.
He couldn’t reach it with his arm so he hurried to the pantry and pulled Claire’s broom free. Back in her room, he lay on the floor and scooped it towards him. There was nothing particularly special about the candle other than the fact it was solid black. The wick was barely used. Harrison knew it didn’t belong to Claire. The old woman had always criticized others for keeping candles in the house. “You’re asking for a house fire,” she used to always say. His instincts told him the candle was important but he couldn't see how.
Realizing he should dust it for prints, he placed it down on the floor and hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances of finding the killer. He remained confident if there were prints from the killer, he’d find them. Of course, that was assuming the killer had not worn gloves.
There had never been a single murder in Carlisle since Harrison had become Sheriff. He was certain there hadn’t been any before that either. Sure, there had been some drunken bar fights, some unruly people, but nothing an overnight visit in a jail cell couldn’t fix. But murder? That was something wildly different. It was something Harrison had seen only in television shows and preferred it that way. Once word spread that Claire Shepard had been murdered, the whole town would be swept into a frenzy. He had to be delicate about the situation. There was no telling how the townspeople would react. Hell, he didn’t even know how to react yet.
He went about inspecting the body and everything in the bedroom. Nothing seemed to be out of place or missing. Robbery was ruled out. A revenge killing was unlikely, as no one had problems with Claire. She had no relatives in town and hardly had any money, so financial gain was, doubtfully, the motive. Whichever way Harrison looked at it, he could think of no reason why someone would want Claire dead.
Sheriff Harrison shook his head in confusion. The only motive which seemed to make any sense was one he was utterly terrified of. Someone in town had snapped. They had to be dealing with a psychopath, it was the only explanation.
He walked back to his truck and picked up the radio receiver off the passenger seat. Calling it in, he requested the local morgue send a van out for the body right away. The deputy was also called to the scene to help catalogue and take pictures. They were going to have a lot of work ahead of them.
Chapter Five
Her morning was spent organizing things into their proper places and folding up cardboard boxes. Tara played in the backyard while her mother worked to finish unpacking. Sasha envied her daughter. In spite of this dismal and dark life, she was able to play and enjoy life. Sasha, on the other hand, had a hard time seeing the silver lining even in the best of times. She could only hope her daughter didn’t develop the same disorder as her. Sasha wanted Tara to do whatever she wanted in life. There could be nothing holding her back. This depression would do nothing but. It was an awful disorder that pulled her away from so many wonderful things. Tara didn't deserve it. Sasha knew in her heart her daughter was meant for great things. But what parent didn't think that of their child?
The town would be having a festival later that night and Sasha felt torn. It would be a good idea to meet the townspeople and mingle a bit but she really didn't want to. Most people she knew never understood her reluctance to socialize. Some thought she was being dramatic. Others thought she was looking for attention. The truth was, a lot of social events gave her uncontrollable anxiety. Merely thinking about being in a room full of strangers made her chest hurt. It was a feeling she had lived with for quite some time and yet was still not used to.
The house was beginning to feel cold and dark. Sasha snatched up the candle and looked for a box of matches. She lit the candle and placed it in the center of the kitchen table. Staring at the flame as it danced in the subtle air flow seemed to ease her mind. Something about fire had always calmed her down. The mesmerizing flicker always sent her into a sort of hypnotic state.
She realized she could no longer hear Tara playing outside. She probably had tired herself out but Sasha decided to check on her anyway. There was nothing but an empty field and the forest behind the house. Sasha's heart thudded against her sternum.
She slipped on her shoes and dashed out the back door, calling her daughter’s name. Her voice echoed back at her through the trees. When Tara didn’t respond, she began to panic. She stared at the dense woods and wondered if Tara had wandered inside.
Without a second thought, she bolted across the yard and into the trees. She called out her daughter's name and tried to calm her shaking hands. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t lose her daughter. It would be too much for her to handle. There had to be a simple solution to the matter. Tara had merely wandered off to explore the woods. Nothing sinister. She hoped to God it was true.
“Mommy?” A small voice echoed.
“Yes, sweetheart. Where are you?”
“Over here.”
Tara did not sound distressed but it did nothing to calm Sasha's nerves. There would be no calm for her until her daughter was securely in her arms. She ran in the direction of the echoing voice and finally found her daughter. Tara stood in the center of a small clearing with an object in her hand. Barely noticing the object, Sasha ran to her daughter's side and wrapped her arms
around her.
“Mommy,” she said, pulling away. “Look what I found. Isn’t it cool?”
Sasha looked at her hand and spotted a peculiar knife. It looked like it was made of bone.
“Don’t touch that” Sasha said, snatching the knife from her daughter’s hand and tossing it back on the ground. “Come on, we’re going back home. Don’t ever run off into the woods like that again. I thought something terrible happened to you.”
“But mom-“
“Don’t talk back to me. Do as I say, understand?”
Tara nodded and they made the trek back to the house. Slowly, Sasha’s heart began to return to a normal pace. Her daughter had scared the living daylights out of her. She did her best not to seem mad at her. The last thing she wanted to do was push her daughter away but she had to understand the rules. She couldn't just wander off like that, especially in an unfamiliar town.
When they got home, Tara ran off into her bedroom and closed the door. Clearly, she was mad at her mother for ruining her day of fun. Sasha felt terrible but stood firm. Tara couldn’t run off like that until they knew this town better. Who knew what kind of people lived here? Maybe not now, but one day Tara would understand.
Across town, a small gathering of neighbors met inside a living room furnished with items from eras long past. This group met once a week, always meeting in the same home with the old furniture and dust covered seats. There wasn't much in the town of Carlisle and for these four individuals, gossip was all they had. Mostly they spoke of trivial things like which yards could use a good mowing and who was stealing newspapers off Old Man Brady's porch. It was a kid, no doubt about that. Probably some bored child whose parents were not doing a good job of watching but it was more fun to pretend it was something sinister.
