A quick note before we begin. The names, locations and dates have been altered to protect the memories of those who were affected by these horrible events. Other than that, everything in this story is factual and took place as described.
Now let’s start on our story;
It was a gruesome sight, and one that shook me to the core. The victims, an elderly couple had been killed with a kitchen knife and the crime had been carried out with such ferocity that it was difficult to comprehend. They were lying face down on the floor in their little cabin and looked more like discarded waste from an abattoir than deceased humans.
I tried to count the wounds, but they were too numerous. The blood was everywhere and had turned the pale carpet a dark red. I shuddered and felt an icy sensation shoot down my spine and thanked God that it wasn’t me lying there or someone close to me.
I placed the picture on the table and looked at the next one. It was of a young woman in her early twenties. Her dark blonde hair was clumped and her face covered in blood, as if she had rubbed her face against the old couple’s wounds. She was looking at the photographer without really looking at him, and she had what some people refer to as the thousand yards stare.
“So let me get this straight,” I said, briefly looking up from the photographs at the man sitting on the other side of the table. “You’re saying that the woman didn’t kill the old couple, despite the police finding her at the crime scene when they arrived, and despite her clutching the murder weapon in her hand?”
The man nodded. His name was Gary Folsom, and he was a former homicide detective of the Anchorage police department.
“That is correct. And that means that the woman, Mary Smith has been locked up in a mental asylum for over fifteen years for a crime she didn’t commit.”
I frowned.
“But from what I’ve been able to gather from the newspaper articles and clips I’ve come across, it was deemed to be a clear cut case. Her DNA and fingerprints were on the victims and she was their only neighbor. Nor did she ever deny killing them.”
“Nor did she confess,” Gary answered and shot me a wry smile. “She was in a catatonic state when we arrived and she was non communicative. It was merely assumed that she committed the murders based on the evidence at the scene, which appeared overwhelming.”
He coughed a few times, picked up the face mask that was hooked up to the oxygen tank at the back of the wheelchair and took a few whiffs.
I waited until he was done before I addressed him again.
“So how then do you know that she’s innocent?”
“Because of this,” he replied and held up a thumb drive. “You go ahead and have a look for yourself,” Gary slid the thumb drive across the table. He then grabbed a cigarette from a pack on a table, wrapped his lips around it and lit it.
Why on earth would you smoke one of those things given your condition, I thought as I picked up the blue USB stick. But then again it probably didn’t matter all that much if you had inoperable lung cancer. It was the reason Gary had contacted me, to get a heavy burden off his chest before he finally passed away.
He hadn’t come out directly and said that he had evidence that a double murderer was innocent. Only that he had some very interesting information about a case he’d worked on back in the early 2000’s. And looking at the thumb drive and realizing that it could quite possibly contain evidence that a convicted murderer was innocent got my heart racing.
This could be a major scoop.
So I fired up my laptop, inserted the thumb drive and clicked on the first file.
A woman appeared, and I could see right away that it was the same woman from the crime scene photos. The one who had been accused of killing the old couple.
“So today is Monday the second of November,” the young woman said in a tense voice. She was looking straight at the camera and she appeared to be slightly unsettled. She was wearing a knitted sweater and was sitting in a chair at a kitchen table, her hands hugging a cup of tea. Behind her was a big window and beyond that tall pine trees, whose branches were covered in snow.
“As you all know, I’ve been here for three weeks now. And so far it’s been great. The solitude of the area and the majestic scenery is breathtaking. And after having spent the last decade in LA, this is just what I needed.”
She lowered her eyes for a few moments and stared at her tea cup, before she looked back at the camera.
“But last night I had a very unpleasant experience.”
She trailed off and turned her head as if to make sure that no one else was there in the room with her. Then she began speaking in a more subdued voice.
“I heard some strange noises, as if someone was tapping on my windows and knocking on the walls. It started around two o’clock last night and went on for at least an hour. Needless to say, I was too scared to go outside and check at the time, but I did so this morning.”
She paused again and took a quick sip from her cup.
“I half expected to see footprints in the snow, but there was nothing there. I guess that doesn’t really mean anything given that it has been snowing nonstop for the last two days. So even if someone had been there, the fresh snow would have covered up the tracks.”
Finally a tiny smile appeared on her lips.
“I guess it was just an animal. Because there are no other people around. Well apart from an older couple about five miles further north. Well anyway, I just thought it was slightly creepy and I felt like getting it off my chest. So until next time, this is Mary reporting from Miles Crossing, Alaska.”
The woman leaned forward and put her hand on the camera, and the clip came to an end.
Then there was a brief pause, and Mary’s face reappeared on the screen. And this time, she looked visibly upset. Her hair was unkempt and hanging down, and she had dark rings around her eyes. And I got the distinct impression that she hadn’t had that much sleep since her last appearance.
“So today is Wednesday the fourth of November,” she began in a voice that was unsteady.
“The strange noises that I was telling you about on Monday have not stopped. I heard them yesterday night too. It was the same tapping and knocking sounds as the other night. And it was most definitely not an animal.”
She looked down at the table and swallowed. Then she took a deep breath and raised her gaze again.
“It went on for several hours, and this morning when I went outside, I noticed footprints in the snow. Someone had walked around the house and gone up to all the windows.”
She stopped talking and just sat there staring at the screen for the next ten seconds. And it was obvious to me that she was petrified,
“I have no idea who it is, or why they are doing this. But I have decided to head over to my neighbors later today. I’m pretty sure they have a radio and will be able to contact the authorities. Hopefully they’ll send someone over to investigate and will catch whoever is responsible, because this has completely ruined the pleasure of living out here in the wilderness.”
The screen went black again, and then a second later another clip began. But this time it wasn’t the young woman, nor was it filmed inside the house.
Someone was standing among a cluster of trees and they were aiming the camera at a house. It took me a few seconds to realize that it had to be the house that the young woman was staying in. The picture was blurry at first, but then it came into focus and zoomed in on a window. The person holding the camera was breathing heavily, as if he or she had just completed a marathon. I then realized that it must be the same person who was banging on the walls and the windows.
A chill ran down my spine and I got a vague idea of how this would play out.
A few more seconds passed, and the woman appeared in the window looking out. She seemed scared, and she only remained there for a few seconds before she moved away. Then the clip came to an end.
A new clip started, and this time it was dark outside. The same heavy panting could be heard and the sound of boots sinking into the snow. A song was playing in the background and I realized that it must have been added later on. It took me a few moments to figure out which song it was, but I eventually got it when I heard the refrain.
It was Mr. Sandman, the song from the early fifties.
The camera kept bouncing up and down making the footage jumpy. Ten or fifteen seconds passed, and then the person stopped in front of a window. Shortly thereafter I could see a gloved hand slapping the dark pane. This was followed by a deep boom.
There was another brief pause and what followed next made me break into a sweat.
The next clip was recorded on a camcorder with night vision properties. The screen had turned green, but I had no difficulties making out all the details. The same creepy music was playing and it made my skin break into goosebumps. The person was walking up a narrow staircase. Some of the treads were creaking and I could hear the heavy panting. When the person reached the landing, he turned left and walked into a bedroom. And there sleeping on the bed was the young woman. He walked over to her slowly, and when he was standing next to her a hand shot out from behind the camera. It stopped a few inches away from the woman’s hair but didn’t quite touch her. And it remained there until the person withdrew it about a quarter of a minute later.
There was another short pause and then the young woman was sitting in front of the camera. But this time she wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table. She was sitting on the floor in a corner and she had her knees pushed up to her chin. And my eyes were automatically drawn to the large kitchen knife in her hand.
She had a crazed expression on her face, like a caged animal and she was constantly checking her surroundings. And there was no doubt in my mind that she expected someone to barge into the room at any moment and attack her.
“It’s Sunday the eighth of November,” she whispered, her voice cracking up. “I hope that someone finds this footage, so they can tell the police what has happened. Because there is someone out there trying to kill me.”
She inhaled quickly and reflexively lifted her knife. Her eyes locked onto something to her right. I wondered if someone was about to enter the room, but as far as I could tell no one did, because she lowered her hand a few seconds later.
“I don’t know who it is, but I feel that I don’t have that much time left. I don’t have a phone here, but I’ve tried to contact my neighbors. I started walking over there twice, but I’ve been shot at on both occasions. Someone is hiding among the trees, and they don’t want me to leave this place. My initial plan was to ride over there on the snowmobile, but whoever is doing this to me has damaged the engine, so I had to walk.”
A tear ran down her cheek and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her sweater.
“I just don’t know what to do, and I’m so scared. And I wish someone could come and rescue me from this nightmare.”
The clip stopped and another one appeared, and this time the person holding the camcorder turned it around and filmed his face, or rather the mask he was wearing.
I jumped and felt my heart start to thump. The guy was wearing a scream mask. He was still panting heavily and was tilting his head from side to side, as if he’d just told a funny joke. And yet again, the upbeat female voice was singing about Mr. Sandman.
Then he turned the camera away from himself and I could see him walking down a hallway and into a living room. And as I had already guessed by now, the woman was in there.
She was sitting in a hardback chair, her arms tied behind her and secured to the spindles. She had a dirty white rag pushed into her mouth, which was secured by what appeared to be a strip torn from a t-shirt.
When she saw the man she started moaning loudly, and she threw herself from side to side in the chair. But she couldn’t get anywhere as the chair was already pushed into a corner.
I found myself staring at the screen with a growing sense of horror, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. The woman was still alive, so I knew that the guy wasn’t going to kill her. But I feared what other horrible things he would do to her.
Slowly the guy approached her, the panting becoming less prominent as the woman’s moans and feeble protestations drowned it out.
And then the screen went black. There were no more clips in that folder.
I lifted my head and looked at Gary wide eyed.
“Where the hell did you get this, and why haven’t you gone to the police with it?”
He sighed and stubbed out what was left of the cigarette in the ashtray on the table.
“I received it in the mail from the person who butchered the old couple about five years ago.”
He looked up from the ashtray and bore his gray eyes into me.
“That was before the cancer got to me. I was healthy then and still working for the Anchorage police department. The killer knew that, and I guess he did it because he wanted to see my reaction. To see if I was going to report it or not.”
“And you obviously didn’t,” I said in a slightly louder voice than I had intended.
“No, I didn’t and there’s a very specific reason for that.”
I stuck out my bottom lip and furrowed my eyebrows.
“Which is?”
Gary sighed yet again, and picked up the pack of cigarettes next to the ashtray. Then he spent a few moments debating with himself whether he should light a new one or not. In the end he didn’t and tossed the pack back on the table again. Then he took a deep breath and looked to his right.
“Ten years ago I killed a guy,” he said. “It was a Saturday night and my partner Ray and I had been out drinking. By the time I climbed behind the wheel and left the bar, I had downed close to twelve beers and quite a few shots. I was in no condition to drive, but I had done so on numerous occasions in the past without causing any accidents and I didn’t think this time would be any different.”
“But it didn’t turn out that way?” I said.
Gary shook his head.
“No it certainly didn’t. As we were approaching Ray’s place, a pedestrian came out of nowhere and I hit him with the car. I was going close to fifty-five miles an hour and it made a hell of a noise. Not to mention, it scared the crap out of me. At first I thought I’d hit a moose, but when we went back to check it out, we discovered that it was a man.”
Gary bit into his lower lip, reached forward and grabbed the cigarettes and lit one.
“To cut a long story short, we decided to cover it up. If this ever came out, we would both lose our jobs, and I would end up in the slammer. And let me tell you if you’re an ex-cop that’s the last place you want to be.”
“So what did you do then?” I asked, half expecting his answer.
Gary took a deep drag from the cigarette, which caused another coughing fit. But a few quick puffs from the oxygen tank quickly fixed it.
“We buried him in the forest. I had a shovel in the trunk, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. It only took us an hour and a half to get it all done.”
I looked at him stunned. To hear what the former homicide detective was telling me was almost surreal, although truth be told I wasn’t really all that surprised. I knew that there were lots of unfavorable stuff going on in police departments all over the country, although it had probably been more common a few decades earlier.
“That’s a hell of a story,” I said after a while. “But what has it got to do with the killing of the old couple and what happened to their alleged killer?”
Gary held my gaze for a few seconds, before he stared out the window at the thick snowflakes falling from the sky.
“Because the murderer is my former partner, Ray. The same Ray that was in the car with me when I ran over that pedestrian.”
I sucked in a lung full of air and held it, and looked at him incredulously. Did he just say what I thought he had said? I had difficulties believing it.
“Are you saying that your former colleague did this? A former homicide detective?”
“I am.”
Gary then proceeded to tell me about the letter that had accompanied the thumb drive, and how Ray had reminded Gary of the guy they had killed and buried. It was an implicit threat, and it made it impossible for Gary to inform the police about this newly acquired information and show them the thumb drive. If he told them about his former partner, his former partner would then tell the police about the dead pedestrian and Gary would head straight for the slammer.
It was a catch-22.
“But now, it doesn’t really matter anymore,” I said after he’d finished filling me in on all the details. “The cancer is inoperable, and you only have a few more months left to live.”
Gary nodded.
“Yes, I’ve got nothing to lose anymore. And I would like to see Ray get the punishment he deserves.”
He lifted his hand and pointed at the laptop.
“Open up the last file, and you’ll get to see everything. You’ll get to see how Ray slaughtered the old couple and then pinned the blame on the young woman.”
I lowered my gaze and stared at the laptop and the second file that was stored on the thumb drive. I both wanted and did not want to click on it. I knew the details would be graphic and that they would remain with me for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t not watch it. This was what I had come here for, to get to the truth. And to get an innocent person her freedom back.
I took a deep breath and rubbed my face. Then I opened the file.
The same music started playing again and the same infuriating panting. Then the camera zoomed in on the young woman. She was sitting down. Her neck was tied to a tree and her eyes were shut. Her mouth was half open and I assumed that she was either drugged or unconscious.
The sight got my blood pumping and I could feel a lump form in my stomach. I knew what was going to happen, and I did not look forward to it.
As on a cue, the man holding the camcorder, which I now knew was a former homicide detective, moved the camera away from the young woman and began walking out from among the trees. A few moments later, an old cabin appeared about forty yards away. The camera panned from one side of the building to the other, and after a brief pause the guy started walking toward it.
The clip stopped, and the next one began.
The man was inside the house now, and he was filming an old lady who looked absolutely terrified. She was talking into a microphone, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I had a very good idea of what it was. The police had received a distress call from the old lady before they had gone out to the property. And when they had arrived, they had walked into what had to be one of the most gruesome scenes they’d ever come across.
The man with the camcorder then pushed the old lady away from the radio and the microphone fell to the floor. He then briefly turned the camera on himself, and I saw that he was wearing that same fucking mask. He was holding a sinister knife in his hand. I shuddered and felt dizzy, and tried to prepare myself for what would happen next. Then that terrible music started again, and I could hear the words Mr. Sandman being repeated over and over again. It was especially troubling knowing what was about to take place next.
And then it happened. The entire massacre was captured on film.
The old lady was lying on her back on the floor, her arms outstretched in an attempt to ward off her attacker. And now I could hear her screams, her pleas for the killer not to stab her.
My pulse shot through the roof, and my eyes were fixed to the screen. I wanted to turn away but I couldn’t. I had to find out what happened next.
I could see the man approaching the old lady, and then he was there standing above her, straddling her. Then the knife came down and I had to turn away. The screams were horrific, and I have never heard anything like it. This was what a dying person sounded like ten seconds before they departed this world for good.
I turned toward the screen again and could see the knife tearing into the old woman with a frantic rage. The blood kept pouring out from the wounds and spilling onto the carpet. About half a minute later, the screaming finally faded, and the outstretched arms fell back down to the ground.
The camera then turned toward her husband who was gagged and bound and lying face down on the floor. His eyes were that of a panicked animal, and his face was bright red with shock and fury. To see your loved one being killed and then knowing that you’re next must be the worst thing that can ever happen to a human being.
I only watched the first few seconds of the stabbing frenzy before I turned away. There was no need for me to watch any more. I already knew the outcome.
The final clip, before it all came to an end, was the cameraman dragging the young woman into the living room where the dead couple lay on the floor. She was still unconscious, and the cameraman put the knife in her hand and then disappeared out of the room.
And that was the end of the files. I had just witnessed two gruesome murders and watched what had resulted in a gross miscarriage of justice. I felt physically ill, and I had to struggle to keep the bile from rising up in my throat.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then I closed the laptop lid. I hoped that I would never have to look at that footage ever again. There was no need for me to comment on the horrific nature of the footage. Gary already knew that it had upset me greatly, and hence I wasn’t going to waste any of our time mentioning the obvious.
“But why contact me? Why haven’t you gone to the police? Surely that’s the best way to apprehend the killer and get justice for all the victims involved?”
I got up from my chair, grabbed hold of the edge of the table with both hands and looked down at the floor.
“No,” he said resolutely. “I’ve only got a few more months left, and I don’t intend to spend those being grilled by my former colleagues. I want you to write your article and I wish to remain anonymous. I mean, that’s pretty standard procedure. Someone’s got some incriminating evidence, but doesn’t want to stick his neck out. Nor does it make any difference as far as the killer is concerned. He’ll be brought in for questioning and will eventually be done for murder.”
I nodded and saw him lift the face mask up from the table and take another few whiffs of oxygen.
I sighed and looked away and realized that he was correct. It wouldn’t really matter that much to me. I would get my story regardless. But still, I deemed it morally wrong that Gary should fail to take responsibility for the role he had played in this. He had by his actions denied justice to a woman who had been wrongly imprisoned in a mental ward for the last five years.
“Ok,” I said at last. “I will refer to you as an anonymous source. But I want the right to name you as said source after you have passed away. That’s non negotiable. You can take it or leave it.”
I looked him squarely in the eye, and after a few moments he nodded.
“Ok, I guess that’s acceptable,” he said and started spinning the pack of cigarettes on the table with his hand. I could tell that he didn’t like it, but I didn’t really care.
For the next hour, I quizzed Gary about all the aspects of the case, where Ray was living at the moment, and if he had tried to contact Gary lately. Gary told me that he hadn’t, and as far as he was concerned, no one did. It was almost like Ray had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Another important clue in the case against Ray was that he had been off on a holiday at the time when the woman had started recorded her diary and when the murders had taken place. It was a strong indictment against him, and one that I was going to use to the fullest.
Eventually I had as much information as I could ever hope to get, and I gathered my stuff and told Gary that I would have to do some more research before I could write my expose and get it published. He nodded, and seemed relieved to finally be rid of the load that he had been carrying around for so long.
“Be sure to send me a copy,” he said as I bid him farewell and left the house.
“I will,” I replied. Then I walked out and closed the door behind me.
I made my way up the long driveway and walked over to my car which was parked by the side of the road. I placed the laptop and knapsack in the passenger seat, then crossed in front of the car and climbed in behind the wheel.
I inserted the key in the ignition and turned it, and frowned when nothing happened. I took a deep breath, prayed that it would start on the second go then turned it again, but with the same result.
The engine refused to cooperate.
And that’s when the cellphone in the backseat started ringing. I jumped, because my cellphone was in the pocket of my jacket. But mostly I jumped because of the ringtone. It was the same song as in the video clips. It was Mr. Sandman.
I sat still for at least ten seconds, then I leaned back and grabbed the phone. I reluctantly pressed the green phone icon and placed the device up to my ear.
“Who is this?” I whispered, the tremor in my voice revealing my fear.
But there was no reply, just loud panting like on the video clips.
I tossed the phone back in the backseat as if it had been a lump of red hot iron. And the severity of the situation hit me like a runaway freight train. The killer was on the other end of that line.
Jesus Christ!
I turned and looked back at the house and knew that I had to get back in there. Gary had guns, that I was sure of. And if the killer was nearby, we could at least defend ourselves.
I froze. What did I mean if the killer was nearby? Of course he was nearby. He had put a freaking cellphone in my car, he had sabotaged the engine and he had called me the instant I had got inside.
I threw open the door and bolted outside. Then I found myself running for dear life back toward the house. My shoes were pounding against the compacted snow and I was panting more fiercely than the killer had ever done in any of the clips.
All I could think about was that I had to make it inside the house, barricade the doors and get my hands on a weapon.
I shot up the staircase, opened the door and rushed inside.
“Gary, the killer is here,” I shouted as I closed the door behind me and locked it. “Get your weapons out, then call the cops and tell them to get here right away!”
I sprinted down the dimly lit hallway and into the living room and turned toward the table where Gary had been sitting when he handed me the thumb drive.
“Hey Gary, did you hear ….”
I stopped as if I had run straight into an invisible wall. My arms fell down to my side and I opened my mouth, but no words came out of it. Then I felt the blood sink to my legs. Gary was indeed sitting in the same spot. His head was tilted back and he had a big red gash from one side of his throat to the other where warm blood was still pouring out.
I spun around, panicked, ensuring that Gary’s former partner wasn’t going to sneak up on me from behind and give me the same treatment. And thankfully there was no one there.
Get the hell out, I thought. This place is no longer safe. If the guy had already killed Gary, then it was safe to assume that he had confiscated any weapons that would have been in the house. Hence it would be disadvantageous for me to remain inside. I’d be better off trying to run away and contact the neighbors.
I ran back to the front door and pulled it toward me. But it wouldn’t move. I fumbled with the lock, and after a few nerve wracking seconds managed to unlock it and sprint outside.
Then I remembered the cellphone in the car! I could use it to contact the cops.
But as I turned to run back to the car, I stopped. Because there at the top of the driveway, wearing the ghastly scream mask was the killer. In his hand he had a big kitchen knife covered in blood, and in the other he held a cellphone.
The sick fuck was going to record the entire thing.
I felt like the air was slowly sucked out of my lungs and I froze. My first instinct was to turn around and run in the opposite direction, but my legs momentarily refused to listen to what my brain told them to do, namely to start moving. And for a few seconds the two of us just stood there staring at each other.
The spell was however broken when the guy started running toward me. I tripped as I took a step forward, but hurried back up and dashed down the stairs from the porch like a mad man.
I could of course have turned around and tried to barricade myself inside the house, but it would have been an easy feat for the guy to smash a window or kick in the door. And given that I was unarmed there was very little I would have been able to do to defend myself. There was only one option available to me, and that was to try to get away.
I didn’t really think, I just reacted. I turned left and ran toward the corner. From there I would make my way to the other side of the house, then try to get back on the road and pray that I would be able to outrun the guy. If he was Gary’s age, which I suspected, that shouldn’t prove to be an impossible task.
I cleared the corner and tried to increase my speed. But it was easier said than done. The snow reached up to my knees and it was difficult to move any faster than I already was. But I had to try. The thought of the knife in his hand, the footage that I’d just watched and Gary’s slit throat was all the motivation I needed. The same fate awaited me too unless I got my shit together. I could taste the blood in my mouth, and I was running on raw fear.
Don’t panic, god dammit I told myself. Just run for your fucking life and get away. I reached the other corner and before me was an open clearing and beyond it the forest.
I turned around and felt an invisible hand squeeze my heart. The guy was at the other corner now and he was gaining fast. I threw my head around and kept moving through the deep snow. I was shaking and the paralyzing fear greatly restricted my ability to breathe, and I could only inhale a tiny fraction of the air that I would normally be able to inhale. It was my body telling me what I already knew, that this game would soon be over, and I wasn’t going to survive.
I was still able to keep going though, but it was hard not to just throw myself down on the ground and curl up in the fetal position, then just let nature take its course.
And then it happened. I was less than fifteen yards away from the forest when my right foot hit something hard and I tripped. I felt a tingling sensation all over my body, and was completely overwhelmed by desperation and defeat. My face crashed into the deep snow, and I was waving my arms like a panicked person in the process of drowning.
I tried to get back up on my feet again and continue running, but I couldn’t seem to get my head up above the snow. I screamed into the cold white mass and pushed my hands down and finally felt the hard surface below. I pressed my hands down harder, and felt my upper body moving upwards. And then my face was finally clear of the snow.
I staggered up on my feet and turned around, and saw the guy with the mask less than six yards away now. He was walking slowly, the hand holding the phone was in line with his chest and the one holding the knife was held out in front of him, ready to plunge it into me any moment now.
“No, please don’t do it,” I pleaded with him and took a step back. I had raised my hands, palms facing him. “No please don’t. Please don’t kill me.”
I took another step back and felt completely numb. I knew my pleas were falling on deaf ears. The guy was a violent psychopath, and killing me would mean nothing more to him than swatting a fly. I could hear the sick panting and the sound his boots made as they were sinking into the snow as he steadily closed the distance between us.
I took another step back, and once again stepped on something and lost my balance. I tried to throw myself around and step aside, but it was no use. I could feel my body falling backward as I desperately waved my arms. And a fraction of a second before I once again was immersed in the cold snow, I could see the guy take another step forward.
I hit the ground and flipped myself over onto my stomach and started to get back up, when I heard a loud clang followed by a gut wrenching scream. In my mind’s eye I could see the guy throwing himself toward me, the knife being jabbed into me. And in one last attempt to avoid the deadly weapon, I threw myself toward the side.
I was immersed in the cold snow. And this time I wasn’t able to get up. The fear had physically paralyzed me, and I was waiting for the inevitable. The moment that my life would be taken from me.
I closed my eyes and thought about all the things that would be ripped away from me. My ability to go on living, my family and my job and how my next of kin would suffer knowing that I had been killed.
Then I heard another scream and closed my eyes even tighter, but I felt no pain. What the hell was going on? Had the guy lost track of me? Another scream pierced the afternoon air, and this time it didn’t stop, it just went on like a police siren.
I managed to scramble back up on my feet and turned around, and could hardly believe my own eyes.
Less than four yards behind me, the guy was lying on the ground. His hands were no longer holding the phone and the knife, but were wrapped around a metal device attached to his lower leg. The device had wedged itself into him and there was blood oozing from the ripped pants.
It took me a moment to realize what it was. But then it clicked.
It was a bear trap.
The guy had stepped on a goddamn bear trap, and the thing had almost cut off his leg!
I let out an intelligible sound and took a few more steps backwards, before realizing that it was probably not the best thing to do. What if there were more traps scattered around?
I looked back at the guy again and realized another thing. The guy’s ungloved hands were frozen stuck to the metal of the trap. The moisture from his hands had frozen and formed a secure bond.
I let out a groan, and couldn’t believe my luck. I was safe. I wasn’t going to die. And as long as I could get out of this mine field of bear traps, I would be alright.
I took a few deep breaths, then got down on all four and started feeling the ground in front of me for traps, as I slowly made my way back to the front of the house.
It took me half an hour to do so, and in that time I came across three traps. Luckily none of them went off and I was able to make my way inside and contact the cops who showed up forty minutes later.
I’m not going to bore you with all the tedious details of the interviews that went on for the next three days. But I’m going to give you a brief overview of what happened next.
The most important detail is that Ray was never found. When the police went outside to look for him, all they could find was the bear trap, covered in blood, torn skin from his hands left on the metal and a trail of blood leading in among the trees. About two hundred yards away from the bear trap, they found even more blood and wolf paw prints, and lots of them.
There were also tracks in the snow that indicated that a pack of wolves had dragged the body further into the forest. But given that the weather had turned bad, and a snowstorm had blasted the area for the next three days, they were unable to find the remains of Ray, the Alaskan serial killer.
I don’t really care. I’m convinced that he died, and that his death was painful and slow. And that was good enough for me.
The police hypothesized that it was Gary that had placed the traps around the house. They figured he feared that Ray would pay him a visit, knowing that he was soon about to die from the cancer that was feasting on him. And it was a good thing that he had done just that, because Ray eventually did, and he walked straight into one of the twenty traps that Gary had left for him out there in the snow.
I also got to write my article, and I appeared on quite a few TV shows afterwards. The American public can never get enough of a good murder case. And the more grisly it is, the better.
Mary the woman who had been falsely accused of murdering the old couple, still remains locked up in a mental asylum. She was just too far gone to be released. But I swear that I saw a tiny smile in her emotionless face when I visited her two months later and told her all about it.
I don’t know if she understood what I was telling her, or if she just enjoyed seeing a new face for a change. But I would like to think it was the former.
Anyway, none of us have to worry about Ray anymore. He’s long gone. His skeleton no doubt resting somewhere in the vast forest north of Anchorage.
In the end he got the punishment that he deserved, and hopefully he is rotting away in hell if such a place does exist. And I for one hope that it does.