Page 29 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

I gave one final nod before turning toward my cottage. The gravel crunched beneath my boots with every measured step. I didn’t look back, not immediately. People had a way of revealing themselves when they thought you weren’t watching. The night settled around me once more, cool and quiet beneath a sky scattered with stars. A breeze stirred through the maple trees, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine.

Soft laughter followed by what sounded suspiciously like another conversation. With the garden gnomes. I resisted the urge to turn around.

Barely.

Instead, I unlocked my front door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind me. The house felt even emptier than it had twenty minutes earlier.

Silence. At least… Until I found myself looking through the front window. She was still outside. Still talking. I couldn’t hear the words anymore. Only the animated movements of her hands as she pointed accusingly at the dashboard before throwing both arms into the air in dramatic surrender. I stared for a moment longer than I intended. Then pulled the curtain closed.

Well, that was fucking strange. That was the only word I could settle on. Not dangerous. Not yet.

Just strange.

I’d met all kinds of people over the years. Liars. Killers. Soldiers. Victims. People who smiled too much. People who never smiled at all, but I’d never met someone who argued with ceramic lawn ornaments as though she expected them to answer. Maybe she’d had a long day or she was eccentric. Women were simply built differently.

The suitcase, though… Heavy. Far heavier than a suitcase full of books should’ve been. I frowned, books. She’d answered too quickly. Almost rehearsed it. Most people, when asked what was in a suitcase, laughed. They shrugged. Said, “Clothes,” or “Too much junk.”

She’d answered with certainty.

Books.

As though she’d anticipated the question. Interesting, not suspicious.

Just…

Interesting.

I rubbed a hand across my jaw. The first rule of any investigation was simple. Don’t invent mysteries where there aren’t any. There were already eight missing women in Blackridge. I wasn’t about to add a crazy lady to the list of things keeping me awake.

Still, as I switched off the kitchen light, one thought lingered longer than the others. My first night in town and somehow, I’d already met the crazy lady of the town and the craziest neighbour I’ve ever had.

Something told me Blackridge wasn’t going to be as quiet as it looked.

Seraphina

The cursor blinked patiently, steadily. Like it knew something I didn't or perhaps...

Like it knew something you didn't.

I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug, letting the warmth settle into my fingertips while the rain tapped softly against the kitchen window. There was something comforting about rainy mornings. They made the world quieter, softer. People hurried indoors, pulled their curtains shut, convinced they were safe simply because they couldn't see what was outside.

Strange, isn't it? Humans have always believed that what they can't see can't possibly hurt them.

I took another sip; too hot I winced.

"...Still worth it."

Gerald, perched on the edge of my desk with all the authority of a disgruntled life coach, stared at me in complete silence.

"I know," I sighed.

"I should've waited."

He continued staring.

"You're incredibly judgmental for someone who's twelve inches tall."

Frank snorted from the bookshelf.