This time, though, he twisted hard and managed to get his hand away from his would-be captor. Unfortunately, Stanley overestimated himself and, as he twisted, he lost his balance. It was almost in slow motion, the way he tried to regain his footing on the rock. His feet slipping out from underneath him made it seem as if he ran on the spot, but he was at an angle, and he couldn’t straighten. His feet went up and, with a sickening crunch, heard even over the wind and rain, the boy landed on his neck and it snapped.
The Butcher climbed down, his gaze trained on Stanley’s lifeless body. He was both elated and disappointed. He had wanted to feel Stanley’s pulse slow to a stop as his hands choked off life. On the other hand, the boy was dead and was now his toy and he could take his sweet time doing whatever he liked. The rain would wash away evidence, so it was perfect.
His itch would be scratched here in the forest on this rainy night.
He leaned down and pulled his knife from its holster around his lower leg. He ensured it was extremely sharp because he never knew when the perfect opportunity would present itself, like tonight, but he realised he didn’t have any gloves. He set his knife down on the rocks and stood up; he pulled his jacket off and then his shirt. Putting his jacket back on, he cut the shirt in two, wrapping his hands loosely to leave no evidence. He needed to work quickly, in case teenagers decided to use the forest for a quick Halloween romp.
Picking up his knife, he knelt on the body, wanting to leave as little evidence of himself as possible. He worked quickly, slicing through the muscle and sinew of the throat. Trying to cut through the bone was harder. He spent what felt like an eternity sawing his way through Stanley’s spine.
After a few hours, thankful the weather kept those teenagers away, he managed to separate the head from the rest of the body and set it aside. He sat Stanley with his back against the rock. He took the boy’s head and placed it neatly between his legs. The boy’s mouth was frozen in a silent scream and his tongue was sticking out.
He couldn’t resist. He knelt once more and pinched the tip of the tongue between his fingers, pulling it out slightly so he could wriggle his knife into the mouth to sever the tongue. He put his trophy in his pocket, admired his creation for a minute, and then took off in the direction opposite to the way he had come.
It took another hour before he reached the other side of the forest, on the outskirts of another town. If anyone followed his footprints they would have a hard time identifying him. Not only was he wearing common trainers, but they would think he came from this town. He was satisfied that he had covered his tracks sufficiently.
It must have been late because there were no children trick or treating, and most of the houses’ lights were off. He walked along the pavement quietly, his hand in his pocket, running his thumb over the tongue time and time again. The weather clearly sensed his happiness, for it stopped raining, giving him a respite from the downpour.
As he walked he inspected the houses to either side of him, looking for the one with the darkest front yard, and a tap. He found it after two blocks. The street lights were out on the block, so no one would see anything. He could barely make out the yard, but he could see a dark hosepipe snaking around a thin pole, which had to be the tap. He paused, glancing around before crossing the driveway. He turned the tap on softly and ran it over his shoes, washing off the mud caked around the bottom of his shoes. Once he got most of it off, he zipped up his jacket to keep out the cold and to hide the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt, the remains of which were stuffed in his other pocket.
He then headed towards the main bus stop, knowing the bus would take him close to home. A church group stood there, singing soft hymns happily. They were older people and he watched them, smiling at those who smiled at him but otherwise keeping to himself.
The bus pulled up and he allowed the elderly group to shuffle on, one at a time, before he followed suit, smiling at the driver as he helped an elderly lady to her chair. If the driver suspected he wasn’t part of this group, he didn’t let on and didn’t ask for payment. He was thankful; he didn’t think he could talk his way around catching a free bus ride without making the driver suspicious.
He sat with the old lady he had helped, listening to her natter on about her grandchildren. He nodded at the right moments, and even offered a few words now and then.
Soon enough, the bus had pulled into his neighbourhood. He looked around to make sure no one he knew would see him get off. He moved aside for the group and, before they could turn to say anything to him, he disappeared between two houses.
Luckily, his family was asleep when he arrived home, as he still had his shirt to dispose of, as well as the tongue in his pocket. He buried the rags of his shirt in the garden, under the hedge that lined their back wall. No one would ever think to look there.
The tongue was harder to dispose of. He wanted to keep it as a token, a reminder of his creation. Having it in his pocket seemed to keep the itch away and he felt, if he could touch it periodically, he could control himself and he might not need to satisfy the itch as often.
With a basic working knowledge of what he could use from his chemistry classes, he knew what to do, but didn’t have any formaldehyde. He couldn’t just stick it in the freezer because someone in his house might find it. He needed a better solution; he needed a way to keep it preserved. Silently, he rifled the kitchen cupboards, looking for anything that could possibly help, and the only thing he thought might work was the bottle of vinegar.
He pulled it out and set it on top of the counter. He then scrounged around, as quietly as he could, for an old container. It took a while, but he found an old school lunch box he didn’t use anymore. He poured the vinegar into the lunch box and then removed the tongue from his pocket. He placed it carefully into the sour liquid before topping up so that vinegar covered it. He inspected it for a moment before making sure the lid was on securely.
Taking it upstairs, he went to his room and closed the door. It creaked loudly and he held his breath. He listened, but all he could hear were the soft snores of his sibling next door. Nothing else in the house stirred.
Underneath his bed he lifted up one of the floorboards and placed the container there. Once he was sure it was secure, he replaced the floorboard and snaked his way out from under his bed. He undressed quickly and got into bed, his skin ice cold from the rain outside. He was sure he would have a head cold the next day, but didn’t care.
His itch was so satisfied he knew he was going to get a good night’s sleep for the first time in a long time.
Chapter 6
Kallista
Kalli came back once a year every year to visit her sister’s grave and leave fresh flowers on it. She came to town for one hour; to purchase flowers at the general store, travel to the cemetery, clean her sister’s grave, place her fresh bunch on it, say a few words and then left.
She could only do it once a year because it brought back the trauma of finding her sister’s body. Her chest contracted with the agony of heartbreak, she would break out in a sweat, and her heart would race.
After paying her respects, she returned to her car, and glanced out one last time towards the grave … only to see Robyn standing there. She would then drive away; it was the warning bell that her psyche couldn’t take much more.
She hadn’t been to visit her sister since moving back. Between working on the profile for her thesis and trying to get the house in some sort of liveable condition, she hadn’t found the time. She needed to, though, because working this case was giving her nightmares, no matter how much medication she took to help her have dreamless sleep.
Clearing the grave would help ease some of the tension in her system.
When she woke up from a fitful sleep on Friday morning, her first thought was to go for a long jog. It would ease her into the day she was about to have.
Her feet pounded the pavement through the idyllic neighbourhood. She never took shortcuts, never left the paths or main streets and always
ensured she was within sight of at least three people. The thing about profiling people like The Butcher was that one learned the how and where, and nine out of ten times it was because someone had taken a shortcut or walked in a secluded area. She was no idiot.
The forty-five minute run culminated in her arriving at her doorstep, covered in sweat and out of breath. Her muscles burned with the intensity of her run, making her feel better. All she needed now was a cup of coffee and a hot shower.
By the time she climbed into her car she felt mentally prepared to visit Tatum. She drove towards the general store and popped in for the flowers she wanted. She went to the cemetery and found a place to park.
At the grave she knelt, setting the flowers to the side. As carefully as a new mom would bath a baby, she cleared the remnants of old flowers off her sister’s grave and pulled out the weeds. Once clean, she picked up her fresh blooms and carefully laid them down, arranging them to look as beautiful as they could.
She remained kneeling, her heart heavy with despair. She stared at the ground, underneath which her sister’s body rested. She still thought of her as a whole person, the same Tatum she had grown up with, who she had loved and fought with. If she could prevent it, she didn’t think of her sister without her head, nor did she think of her body rotting in the ground. No, she liked to picture Tatum whole and smiling.
Fanning her hand near her face, she fought to stop the tears from flowing. She hated crying. Finally she looked up to force the flow to stop, and saw her standing across the graveyard.
Robyn was a few metres away, staring at her.
Kalli shivered. It was different today. Normally, she would see Skeleton Woman standing over Tatum’s grave, but this time she hovered over a different one. Kalli’s eyes narrowed and she stood up. While she was just having a psychological reaction to being at her sister’s grave, she wanted to prove to herself that Robyn wasn’t real, and walked towards her, determined.
She was a metre away, her eyes trained on Robyn, when the ground slipped out from under her and she fell face forward. She grunted as she scraped her hands on tree roots, but was thankful her head had missed the nearby headstone. Getting up, she dusted her hands on her jeans before remembering why she was this side of the graveyard, and looked up. Robyn was, of course, gone, but further down a young man visited a grave.
Embarrassed that she had fallen in front of him and had disturbed him, she swallowed and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The guy nodded, putting the flowers in his hands on the grave at his feet. “It’s okay, I was done anyway. Are you okay? That looked like a nasty fall.”
Kalli shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Nope, I’m okay thanks. It was nothing major.”
“Can I see? I have a first aid kit in the car,” he commented, coming towards her.
Kalli instinctively took a few steps back, nearly tripping again.
He paused, holding his hands up. “Okay, okay, don’t stress. I was just trying to help you.”
Kalli stared at him, the way his hair fell and the shape of his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel she knew him. He was too old to have been one of her school friends, but young enough to have been in school when she was here. She took a tentative step forward, staring at him intently.
“Do I … I’m sorry, you just look so familiar.”
He shrugged. “Plenty of people around here know of me, but few know me,” he commented, shoving his own hands into pockets.
A light bulb exploded in Kalli’s head and she asked, “Darren? Darren Blackwood?”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s me, and you are?”
Kalli took another step towards him, placing a hand on her chest. “It’s me, it’s Kallista. Kallista Metz,” she said, a little excited and fearful at the same time.
She clearly remembered the time that Darren Blackwood had broken into their house to get at Tatum, and the whole town had been sure he was the one killing the teenagers, but he had the perfect alibi when Tatum was killed - he was locked in jail.
Darren seemed surprised to see her and took a step back to give her a once over. “Good God, you’ve grown,” he commented.
“Ten years will do that to you,” she said, smiling. “I haven’t seen you since …”
“Since the night I broke into your house?” he offered, not missing a beat.
Kalli blushed slightly. “Yeah, I just … you want to grab a drink?”
It had dawned on her that Darren might have information about the case that she could use; her fear of him quickly dissipated as this awkward meeting turned into a possible interview.
Darren eyed her curiously before saying, “Yeah, why not. I’ll meet you at the diner across from the general store. Do you remember where that is?”
He offered her a smile, which she returned.
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll meet you there.”
“So you were just trying to get to Tatum to tell her your side of the story? To explain it wasn’t you?” Kalli asked, her phone beside her, recording the conversation.
Darren sipped his coffee and said, “Yes, but I also wanted to tell her that I had seen Robyn too.”
“Robyn, The Butcher’s victim, who Tatum never saw in her life until after Mr Barker Wild’s death, is the Skeleton Woman she claimed to have seen everywhere.”
“Yes, and I believe Robyn is an omen for the next victim The Butcher takes.”
Kalli jotted down some notes before sipping on her own brew. “Surely you know that ghosts aren’t real, Darren? I mean, Tatum was clearly having a psychological breakdown. She saw The Butcher, but her mind was too fragile to deal with it, so she conjured up the Ske– … Robyn as a way for her to deal with it.”
“But how would she have known exactly what Robyn was wearing?” he asked. “And more importantly, how would she have known that when she only saw the photo of Robyn’s decapitated corpse after the other murders.”
They both sat silently for a moment before Kalli leaned forward. “Unless she had seen it on the news? Or had heard about it or read about it somewhere else, Darren.”
Darren’s left eyebrow arched up and he rolled his eyes rather dramatically. “Come on, Kalli. We both know Tatum wasn’t interested in news or anything like that.”
“But she must have. What else could explain what she was seeing?”
Darren chewed on his lip for a moment before he reached into his bag, a rucksack he set at his feet when he sat opposite Kalli. He retrieved an A4 notebook from it and placed it in front of him. It was thick and Kalli could see there were newspaper clippings sticking out of the pages, and little, colourful tags placed to mark various pages. It appeared scruffy and well-used.
He placed a hand on top of it protectively and looked at her seriously. “I have been carefully recording everything I could since I was released. I need to prove that it wasn’t me, Kalli. I need to show this stupid town that I had nothing to do with those murders.”
Darren flipped the book open. “I have seen Robyn too, and I know she is trying to tell me something, but I just can’t figure out how to communicate with her.” He flicked pages, getting rather fanatical as he continued. “You don’t understand. The reason we can see Robyn is because we are connected to Tatum. She was trying to warn me that Tatum was next. But I don’t know who she is trying to warn me about now. There is going to be another murder, Kalli, and Robyn is trying to help us stop The Butcher.”
She watched him, her gaze raking over him as though trying to decide if he was certifiably insane or just suffering from trauma. She tapped her fingers against the speckled blue melamine of the table top; it was the only sound between the two of them for a few minutes.
“Look, Darren, I understand that you are searching for an explanation and I am sure there are others out there that think there is something more to this world than what we can physically see, but perhaps you should consider some trauma counselling? I got it and they explained a great deal to me, an
d it’s the reason I am so level-headed now and getting so far in life.”
She took out some money and left it on the table, standing up.
“Kalli, please, I can help you solve this case and clear my name!” he insisted, desperation in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Darren, but I am looking for cold, hard, tangible facts. I just don’t have time to go on a silly ghost hunt.” She reached out and touched his hand lightly. “Get some help, okay?”
With that, she walked out without a backward glance.
Back at home, Kalli made herself a fresh cup of coffee and then went upstairs to her profile of The Butcher. Staring at the photos already up, she set her coffee on a small chair and went to a box in front of a clear board near the window.
She rummaged through it and pulled out the photos from the murder of Stanley Mark, an eight year old boy who went missing one Halloween and was found two days later in the forest, his head severed from his body and his tongue missing. She stuck the photos up. Some of them were crime scene photos, while others were ones the police had canvassed for. Any photo that showed the direction Stanley had walked that night was of interest to her.
Mostly they were photos parents had been taking of their kids, with Stanley in the background. Kalli examined a few of them and noticed the boy’s tear-stained eyes and despondent disposition. She stuck those up in the order they were taken to create a timeline for Stanley’s movements.
Taking a closer look at the crime scene photos, she noticed that the police notes said it was possible the killer was from a town not far from theirs. In fact, one could get to Redwood by walking through the forest that separated the two towns. They noted that the killer wore generic shoes, untraceable, but he had been tracked to Redwood by the dogs.
The Butcher Box Set Page 13
