by Matt Shaw
Without any respect for the dead, he grabbed the mattress from the poorly-built frame and flung it across the room to reveal… some dirty underwear and a copy of ‘Playboy’.
“Damn it,” he said as he turned to the rest of the room. The room was surprisingly empty considering it belonged to the richest man; there was a small bed, one wardrobe and a desk.
“Well,” he said to himself, “it’s not exactly going to be in the desk!”
Like a man on a mission he crossed the room before feverishly flinging the doors open to reveal… Van Helsing?
Judge Reiger jumped back in fright as Van Helsing said, “The money’s not in here, Judge.”
* * * * *
Judge Reiger sat on the bed, his hands cuffed together, like a sulking child; caught with his hand well and truly stuck in the cookie jar.
“Who helped you?” asked Van Helsing as he paced the room. He loved this. The ‘honourable’ Judge Reiger finally caught out.
“You’ve got it wrong,” pleaded Judge Reiger, “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong? I’m sorry but I think having someone murdered for their money crosses into the territory of ‘wrong’.”
“I didn’t kill anyone.”
“I know you didn’t kill them. You didn’t kill them. You were in the safe-house for the night. I saw you. Which brings me back to my first question – who helped you?”
“No one helped me, you imbecile!” yelled Judge Reiger as he yanked his wrists back against the cuffs, hoping to break free.
“Let’s look at the facts,” said Van Helsing as he sat next to the Judge on the bed, “first of all you have Mr Simpkins murdered and then, when he’s out of the way, you break into his house to steal his fortune. It’s not looking too promising is it?”
“Wrong! I didn’t kill him and I didn’t have him killed. The only thing I’m guilty of is breaking in here to take his money. NOW LET ME OUT OF THESE!”
Van Helsing stood up and wandered over to the small window, looking at the town below with the few people, that dared to venture out on November 1st, all running around getting on with their daily chores (such as shopping, cleaning and popping out to grab a mobile phone top-up).
“I can have you hung for this!” said Judge Reiger when it was obvious that Van Helsing wasn’t about to let him out so easily.
“You won’t be able to do anything to me, or anyone else, when I tell the people that you killed Jeremiah,” muttered Van Helsing as he continued to watch the world below (I say ‘world’ but, in reality, all he really watched was a street. A rubbish muddy one at that.)
“I’ll tell them it was you! You have motive too. Everyone knows that you hate the monsters more than most. What’s to say that you didn’t kill Jeremiah yourself to frame the Freaks? With enough Normal’s all screaming for blood, it would give you the perfect opportunity to start a cull!”
Van Helsing turned back to Judge Reiger with a smirk on his face, “Like anyone would believe you. You don’t have much popularity at the moment. In a town of a good few hundred people, you couldn’t get one vote for mayor? At least I have the trust and respect of the people.”
As previously explained to you; Mayor Cromwell was murdered. Well that wasn’t explained to you earlier – instead you just knew that he passed at an untimely hour which basically means he popped his clogs before his alarm clock was due to go off; the reason being – he was murdered and here is a good a time as any to explain what happened to poor, old Mayor Cromwell.
Mayor Cromwell was found dead; murdered to be more precise – his body found with a Judge’s anvil next to his dented noggin (head).
People knew it was Judge Reiger. His motives were pretty damned clear. He had always been power hungry. When he moved into the town, the first thing he did was to make himself Judge. After becoming Judge he soon realised that he could get more power still by becoming the Mayor and so he (allegedly) bumped off Mayor Cromwell. With Mayor Cromwell out of the way, he hoped that a democratic vote would make him the new Mayor – not that he would stop being Judge. Instead, he would make himself Mayor-Judge Reiger and take home two pay packets.
The problem was that the people were too scared to vote for Judge Reiger. They didn’t want him to be the new Mayor. They didn’t want him to be the Judge either but it was too late to change that. Those that voiced their concerns were quickly executed over a silly, little crime such as ‘crossing the road and blinking too much.’ Because they didn’t want him as Mayor they didn’t vote for him, but they knew that if they voted for someone else they would, again, be executed for going against him and so, the job remained vacant. The title of ‘Mayor’ was also the reason that Judge Reiger was trying to steal the money of the late Jeremiah Simpkins.
“Look, this is stupid,” said Judge Reiger as he tried a different approach, “we can sit here all night pointing the finger at each other but it isn’t doing any good. We all we know it could have been a legitimate kill! Jeremiah Simpkins was never going to survive the competition no matter what he bragged. He was fat, lazy and unfit. He died. Is it tragic? Yes. But it happened. That’s what the competition is about. I just came here to get the money. I thought, if I had the money I could bribe people to vote for me to become Mayor. That’s it. There’s nothing more sinister to it than that. Nothing!”
“You want to bribe people to vote for you?”
“Yes, that’s it. I swear. Now how about you take these things off me, take the money with me and we’ll give all the damned money to charity and forget the whole thing?”
“The thing about a town full of monsters; there’s no shortage of suspects,” said Van Helsing as he pulled the handcuff keys from his pocket. “It comes to something though, that the first suspect is a Normal.”
Van Helsing walked over to Judge Reiger and took the cuffs from his wrists before sliding them back into his pocket.
“Thank you,” said Judge Reiger, rubbing his wrists, “now what charity did you want to give the money to?”
“The money’s not here,” replied Van Helsing.
“What? Then who has it?”
CHAPTER THREE
THE LIFE
(AND DEATH)
OF THE ‘MUSIC MAN’
HERR MONIKA was a German exchange student who liked Transylvania so much that he never returned home to Brazil when he was supposed to. Just because he was a German exchange student, you shouldn’t assume that he originally lived in Germany. His parents had moved to Brazil when he was young but he was, I promise, born in Germany. I suppose you could call him a German-Brazilian exchange student but I believe that would just confuse the issue. If anything, perhaps I should have simply lied to you and said that he did live in Germany after all – but I am trying to keep this book completely factual for you.
Anyway, getting back onto the point – he didn’t return home when he was supposed to; instead he simply stayed behind and set up a music shop having been financed by Jeremiah Simpkins who believed the town needed someone as musical and talented as Herr Monika. Using some of his inheritance, Jeremiah purchased a large shop for Herr Monika in the centre of the town where he would be able to sell instruments, music sheets and give lessons to people who wanted to learn how to sing, read music, play instruments or cook chickens (another one of Herr Monika’s many talents).
Despite Jeremiah’s generosity (with regards to setting up Herr Monika’s business), Herr Monika always charged Jeremiah top whack for his lessons. Lessons, by the way, that Herr Monika thought were pointless as it was painstakingly obvious to all those that heard – Jeremiah couldn’t sing. Herr Monika didn’t even charge Jeremiah the normal rate. In fact, he charged him more than treble the going rate. This wasn’t because he didn’t like him (for he was grateful to his business founder); he charged all the rich people more than the ‘normal rate’ (which was always unadvertised so they would never see that he was taking too much money from them). Before you start thinking that Herr Monika was
a nasty, money-grabbing git – hear me out. He charged the rich people too much money because he was giving his lessons away completely free to the poor people who would, otherwise, be unable to have any and this just wasn’t acceptable to Herr Monika. He wanted everyone to be able to enjoy music and he figured that the rich people could afford it anyway. They certainly never questioned the rates he charged and the poor people, who liked the idea of the normally-tight rich folk paying for their lessons too, never let on what was going on or how they were ‘affording’ the fees.
Admittedly the rich people often wondered how the poorer people were affording the lessons but they never asked; simply because they were far too important to socialise with the poorer folk.
Paying a lot more than the other rich folk, Jeremiah wondered, more than others, how the poor folk paid for their time in the classroom. If it wasn’t for the fact that Jeremiah was already dead – some may even come to the conclusion that he discovered what Herr Monika was up to and killed him in a fit of rage. That’s not the case though, Jeremiah is dead and he certainly didn’t rise from the grave to kill Herr Monika because of his charitable deeds. Jeremiah was dead (still) and Herr Monika was to be the second victim.
* * * * *
Herr Monika didn’t know why he bothered opening his little shop up on 1st November. Not many people bothered to venture out the day after the annual competition. Most preferred to stay in their safe little houses until the Corpse Collectors had completed their rounds of picking up the competition losers (or at least the bits of the losers that they managed to stumble across).
Being a Corpse Collector wasn’t the best job in the world (or town) but it did pay well due to the risks involved. Sometimes some of the corpses were known to suddenly spring up and attack them when they were within biting distance. Other times, whatever killed the corpse in the first place could still be close by (more worryingly) still hungry and, on rare occasions, the Corpse Collector’s could simply fall down an open mine shaft – something that happened to poor Gary Hobbins.
The job of the Corpse Collector was, putting the dangers to one side for a minute, simple enough and fairly self-explanatory; walk around the town and scoop up any competition losers before their rotting smell filled the air of the town. They were paid the original, high rate plus a little bit extra per corpse brought back to the graveyard.
It was then the job of the Corpse Hacker-Upper to chop the bodies up and drop them in the pre-prepared holes before filling them in again.
Normal people (like you and me) preferred to remain in their houses so they didn’t have to see dead bodies or, worse, smell them. Once the bodies were collected the Corpse Collectors would then run up and down the streets, on horses, spraying cans and cans of Air Wicks Air Fresheners (Historians believe this is what started the hole in the ozone layer).
If you have ever smelt a rotting person then you will understand that this is a required task for they really do stink. I was fortunate enough to smell a dead person once (someone that I cared about) and I can honestly say that it’s a smell that remained with me ever since. By that I don’t mean that I rubbed their scent all over myself whilst singing a merry ditty. I just mean that, on occasions, I can shut my eyes and get a scent of that corpse-like smell all over again even when there isn’t a dead person nearby (that I am aware of anyway).
Business was slow every November 1st. Not just for Herr Monika, but for everyone – other than the hardware store of Appleton Street that sold Air Wicks Air Fresheners and mobile phone top-ups. Still, every year Herr Monika continued to open the shop hoping that fortunes would change and customers would venture in for their daily lessons. It wasn’t as though he had anything better to do anyway which is a shame because, if he did have something better to do, he probably wouldn’t have died.
“Come in! Come in! Do come in!” sung Herr Monika to the stranger at the other side of the shop’s door. It was closing time for Herr Monika but he didn’t care. There was no way that he was going to turn away the fourth customer of the day just because he wanted to get home early and watch ‘Neighbours’; not the television show that we all know and love for that didn’t exist back then – he just simply enjoyed watching his neighbours. He even had a special telescope that helped get a clearer picture of what they were up to.
He watched as the silhouette of the stranger, on the other side of the glass door, looked from side to side before turning the round handle.
“Come now! Don’t be shy! Everyone’s welcome here!” Herr Monika continued to sing. An annoying habit for people, such as me, who don’t like being sung to but Herr Monika liked to sing to everyone. He believed everyone should have music in their lives.
The door opened and in came the stranger who… remained a stranger. Herr Monika had never seen him before, which was a shame because then we would have known who the killer was and wouldn’t have to read the rest of this book.
“And what can I do for yoooou?” sung Herr Monika.
The stranger didn’t speak. He simply moved into the musical instrument aisle of the shop and started looking around.
Herr Monika wasn’t put off by the rudeness of the stranger though, “If you’re happy and you know it – clap your hands.” He clapped his hands. The stranger did not.
The stranger stopped next to the piano wires and picked something up. Herr Monika tried to make out what the stranger had but the store’s dim light made it hard to see.
“And what have you found there, my good friend?” sung Herr Monika hoping for a little conversation – something to break the ice which, so far, looked pretty impenetrable.
The stranger said nothing but simply turned and approached Herr Monika. Herr Monika didn’t notice that he was gathering pace; instead he tried harder to see what was in the stranger’s hand.
Herr Monika didn’t close the shop that night.
* * * * *
“AAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh,” screamed Mrs. Rouble before pausing for air. “AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….” She continued before running out of voice again. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHH…” another pause.
It was early in the morning and no one knew how long Mrs. Rouble had been screaming for. They knew she was screaming but they didn’t have a stop watch. It’s a shame though because, if she had been timed, then she probably would have got into the ‘Guinness Book of Records’ – one of her childhood dreams for some strange reason.
The other reason no one really paid attention to her was because she was stood in Herr Monika’s music shop. Herr Monika didn’t close last night and the stranger didn’t either – meaning the sign still read ‘open’ and the door was unlocked.
Mrs. Rouble went to Herr Monika’s at the same time every day for her usual free music lesson (she was a pauper from the East End) – or ‘screeching lesson’ as some of her harsher critics liked to describe it.
“AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!” she continued.
People passing by tried guessing the song but gave up when their ears began to bleed and simply blocked her wailing out.
Rumour has it that it was nearly three hours later when people twigged that she was actually screaming and not singing when she managed to yell, with the last of her dainty, little voice, “He’s bleedin’ dead!”
Soon enough a crowd began to gather to see what the commotion about. We already know what the commotion was about
though. Herr Monika was dead.
By the time Van Helsing arrived, having been fetched by one of the gawpers, Herr Monika was slumped over the shop counter in a small puddle of blood – two small holes in the side of his neck.
“Oh, Mr Helsing, who would do such a thing?” squeaked Mrs. Rouble who’s voice had well and truly buggered off now.
Van Helsing didn’t know who would want to kill such a friendly, giving man but he did know what would want to kill him.
“Desmodus Rotundus,” he muttered to himself (although many people also heard him).
CHAPTER FOUR
OUT FOR THE COUNT
November 2nd
Dear Sheriff,
Apologies for leaving the music teacher to go to waste; I had a taste and he wasn’t quite as good as he looked from a distance. I do believe he may have past his sell by date before I took a chunk.
Fondest Regards.
