Page 26 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The cottage was exactly what I'd expected. One bedroom, bathroom, a small kitchen and a living room centred around an old stone fireplace. Nothing fancy. I walked around the house once more before unpacking.

Checking the windows, locks, back door, sightlines. It was a habit. Satisfied, I dropped my keys into a ceramic bowl on the counter and opened the refrigerator.

One bottle of water, well that’s dinner. I twisted the cap free and took a long drink. Tomorrow I'll buy groceries. My phone buzzed against the counter.

Canine Transport Services

Delivery updated: Between 8:00 a.m. and 9:00 a.m.

I looked toward the folded dog bed leaning against the living room wall.

"You'll hate the drive," I muttered.

"But the yard should make up for it."

Silence answered. The house still felt borrowed. I looked toward the archive box waiting on the kitchen table. One more look. I sighed.

"Fuck it."

I spread the photographs across the table again. The porch light reflected softly across the glossy photographs. My notebook lay open beside them. A single word stared back at me.

When.

Every disappearance, must have had a time of the disappearance, must have been in the dark but why did no fucking cameras seem to be working between that time. Coincidence? Maybe. I didn’t fucking believe in coincidence. I believed in patterns people overlooked. I rubbed my thumb across the bridge of my nose. The clock on the microwave blinked.

10:41 p.m.

Enough. The files would still be there tomorrow. I gathered everything again carefully, sliding each photograph back into its folder before closing the archive box. The house settled around me with quiet creaks.

SCRAAAAPE…

I stopped.

SCRAAAAPE…

The sound came again. The fuck is that noise. The noise must belong to something heavy and must have been dragged across the gravel to create that sound. Not an animal, too rhythmic, not a vehicle, too fucking slow.

Someone…

Fuck someone was outside.

Instinct took over before thought did. I crossed the living room without making a sound, my hand reaching for my gun as I reached the front window. The porch light illuminated only part of the yard.

Nothing.

Another scrape echoed through the night. Closer this time. Curiosity won. I unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch. Checking my surroundings. Front. Back. Side. Car. Cool air brushed against my face. The neighbourhood lay mostly dark. One porch light glowed farther down the lane. Wind stirred the maple leaves overhead.

Another scrape. This time from next door. I followed the sound.

A woman stood in the driveway beside a small hatchback, wrestling with what had to be the brightest suitcase I’d ever seen.

Pink, sparkly and painfully fucking pink.

Putting my gun back in my holster as it bounced over the gravel before refusing to move another inch. She stopped. Hands on her hips. Stared at it.

She was…

Unexpected.