‘The Thing in the Shed’ by Jade B
The detective stood alone amidst the suburban neighbourhood. Houses of different pastels were decked in extravagant Halloween decorations. An assortment of glowing vibrant-coloured pumpkins, enormous, spindly spiders, gaunt skeletons, repellent witches, ghastly ghosts, layers of silky cobwebs, Midnight-black, flying bats, gaudy, bright blinking lights. Almost every garden was full of barrels overflowing with luscious ruby apples and tables completely covered with various Halloween themed desserts; candy apples, pumpkin pies, witch-hat cookies and ghost cupcakes. The scene was a model example of what every Halloween fan aspired for. Every aspect and miniscule detail of this festive set-up was impeccable- except for one crucial thing, there was no one there to enjoy it. No children trick-or- treating. No loud music or laughter from costume parties. No happy screams from immature pranks. The only sound was the wind’s screeches as it rushed past the trees and icy-cold pelts of rain that struck angrily against the detective's supple skin. The only sign of life was the occasional rapid shutting of curtains from the silent houses. The only thing keeping the detective alert was the cold which seemed to seep into his bones and gnaw ravenously at the tip of his nose, despite his beige long coat and black scarf. Taking a cigarette from his pocket, he looked up at the night sky, a concoction of midnight-blue and inky black illuminated by the moon, which loomed sinisterly over the houses. The detective reminded himself of the case for about the 10th time that night, he was here to investigate the disappearance of 4 children from this neighbourhood, 2 girls and 2 boys (all of them 16).He was to interrogate the main suspect- a middle-aged man who worked as a lawyer and lived with his 2 twin daughters, their mother newly dead. Then, he was to report back to the agency. He closed his eyes and exhaled, letting wisps of white smoke and all his nerves escape into the darkness of the night. Gathering his courage, he threw his cigarette in a bin and marched over to the yellow house next to the outskirts of the neighbourhood.
Anxiously, the detective rang the house's doorbell. He took his chance to survey the garden, no Halloween decorations, red poppies nestled in yellow grass and crunchy leaves an ombré of yellow, orange and brown. The only other thing was a wooden shed which stood at the back of the garden. It had no windows and a locked door. Suddenly, the house's door swung open, revealing a man with short, straight, salt and paper hair, wearing a blue polo and brown jeans, his skin as pale as a ghost’s. He smiled widely showing his perfect white teeth.
“Hello! How can I help you?” he glanced at the detective's name tag, “Detective Connan?”
“Good evening, Mr Vanderbilt, I’m here to investigate the missing children’s cases, I need to ask you a couple of questions,” Detective Connan replied.
“Of course!” the man exclaimed, “Please come in,” Mr Vanderbilt smiled again, yet his eyes stayed murky and dull.
Mr Vanderbilt led detective Connan inside the house, the floors were glossy wood and the walls covered in blue floral wallpaper. Pictures of landscapes from bustling cities to peaceful countryside lined the walls. One picture was a family one, 3 smiling faces in front of an orange tent- a man and 2 similar looking teenage girls with black hair and brown eyes. Near the entrance of the house, there was a room with a big piano and a picture of 1 of the girls. Detective Connan assumed this is where one of the girls did piano lessons - as he was told one of them played piano regularly. The detective was led past a set of stairs into the living room. He peered in to see a grey Cotton sofa and black tv, various decaying plants sat in corners of the room, as if they hadn’t been cared for in a long time. Dusty tall bookshelves were filled with a mixture of fictional and factual books- all an array of colours. The chandelier filled the room with a bright harsh light whilst large windows on the left wall revealed the blackness of the night. A brown table with scented candles, all completely out of wax was placed in front of the sofa, which Mr Vanderbilt now gestured Detective Connan to sit on. The detective sat down. Mr Vanderbilt sat next to him.
The detective took out his notebook and pen.
“So, “he began, “where were you on the 25th of October between the hours of six to seven o’clock?”
“At one of my daughter’s recitals,” the man replied, “she absolutely adores playing the harp,”
“The harp?” Detective Connan queried.
“Yes. The harp,” the man replied, in a slightly annoyed tone.
“I thought she played the piano,”
“Well you must be mistaken, “One of my daughters plays the piano, the other the harp.
The detective was told that one of Mr Vanderbilt's daughters played the piano and the other did ballet. There was no mention of a harp from his agency. He took note of this.
“ Ok sir, about the missing children, did you or your daughters have any relationship with any of them whatsoever?”
“No,” the man answered, “ I’ve only seen them at town gatherings.”
The detective wasn’t sure if this was true or not as he hadn’t questioned the rest of the neighbourhood. He would be sure to ask about that to the others on his suspect list. But he still had his suspicions.
“ I noticed you have no Halloween decorations,” Detective Connan said, “Not a fan?”
“Didn’t have time this year,” the man replied, “Busy with a case.”
The detective knew this was a lie, unknown to the public Mr Vanderbilt had been on leave since last week due to the death of his wife, which now that the detective thought about, it was odd that Mr Vanderbilt didn’t seem to be in mourning. Deep in thought, he glanced above the tv, where a picture of Mr Vanderbilt in a black tuxedo and red tie hung. He was smiling, showing his dimples and teeth tinged yellow. A sense of dread came over Detective Connan as he realised that the man he was talking to didn’t have dimples or slightly yellow teeth. He clutched his gun. But he didn’t have a chance to react as something heavy hit him hard on the back of his head. The detective fell onto the ground, the last thing he saw was a girl with long black hair and skin the same colour as her white dress, carrying a bloodied axe.
Detective Connan didn’t know where he was when he was when he came to, his gun was gone, his head pounded, he felt hot blood rush down his face, but he didn’t care about the pain. Instead, he was filled with embarrassment and shame at being in this situation. This was all happening due to his stupidity, he should have paid more attention to the man’s lies, he should have kept his cool instead of reaching for his gun upon discovering the truth about whoever or whatever the person who he was talking with was. But now wasn’t the time for self- reflection, it was time to figure out how to escape. The door was locked but glancing around the room, he saw a variety of garden tools placed on wooden shelves: axes, chainsaws, scissors, rakes and pruning shears. This room also had seeds and pots. From this he deduced he was in the gardening shed. Why the man would be stupid enough to put him there with a bunch of weapons he had no idea but right now that didn’t matter. The detective was free! He was smiling with glee when suddenly, he was hit by a stench so awful, so terrible, so repulsive that it caused him to gag in disgust. It was coming from 4 brown sacks in the corner of the room. The detective realised in horror what those sacks contained. Terrified, he uncovered one sack, revealing a body of a 16-year-old boy, the spitting image of one of the missing children. Its eyes were open and full of fear, its body was covered with blood, and its skin was the colour of candle wax, translucent so that you could see its blue veins. The detective stifled a scream. In one swift moment, he took an axe and broke the door down, running for his life. He jumped over the garden fence and ran straight for the woods, in fear that if he ran the other way he would be attacked by the man and the girl.
The woods were eerily silent that night, shrouded in opaque black and shadows from violent creatures. Trees moved erratically in the ferocious blaze of the wind. Detective Connnan sprinted as fast as he could, panting for breath with sweat forming on his forehead. By now, he had to be close to the station where he would be safe and could report all this to the agency. He stopped, only for a moment, to catch his breath. But that was when he heard the snap of a twig behind him. Frightened, he turned around to see the man smiling gleefully, a few meters away, an axe in hand, his eyes fixed completely on the detective. Detective Connan’s heart stopped beating for a second. Then he ran even faster than he had before. But the man was gaining speed. He was getting closer, closer and closer every single time the detective looked back. The detective's legs were starting to give out; his vision was starting to blur. For all he knew he had a concussion. He knew he couldn’t escape by running. There were two options: hide or fight. He changed directions, which confused the man. After a few minutes, he changed directions again and ran until he came across a large bush. The detective scrambled to it and hid. He steadied his heavy breathing and pinched his arm to keep alert. He realised he would fall unconscious soon; he had to seek safety now. He prepared to make a break for it when he heard something. Footsteps. Detective Connan didn’t dare to breathe. The girl who had hit him was staring directly at the bush, her eyes crazed and hungry for violence. The detective froze in complete fear.
“Found you,” the girl snarled, smiling manically, “And this time we’ll kill you.”
We? He thought as he prepared to run away. Suddenly, another girl identical to the first but in a pink tutu appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Unfortunately for the detective, she had an axe as well. He barely had enough time to scream, before both girls charged rapidly at him. Together, they battered the detective with their axes- strike after strike after strike until fountains of blood poured out of every crevice of his body. His face became an unrecognisable maze of bruises and knotted flesh. Detective Connan screamed in agony with all the strength he had left as hot pain swallowed his whole body. The screaming, the pain, the sound of flesh squelching and blood dripping seemed to last an eternity. Then, the screaming stopped. The girls stopped. The woods and neighbourhood were silent once again except for the howling of the wind and the drops of rain hitting the ground. The 2 demons dragged the mutated body back to the house, laughing hysterically all the way home.