“She looks like she can handle herself,” grunted Drexel.
“Oh, before I forget, can you also run the name Dale V Sycke, see what comes up. Call me as soon as you get an answer. Numbers on the back.” Canopus slid over a worn FBI contact card.
“No need. Know that name well.”
Canopus, placed his hands on the desk and leant forward, “You do? Tell me. Troubled kid, right?”
“You are referring to Dale V Sycke, the legendary killer? From, I don’t the fuck know, 18th, 19th century. He was our very own Jack the Ripper. Killed a lot of women right here, cops too. Never caught, disappeared. If you know someone named after him, that's a cursed name for sure. Parents can be frigging cruel eh? I once knew a family, last name Michael, that called their kid Michael. His name was fucking, Michael Michael! First and last name! How much imagination did they have?”
Canopus pulled out his phone and googled the name ‘Dale V Sycke Bonners Ferry’. Nothing came up. “You sure about this? I can’t see it mentioned anywhere.”
Drexel tapped his nose, well it wouldn’t would it. Dale V Sycke was his real name for sure. But it wasn’t common knowledge, just known by the police at the time, I’ve done a fair bit of research myself at the library. I like to know the history of a town before I look after it, know all the skeletons in the closet. If I remember, he used an anagram of Dale V Syke, type in the Bonners Ferry Ripper or the name Skyclade, yeah that’s what he called himself, Skyclade. Weird frigging tales too. Lots of copycat killings throughout the years. Just take a look.” Drexel reached into a drawer, rummaged around and then handed Canopus a large file.
SKYCLADE.
MURDER AND ATTEMPTED MURDER IN BONNERS FERRY
SOURCE: THE ILLUSTRATED POLICE NEWS
DATE: SATURDAY APRIL 7TH 1898
On Wednesday morning at half past twelve a desperate attempt to murder a young dressmaker was made in Bonners Ferry.
Screams for help were heard emanating from Maidman street, a small thoroughfare lying midway between the Stoltz Docks and Normanhurst road, a couple of young women rushed up to some constables on duty outside the Untar Hotel and said that a woman was being murdered.
The two constables immediately ran to the house indicated in Maidman-street, and there found a young woman, named Verity Grant lying in the passage, bleeding profusely from a fearful wound in her belly.
A doctor of the Mile End Road was instantly sent for, who, after binding up the woman's wounds, sent her to the hospital, where it was ascertained that she was in a most dangerous condition.
She, however, so far recovered that she was able to state what had occurred, and gave a description of the would-be murderer.
It appears that she occupies both portions of the house, and was about to retire to rest, when she heard a knock at the door, and upon going there found a total stranger waiting, who demanded the whereabouts of a Debbie, adding that if she did not at once produce information, she had but a few moments to live.
Verity Grant replied she had never heard of a Debbie that resided in the house or in the street, the man then drew from his pocket a clasp-knife, with which he stabbed her twice in the belly and then carved a crude S deep into her skin. He then removed his belt and placed it around the windpipe of Verity. The man continued to speak to someone else, who Verity could not see, and then as if startled, immediately made off.
From the details of the man's appearance given by Wilson, the following will be found an approximate, if not a certain description of the would-be assassin. About thirty, height 5 ft, 6 inches, pale, freckled complexion, with fair moustache, dressed in dark coat, light trousers, and wide brimmed hat.
Detective-inspectors Wildy and Dillworth have charge of the case and are making every endeavor to ascertain the whereabouts of the missing man.
It is thought impossible that the injured woman will recover as the wound refused to heal.
Rose Bierman: a young Jewess, lodging at 9 Maidman-street made the following statement:-
"Verity Grant, the injured woman, is the occupier of the house, but at the time of the outrage she was under notice to quit. I knew Mrs. Grant as a married woman, although I had never seen her husband but knew of her to live with her mother.
In the evening, she came into the house accompanied by a male companion, but whether he was her husband or not I could not say.
She has often visitors to see her, but I have rarely seen them myself, as Mrs. Grant lives in the front rooms, her bedroom being just at the back, adjoining the parlor.
I occupy two rooms upstairs.
Well, I don't know who the young man was, but about midnight I heard the most terrible screams one can imagine.
Running downstairs, I saw Mrs. Grant, partially dressed, wringing her hands and crying, "Stop that man. He has stabbed me." Then she fell, fainting in the passage, blood pouring from her tummy.
I saw all that as I was coming downstairs, but as soon as I commenced to descend, I noticed a fair young man run to the front door. He was talking in earnest to himself, as if he was conversing with another. Then with a flick of his hand, the catch of the door unfastened, I believe he could have been the devil himself.
I don't know what king of wound Mrs. Grant had received, but it must have been deep. I should say, from the quantity of blood in the passage.
I don't know what I shall do myself with what has occurred here? If the Devil knows of this address, I am now going to remove myself to some other lodgings."
Further exploration of the dwellings revealed a woman in her 60’s that is likely to be Mrs. Grant’s mother, drowned in the bathtub, the letters S and K cut into her forehead and the word ‘skyclade’ written in blood on the kitchen wall.
Updated. In a strange occurrence Detective-inspectors Wildy and Dillworth were found deceased, the word ‘skyclade’ has been etched into their foreheads by a long thin instrument that points to a medical apparatus. Our thoughts and prayers are with the Detective-inspector’s families and kin.
MULTIPLE MURDERS IN BONNERS FERRY
SOURCE: BONNER FERRY POLICE DIST 22
DATE: SATURDAY APRIL 7TH 1988
November 1987 Ana Brent (36), moved her family from a tiny, cramped trailer in Quincy, CA, to Bonners Ferry. A Navy wife who'd been stationed around the country, she and her five kids had been kicked out of their Connecticut home by her abusive husband, Jim Brent, in 1979. They moved across the United States, visiting family and old neighbors before settling in Bonners Ferry, where they rented a small house her brother had just vacated. Despite Bonners Ferry being a run-down, low-rent railroad town long in decline, the kids had more room in the House and their yard was the forest, docks, and railroad tracks.
Times were hard, as they always have been, and Ana had to make ends meet with the $250 she received from the Navy (which just covered rent), food stamps and other social welfare, and the stipend she received for being enrolled in CETA, a federal education program of the era. Ana has been described as quiet, reserved, a woman who primarily kept to herself. An FBI document dated a month after the murders depicted her much as her neighbors had:
"She was not a fancy dresser and was best described by associates and neighbors as a loner. Brent had one close girlfriend, a female neighbour with the last name of Wiglow. Brent’s only known source of income came from her position as a CETA worker, wherein she was paid to attend school, the Bonners River Community College, where she was to learn a business trade. She was described as being a good student who studied hard and obtained good grades but who was also a loner and who did not participate in social gatherings such as coffee breaks. She had no other known source of income other than a $250 a month allotment check from the US Navy via her husband. Prior to her death, Brent had no local criminal record nor was she known to local authorities."
Ana Brent still managed to date with some frequency and while her romantic ambitions remain unclear, several of her boyfriends simply seemed at odds with her background and temperament. Religion
and drinking have been cited as reasons she broke off relationships, and while Ana was no teetotaler, she apparently didn't fancy too much of either. Ana was in a vitriolic and abusive relationship with a man shortly before her murder, climaxing in a loud argument in her front yard six weeks prior to the murders, filled with rage and coarse language. The name Debbie was heard many times in the arguments. It is unknown who Debbie is or was.
APRIL 7th 1988. After reports of more screaming coming from the house in the early hours, the police were called and broke down the door at 7.20am. In the front room of cabin 28 were three bodies. Closest and parallel to the front door, supine on the floor, was Wiglow’s corpse, her feet inches from the south wall and head nearest to the doorway. Inches away to her left lay a cheap steak covered in blood. Two feet away and parallel to Wiglow’s body lay that of Dana Berg, a friend who was sleeping over that night. The head was barely resting on the corner of a cushion which had been removed from the couch. Adjacent to Dana's body was Ana Brent’s, on its right side with the head crudely separated and left by the base of the couch and feet near Dana's left arm. Together the bodies entrails were laid out on the floor spelling the word ‘skyclade’. This has led to the belief of a ritualistic killing.
Wiglow’s hands rested on her abdomen, taped tightly at the wrists with several loops of white cloth medical tape. Her ankles were wrapped twice and tightly knotted with a white extension cord. The cord stretched neatly parallel to the base of the disturbed TV stand, then turned abruptly 90 degrees, leading to Dana's ankles, where it was loosely looped once and knotted. Around one of Dana's hiking boots was one loop of medical tape, and there was also half a loop of tape on the right boot, but the tape appeared to have been broken. Likewise, the tape around the wrists was broken, with the broken bands of tape connected only to her right wrist.
Ana's ligatures were, by far, the most complicated. Her wrists and ankles were bound with the narrow med tape relatively loosely. Over the tape on her wrists was a tight loop of electrical cord, knotted several times. Over that was another loop of stronger electrical cord, knotted and connected to a third length of cord which extended to and tightly looped around her ankles. Yet another length of wire superfluously tied her ankles together. The cord between her ankles and wrists was so taut, her legs and knees were drawn together, her severed head was gagged with a bandana and her panties, with several lengths of med tape applied on top of them. Her stomach had been stabbed multiple times, with her entrails spilt across the floor, adding to the word ‘skyclade’.
When Police arrived, a young man, no older than 30, with pale skin and fair hair, Approx 5.5, was standing in the center of the room. At first police felt that he was also a victim as he was covered in blood and seemed to be delusional, as he talked continually to himself, taking orders as if from an imaginary companion. It very quickly became apparent that the man was of interest with relation to the crime scene and was immediately apprehended. Unfortunately, the suspect disappeared from the police vehicle, when the vehicle was overturned at Bonners creek road. Reason for accident, unknown. Officer, Dori Samuelsson (37) Badge number 483H7 and Police office Joel Manfred (22) Badge Number 931K7 were both pronounced dead at the scene, the word skyclade had been cut into their foreheads. Suspect’s whereabouts are unknown.
Canopus looked at the crudely drawn image from the 1988 report. There was no doubt about it, the face shape, freckles, it was Vince. He showed the image to Drexel, who rubbed his chin, “Thought I recognized that little shit with your partner. You don’t disappoint. Like I said, when you are around, weird shit normally happens.”
“So, Vince is what? 200 years old at least? He was playing us from the start, must have been and now Keel is with this thing.”
“Looks like whenever he is around, two cops end up dead too, with a nice little memento on their foreheads.”
Canopus pulled out his gun and phone and headed for the door. “Dammit Keel, I knew he was trouble. But you had to bring him along. How could I have been so stupid?”
He dialled Keel. There was no answer. “Dammit!”
Drexel leaned back in his chair, “Relax man. They were heading to the morgue, right? Won’t get a signal down there, it’s like a goddamn bunker. But there’s a hardline.” Drexel picked up his desk phone and tapped in a number. He looked up at Canopus, “Huh. No reply. Sid might be at lunch or taking a dump.”
Reaching down he opened his desk drawer and pulled out a large gold magnum revolver, he grinned, “I’m like frigging Dirty Harry, aren’t I? Let’s go take this two hundred year old freak-kid down, like old times!”
“Right behind you,” replied Canopus. I really hope you know what you are doing Keel, he thought.
TWELVE.
“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” asked Sid as Keel poked the broken window frame with a pencil. She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t touched this, right?”
Sid shook his head, “No, saw it this morning, haven’t even told Drexel about it yet. Damn kids, they throw stones from boats at the window, try and climb up the cliff face too, I’ve seen their daredevil videos on YouTube. I’m sure they were trying to get in, record the occupants and upload it.”
“Look at the displacement of the glass. Vince, what do you see?”
Vince shrugged and leaned against the lone metal desk in the room, a large fan hummed, attempting to stir the stale acrid air into something vaguely breathable, “I can’t see any broken glass.”
“Exactly!” replied Keel, “Where is the glass? Well, I can tell you where, the other side of the window, see?”
Standing on her tiptoes, she peered through the small window, broken glass lay by the cliff edge, stuck against large wiry bushes.
“I get it,” said Sid excited, ‘the window was broken from this side.”
“Exactly 100% correct,” nodded Keel. “So, now the real question is, if you didn't break it, then who or what did? Show me these occupants.”
“Well, I’m surprised if it was them. They haven’t moved for weeks.”
“Moved? I thought that a was a cute word you were using to refer to the dead bodies, y’know as we are in a morgue, what the hell is an occupant?” questioned Vince.
“Oh of course there are dead bodies, in the cooling units, right there and there,” Sid pointed to the many larger metal drawers on the wall, “Around eighty actually. In fact, we’ve had to double up lately. The occupants are the other bodies that are down from the chamber door, behind you. I wouldn’t want to call them zombies - ”
“Please don’t,” interrupted Keel.
“Of course, I wouldn’t for a second. But…well, let me explain. They don’t eat, drink or sleep. They just exist. They don't respond to any external stimuli, though their pupils are alert, brain is active, they even have a pulse.” Sid walked over to the chamber door and punched a code into the keypad, a large beep echoed in the room and the keypad’s screen turned green.
Sid pulled hard on the chamber door, lights flickered in the hallway beyond.
“What’s the longest they have been here?” asked Keel.
“We have had twenty for over a month. They have changed over that time.”
“Do not enter that room,’ whispered the Red-girl in Vince’s ear.
Vince walked over to the walls and casually examined the many drawers, each one had a letter and a series of numbers.
Keel looked at Vince and then at Sid, “How have they changed?”
“Over time, it seems whatever condition they have, changed them into something quite horrific actually. I’m thinking of writing a paper on them, very fascinating.”
Keel chewed her lip. She was sure these occupants were possessed by shrouds and around 90% sure they were trying to escape too, the broken glass showed that. If they were possessed, then the changes Sid was mentioning were going to be similar to what she fought in the diner. They were going to be hungry too. Entering the room would only excite them and that would result in Keel having to fight them, a
lone. She looked at Vince who was staring at the morgue’s cold chamber drawers. He would be of little help. She pulled out her phone and thought about calling Canopus but there was no signal.
“Yeah, hard to get a signal down here. It’s the limestone walls and the lead paint I believe,” smiled Sid. He peered down the corridor to the occupants. “Are you coming? We are quite safe. They are all locked up.”
Keel looked at Sid, the door and the window. Something wasn’t adding up. If these occupants had smashed the window to try and get out, how did they open the door? The keypad only allowed it to be opened one way. Someone must have let them out and that could only be Sid or something else.
She looked at the cold chamber drawers in the wall. “Vince. Open a drawer.”
“Please respect the deceased, “replied Sid, “let’s go see the occupants, they are just down here.”
Keel pulled out her gun and pointed it at Sid, “Shut up. Vince open a drawer.”
“Which one?”
“Any one.”
Frowning, Vince choose a drawer at random and pulled on the handle. It opened surprisingly smoothly and so fast that he had to quickly move out the way to avoid getting hit.
“Forget that. The occupants are what we should be looking at,” said Sid insistently.
“What do you see, Vince?”
The sound of the Red-girl giggling filled Vince’s ears. Vince shook away the voice and looked down at the naked body of a large man in his fifties. He felt sick and looked away.
“Deep bite marks, covering the legs, arms and neck.”
“Try another drawer.”
Vince reluctantly pulled open another drawer, this time it was a young bearded man, he was still dressed but his cheeks were bitten away, purple flesh hang from the bone.
“Same.”
“You have been feeding these occupants the dead, haven’t you?” asked Keel calmly, gun pointing at Sid.
The Hive Page 9
