My name is Victoria S., I am a former criminal investigator and what I am about to share here is the transcript of an interview taken during my last case in the force.
The only sound I could make out outside of my blanket was a slight rustling sound that one could have mistaken for the wind if they weren’t as privy to the world as I was. It was the middle of a normal and hot Sunday night when all of a sudden I was torn from my slumber. I was not entirely sure of what had woken me up but I sure as hell knew it couldn’t be anything good. So doing the only reasonable thing, I buried my body under my light summer blanket, while praying that not even the tiniest part of me was sticking out. Everybody knows that a blanket is the most effective way of defending against the creatures of the night but of course only when used correctly.
After a short, wile realized that it was a treacherous situation found himself in as my body heat was doing a fantastic job of turning this bunker of mine bunker into a sauna. Sweat was running into every crack and fold on my body, making me want nothing more than to feel fresh air brush over my skin after diving back out into the normal world.
No! Don’t even think that! That is what they want. That I make a mistake, that I open myself up for an attack. They got the wrong guy. I can make it till sunrise if I have to and everybody knows that a monster can’t live past the first rays of the morning sun.
A sudden creak of the floorboards made me jump back into my little hideout. Panicking I readjusted the blanket, trying my very best not to make a sound. There it was again, the creak, unmistakably the sound of the floorboards in the hallway between mine and my family’s room. How many times have I heard it in my life, when my parents made their way toward my room but on this terrible night the sound of the footsteps was all wrong? Their rhythm fit neither my father nor my mother. Light and close together but hasty at the same time, as if someone was making an effort not to wake me up while unable to contain their sinister excitement for what they were about to do. At this point, the sweat had formed a patch underneath me, its stench clogging my nose. Was it just sweat at this point? Or had I lost control over my bladder? It was no use. All my focus was bent on following those wretched sounds. With the deep grumbling of the loose old plank right in front of my room they found their end.
I had locked his door, right? I must have. There was no other way. I always lock the damn door. Should I go and check? If I dashed there, I should be able to beat whatever was on the other side trying to open it. YES! Yes, I would do exactly that and be safe right after.
I readied myself and was about to leave the bed, all the hope that had just built up in my chest and made my heart beat fast in triumph vanished alongside these thoughts. A simple and faint but also familiar squeaking sound broke the newly found silence. Tears started streaming down my cheeks, feeling icy cold on my feverishly hot skin. It was the sound of my old, warped door being pushed open. Not only wasn’t it locked but the thing knew how to open it.
Never had I cursed the carpet floor as much as now, as it was masking the intruder’s steps. A crooked laugh here and a scratch on the wall there were my only ways at an attempt to locate the foe. I had to stay strong. Out of nowhere, something heavy fell on my legs and with that, I heard giggling and hastied footsteps leaving my room and eventually the house. Wetness seeped through the blanket, where the two almost round objects were dropped but I did not dare to look at them. I only came out when the officers arrived and found me.
The interview occurred after a dispatch unit recovered an 11-year-old boy, Nate R., from his family home. A neighbor had previously alerted the police of an unusual quietness in the affected residence. I assume the door ripped off its hinges also contributed but that is just my assumption. When my colleagues got there the place was completely ravaged. Patches of torn-apart flesh and pools of blood led them to what would later turn out to be the parent’s remains. Mr. and Mrs. R. were only identified after some samples were compared with DNA taken from their heads. Said heads were found placed on the blanket the child was still hiding under. Their blood had completely stained him at this point.
Our investigations led us nowhere and my conclusion that this was a supernatural threat was promptly ignored. They pinned the murders on a local drifter who happened to be at the wrong location at the wrong time. With that being said, I left and joined a special group of vigilantes, set on informing people about creatures and phenomena akin to these and combat them. I will be sharing more in the future.
Loving, Victoria.