9 Tales Told in the Dark 23

by 9 Tales Told in the Dark

  “Thomas?” Megan asked.

  If this were a horror movie that she was watching, she would be screaming at the girl to get out now. But it wasn’t, it was real. She forced her body to turn away from the sight of her fiancée. His eyes reflecting the fear and pain of his last moments. His hands cupping with his own teeth, that horrible smile plastered on his face. Blood staining his new work shirt she had given him days ago. Smile written across his newspaper in blood.

  “Megan.”

  Jane, Megan thought grabbing a knife from the counter top while listening to Jane’s inhumane laugh. She was here.

  “I’ll kill you, you bitch.”

  Megan turned around, several flashlights and guns now facing her direction.

  “Drop the knife,” shouted a voice Megan had heard before.

  It was Detective Marcus, the cop that was looking after Jane Does case. The work girls had all pined after him. His blue eyes and dark hair enhancing his already handsome features.

  “She did it,” Megan cried.

  He looked at her for a moment with such pity before nodding towards two cops who took the knife out of her hands while the other hand cuffed her.

  “Megan Smith you’re under arrest for the murder of Betty Davis, Thomas Lane, and Cindy Law. You have the right to remain silent any information you wish to say can be used in court as evidence,” Detective Marcus stated.

  Megan turned her head around and looked at him. Her lack of sleep now impairing her hearing.

  “Cindy? That’s impossible she died when I was thirteen in a car crash,” Megan stated.

  It was the most awful day she remembered. Cindy had taken her mother’s car and dived it off a bridge. The only thing the police found were…

  “Teeth.”

  It didn’t make sense. The police told her that it would be impossible for someone to survive. Even if they had, they would have been in a vegetative state their whole lives. Megan’s body now shook violently, her head spinning from lack of proper sustenance and sleep.

  “Apparently, she beat the odds and survived, most likely staged her own death. Ran away and was then found here and institutionalized until she broke out three weeks ago. We matched her DNA with their records. DNA doesn’t lie Miss Smith.”

  Megan sat on the cold seat they had placed her on in the interrogation room, like the ones you see in Law and Order television show. Her mind reliving the last few hours, trying to comprehend the information that Jane Doe was Cindy. Her best friend for seven years and yet that woman who would now be given her identity back didn’t resemble any part of Cindy that Megan had grown to know. No scar on her chin from when she accidently cut herself when she was thirteen or right mole under her left eye. Cindy had become distant and troubled in the last few months before her supposed death. She dived into the world of drugs and alcohol for reasons she wouldn’t let Megan understand. Megan’s whole body tensed watching the two-way mirror when she heard someone else breathing in the room. Looking across the table, she tried not scream when she saw Cindy across from her. Her cold hands now clasped onto Megan’s wrists tightly.

  “Cindy?”

  “Cindy can’t come out to play, but I’ll play with you.”

  “Who are you? What did you do to Cindy?”

  Cindy threw back her head, laughing, “someone who you finished playing with her, now it’s your turn.”

  Suddenly the door to the room flew open, Megan was about to warn them to run when she turned to face the empty seat.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  “No one,” she lied, answering Detective Marcus.

  He sat opposite her, putting down a plain vanilla folder.

  “Why did you kill them?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “You found out that Cindy was alive and was angry she left you. Weren’t you best of friends?”

  “I didn’t kill her,” Megan stated, “I didn’t even know she was alive until you told me.”

  “Betty Davis,” he stated, flipping the folder open, reviling images of her mangled face.

  “I didn’t do it!”

  “Thomas.”

  “I loved him,” she yelled.

  “You were caught at the scene of your fiancés murder.”

  “Please it’s not me its Cindy. I know this sounds crazy and it does to me as well but believe me when I saw it’s something supernatural,” she whispered.

  Megan closed her eyes, the lights in the station had started blinking on and off. Megan’s eyes widened in horror watching Cindy appear closer to Detective Marcus with each flickering of light until she was mere inches away from him. She was about to scream when she heard the door swing open behind her. Turning to see it was a policeman. Detective Marcus slipped outside the room leaving the door open a crack so Megan could hear their muffled talk when the door suddenly slammed shut. Megan’s throat started to tickle causing her to start frantically cough. She could hear the detective banging furiously on the door. Megan felt inside her mouth grabbing something that felt slimy. Gripping hold of whatever it was whilst gasping for air. Finally pulling it out she took long deep breaths studying the long piece of string she held with that of teeth hung on it. Carved on each one was letter forming the word J-E-R-E-M-Y.

  Not noticing when the door swung open and Detective Marcus stood looking around the room.

  “Come play with me.”

  Detective Marcus asked Megan, “Who is that?”

  “Megan…”

  Detective Marcus stood in front of Megan who was still holding the string of teeth. Detective Marcus stared horrified at it.

  “What is that?”

  “My brother’s teeth,” she said, the teeth disintegrating into ash. The detective now looking like Megan had the first time she saw Cindy in her nightmare. How she wished it was.

  Megan was escorted back to a cell, not long after her worst feels were confirmed. Jeremy had been found like the others, all her family now gone. With no tangible evidence, she was released, calling one person she knew could potentially help.

  “Amanda.”

  Megan wept into her arms, knowing she had made the best phone call.

  “Thanks Amanda. I didn’t know who else to call,” she said, wiping her tears.

  They passed the brunt of the police station, Detective Marcus briefly making eye contact with her before resuming his paperwork. She had been warned not to leave town. She was certain even if she tried, it wouldn’t help her.

  Megan stood pacing up and down around the small apartment. Amanda had gone to work and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours. A wave of thirst came over Megan who walked over to the fridge and poured herself a glass of water. Placing the water back in the fridge she accidently turned too fast and knocked over some papers. Bending down she picked them up stopping when she came across one. Scribbling down a note to Amanda, she grabbed a coat and dashed out onto the quiet streets.

  Megan stood in front a pink florescent sign, Psychic Louisa. Looking at the paper she had taken from Amanda’ she confirmed it was the right place. It looked like the kind of place that screamed scam. Taking a deep breath, she walked in. A little bell rang, announcing her arrival. The shop empty.

  “Hello,” Megan shouted, slowly walking forward.

  Amanda had bragged about this place ever since she had known her. Megan being the non-believing type always politely declined to visit it with her. Megan stepped forward pushing open the strands of beads that were hanging down from the main doorway. It looked like a typical psychic room, a round table, crystal ball, and mountains of candles. Megan traced her finger along the red tablecloth, stopping as she considered looking at the crystal ball.

  “It’s for show mostly, it’s amazing how many customers you lose without one.”

  Megan turned around half expecting to see a young lady, only to see the opposite. This lady looked to be at least eighty. Grey hair, wearing glasses and a dyed colourful dress.

  “Your Amanda’s friend,” she stated, �
�the non-believer.”

  “How?”

  “How do I know? Well for one you’re wearing her clothes.”

  Megan laughed.

  “What’s your name hon?”

  “Shouldn’t you be able to tell me?”

  “I’m not a mind reader hon.”

  “Megan.”

  “You came for answers Megan.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Ten minutes later Megan was watching Louisa throw some dice that had letters on them on the table.

  “Everyone has their own way of communicating. This is mine. Ready?”

  Megan nodded, watching Louisa throw down the dice. To her they were mumbled words but to Louisa she saw something.

  “You played with a Ouija board?”

  “It says that?”

  “No usually people do either a séance or Ouija board. You look like a board game girl. Cindy ring a bell?”

  “My best friend we played it once together.”

  “Honey once is all it takes.”

  Another roll.

  “It worked.”

  “No, it didn’t my brother was playing tricks on us, we thought it had.”

  “No honey I’m telling you, you did.”

  Megan’s face went white.

  “What?”

  Another roll.

  “What is it?”

  “What happened to the board?”

  “Cindy took it back to school.”

  “No. She played with it again and again until this thing devoured her.”

  “No, she told me she got rid of it,” she said, sobbing.

  Another roll.

  “She couldn’t get rid of it, so she plunged herself off a bridge. When that didn’t work, it forced itself in her,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s looking for a new host. Its feeding off you, making you weak.”

  Another roll.

  “She tried to help you, to warn you but it was too strong.”

  “Who?” Megan cried.

  “Betty?”

  “Betty, she was a patient of mine. But she was in a coma?”

  “Only her physical body was paralyzed, her spirit was awake.”

  Megan was now a wreck, Betty Davis spirit had tried to warn her to save her. Everyone was dying because of her.

  Another roll.

  This time Megan saw what it was as clear as day.

  “Edward Jone,” Megan repeated, looking up to see Louisa’s wide eyes.

  “Run,” she said, through pursed lips before an invisible source twisted her neck.

  Megan now saw the shadows of Cindy behind the bead curtains. She wanted to run but she was petrified. Then she felt a large hand grab her shoulder and pull her forward. Ready to attack she looked forward staring into the face of Detective Marcus.

  Detective Marcus guided Megan out of the store, both of them looking back when the small shop burst into flames swallowing it whole.

  “Are you okay?” He asked, Megan could hear the fear in his voice.

  Megan nodded, her whole body shaking as her mind pulsated with the information, “What were you doing? Were you following me?”

  “I needed answers. I traced your cell.”

  At one point if someone had said they had tracked her cell she would have gone off her nut. Not today, she was glad that he had been and she knew how to give him answers.

  “We need a computer.”

  Thirty minutes later and Megan sat next to Detective Marcus at the Boston university library, open at all hours for students. He had called in the fire as an anonymous tip, Megan explaining everything she knew. Her guilt over Louisa’s death unbearable. What had she and Cindy brought into this world? She thought, tears streaming down her face thinking about all those lost. How had she not known Cindy was crying out for help all those years ago? Megan thought she was just going through some stuff due to her parents’ divorce.

  “Edward Jone,” Marcus said. He had told Megan to drop the detective title.

  Megan nodded looking at the old newspaper article he had brought up onto the screen. It was dated back to the 1800s.

  Dentist of Death

  Edward Jone, 65-year-old local pioneer and one of Boston’s most prestigious entrepreneurs has been charged with six counts of murder and torture. Ranging from children of five to women and men of all ages. Sheriff Andy Weir on the case stated that it was the worst cases he had ever seen. Sources stating that his victims were found their faces horribly disfigured. Only two young children were found alive later to have later died from sepsis. Witnesses say Mr Jone opened fire on the Sheriff forcing him to defend himself.

  “That’s who we brought back all those years ago, what’s now got Cindy.”

  “Look at this,” Marcus said, scrolling down the news article.

  Right down the bottom of the page was a small article.

  Local girl Annabelle Conner’s states she talked to murderer Edward Jone

  “Annabelle Conner’s on a dare from her friends played alone with a Ouija board on the 12th of September 1927. She states that she had contacted the late Edward Jone whom had murdered and tortured numerous counts of men, women, and children some 90 years ago. Scared she ended the conversation on the popular Ouija board, determined that she felt the pure evil when she did so. Ms. Conner’s now suffers from psychological delusions and remains under the care of doctors at Boston Mental Health Home.”

  “We need to find her,” Megan said.

  A few minutes later Marcus and Megan were seated in his car heading for hopefully more answers. They arrived at a large white house just outside of the Boston city limits. It was late but Megan didn’t care. The ride had been silent, Megan half expecting to be bombarded with questions. To be honest she was thankful that someone was there with her.

  Marcus knocked twice on the wooden door, his detective badge in his hand. The two of them waited for what seemed like forever when an elderly lady dressed in a pink bathrobe answered the door.

  “Annabelle Conner.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Detective Marcus and this is my associate Miss Smith. We would like to ask you a few questions regarding something I’m afraid you might not want to bring up.”

  “Edward Jone,” she belatedly said.

  “How do you know?” Megan replied.

  “You looked like I did when I felt him.”

  Tears streamed down Megan’s face. Marcus and her followed Ms. Conner into the lounge room to where bright and colourful furniture and wall paintings decorated the room.

  “Please call me Annabelle. Tea?”

  “Please,” Megan and Marcus stated at the same time.

  Not that either one of them wanted it but when one turns up on a 95-year-old door step in the middle of the night it was the polite thing to do.

  “Sorry to wake you Annabelle.”

  “Dear I haven’t slept since I was a girl.”

  Annabelle carried the tea over in a china tray, setting it on the wooden table. Megan and Marcus each took a teacup and saucer, Megan placing hers down after a quick sip.

  “Have long have you lived here?”

  “50 years it’s been my home. Ever since, I got out of the nut house. My parents were ashamed and embarrassed of me. They brought this place for me so well I wouldn’t have been seen with them. Worked at the library for 40 years, best job I ever had.”

  Megan smiled slightly, “they didn’t believe you?”

  “Only my childhood dog believed me, Toto,” she said, laughing. Although Megan could see the pain in her eyes.

  “I’m so sorry”

  “My own stupid fault.”

  “My mother would say she had the sight, said I had it too. I never believed her,” Marcus said, looking so sad.

  Megan now knew the reason why he had helped her, he felt guilty for not believing his mom.

  Annabelle patted Marcus’s hand briefly.

  “Did it get better?”

  “Fun
nily enough it did. I remember the exact day, May 2nd, 1989. It was like a huge cloud was lifted. I still have the horrible nightmare and anxiety but if it wasn’t for that weight lifted I would still be in that nut house,” she replied.

  Megan’s stomach dropped.

  “What is it?” Marcus asked.

  “That’s the day you played with it?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Tell me what exactly you did.”

  Megan repeated the story watching Annabelle listen while nodding her head.

  “We thought it was a stupid game. Why is he doing this?” Megan sobbed.

  “He wants to kill. I felt it. It’s like an itch he has to scratch.”

  “How do we stop him?”

  Darkness suddenly engulfed them, the sound of windows smashing in all directions made Megan cover her face with her hands.

  “Annabelle, Marcus?” Megan shouted, listening to glass crack beneath the soles of her shoes when she stepped forward.

  Taking her phone from her pocket, she pressed the key pad steadying her breath so her hands stilled enough to turn on the flashlight application. Breathing a sigh of relief when the lights turned back on, she edged forward when she cried out of loud. Not caring about the glass that dug into her knees when she bent down to hold Annabelle. She had been moved to sit upright in a recliner chair. Her neck twisted, her eyes not filled with pain but peace. Marcus now beside her, his forehead bleeding.

  “I’m so sorry,” Megan cried.

  The smell of smoke entered her nostrils bringing her attention to the flames that now began to overcome the house. Marcus took Megan’s right arm dragging her away. Not before she tugged at what was clung tightly in Annabelle’s other hand, an envelope. Put onto the lawn by Marcus who was like Megan, coughing violently due the smoke inhalation, noticing that the fire had brought the attention of Annabelle’s neighbours. Both dived in his car, Megan tearing open the envelope that Annabelle so tightly clutched too.

  “What is that?”

  Megan looked up holding what was so valuable, wiping ash from her face.