HAR HAR HAR HAR HAR

BY JACK

 

All years of his work had amounted to a final casual grip of the leather on his car’s wheel, papers in his other angry and desperate fist. Matthew sat in the comfortable, unburdened seat of his old-styled Cadillac, which was matte as the sky above his buzzing head. He kicked the car up into consciousness, twisting the keys into the grasp of the vehicle’s mouth and, without skipping a beat, forcing the gas pedal against the roughed-up carpeted ground.

 

***

 

My theories. Today they’ll make sense. Proper sense. I’ll find the body of the murderer, who rotted years ago. Years ago. I’ll find him.

The building looked born of rusted chain, painted and covered brick and termite-infested wood. Its entrance was free and unchained, and the door wide open–which would’ve been a perfect sight, if sawdust’s offspring hadn’t lined the monochromatic floor below, and if tumbled and toiled down wasn’t the ceiling.

As if it were open for business, Matthew steadied the tie in his jet black dress shirt. He stepped, inches away from his ajar, silver-lined Cadillac door, kicking up gravel and decades-old dust while he walked.

It’s been 20 years since the location shut down for the last time. If he truly died in the restaurant, a locked or boarded room would be the most likely. I doubt the entirety of the place has caved in if it were held up by souls.

 

 

Shoving aside a caved-in roof with a kick of his boots, the detective made his way in. There would be no ceiling above him but he was sure that this assumable dining area would be the only spot where things went to hell. The rigid, uncertain bendings of the caved roof promised that he was definitely stepping over tables–and probably animatronics. He searched, staring over the terrain he walked to come to… a rather deranged conclusion.

Well, I’ll have to break a way in myself.

 

Matthew clambered back to where he’d started, his dress shoes damn near clearing him dead with a slip down the building before he was able to steady himself with a quick lucky shove forward of his stomach. He recalled it raining hysterically the night prior, and determined that rain must have gathered by the building’s cusp.

He wasn’t incorrect but it wouldn’t have assisted him greatly in kicking through the building’s ceiling–nevertheless, with as much force as he could, the man had struck his ground in. His knees ached from both the drive to the old Freddy’s and covering the crooked-tooth of a ground, and yet, like a hivemind, his energy simply worked to chip at it like instinct.

Though it had taken him a good deal of the time he’d have rather spent investigating, under his feet came down the ceiling. Apparently Matthew wasn’t sure of his own strength, because its faux sediment caved in landslide-like. The detective, despite his quite uncalled for tumble, simply pulled his flashlight from its holster first, before he’d bother to stand.

A quick shake of it and the light woke up without a fuss. Matthew didn’t regret caving the roof in–it was very easy now to see what was under the hole he’d created, under the dank moonlight. Though, what he could see didn’t excite him as much as he’d hoped.

The crushed, greening forearm of a robot had been suffocating under the tile’s debris. The gross paw was outstretched, and had let go of half a shattered plate, which looked made of perishing metal. The broken bits from it were scattered close, but like a puzzle, some pieces were forever missing.

Chica, the detective had pondered to his lonesome, you’re not at all what I’m looking for.

On the paw he shone his light but very quickly it was redirected to the left, and he nearly jumped. It was not the skeleton of a robot, but rather, of a person.

But Matthew had seen much more than what should’ve been his share of bodies, and more often, bones. The body stank of dead and orange still clung like a bat to parts of its frame, particularly the crushed skull and in large clumps in its ribcage. A huge piece of ceiling had nestled in where the skull’s lobe would’ve, and at that, Matthew shuddered. He hadn’t expected a body in here–well, he very, very much did, but not at all in such a boring place. He refused to believe this was the killer.

The detective stepped to the body. He didn’t plan on investigating it. Matthew wanted to go around this body, because if the layouts he’d figured out in his head were right, the real killer would have been through this wall.

And the wall he slipped behind was dank–dank as if it was currently raining sewage, because by God, it may have just been the corpse but it stank! Matthew wished he’d brought a gas mask, but knew he never would’ve thought it necessary.

The whole dead restaurant was potent as a gas fire, where the overwhelming stench was body. But, thinking of that was much better than thinking of how easily Matthew could’ve been crushed between the thin gap separating him from the still-falling ceiling. The wall on his fingers was cold, and felt obviously of an old popcorning roof. If the flashlight was right, it was white, dappled with flecks of a gray or black. Perfect for a children’s place where nobody would look up. The flooring must have been flashier.

Matthew nearly tumbled backward. He would’ve avoided it if he turned around. His shoulder blades kicked inward, and the rest of him twisted around to face the opposite direction. He thought he may have dropped his light, he couldn’t tell with the numbness in his fingers and throat.

Coughing.

What?

Matthew must have coughed in his search for the light.

He panicked, but he didn’t really know how to react to the surge of air in his stomach without collapsing. His hands scrambled against the ground for a warmer plastic, something that had been in those hands just seconds ago, ANY kind of LIGHT?
The detective knew it wasn’t him who coughed, because it coughed again, and the voice sounded hollow, full of dried marrow, if that were any way to describe a thing like what he’d heard. It took the noise you’d expect from a deserted, dead mouth which hadn’t swallowed its own saliva in decades. Matthew couldn’t find a hint of life in that voice.

So he decided to do just that. Silently, yet, very admittedly to himself, he gulped. He couldn’t be to blame for that.

“I,…”

With desperation, he gripped the light off the ground. But by the time the gravel had left the voice’s lungs Matthew couldn’t flick it on in time or bend back onto his feet.

“Always..”

 

Maybe he just thought that time had slowed, but in this instance it felt particularly difficult to simply stuck his nail under the light and click it on. As soon as the bright had managed, and fast as Mat turned around…

 

“Come… back.”

A second chance 

“Why?” she asked.

“Why should I give you a second chance?” looking at Ava’s arms crossed on the porch swing, she’s right.

I don’t deserve another chance. 

“I know I messed up. I just want our friendship back, I will never take your things again” I said. 

“Okay. You get one more chance” Ava replied. 

The promise 

Ever since Ava was a little girl she’s believed in keeping promises. 

“Ava I promise I will never betray you again,” I said.

I would never do anything to betray her. She let me drive her car to go get food. I crashed her car…

She’s going to hate me.

“I hate you,” Ava said.

It’s been about six years since my parents passed away. I got a random call from the police one day to inform me that they were murdered inside their home. I was left devastated- crying my eyes out until there was nothing left inside me. I would never leave the house and had no energy. 

Throughout those years, I met my husband Andrew, through our mutual friend. We went on dates: to movies, the park, and the beach. I adored how sympathetic and reassuring he made me feel. He was a real romantic fellow that I couldn’t help myself, but to fall in love with him. We started dating for about 3 years, until he decided to propose – he stood on one knee as he asked my parents for permission to allow him to marry me and told them how much he’ll protect me, even when they’re not here with me right now. I gladly accepted his proposal. I knew he was the right person at the right moment for me. 

We prepared for the wedding. And then three months later, we got married and had our honeymoon, at a resort near the beach- where we had our first date. 

After two years of being happily married, we still loved each other. However; that changed. One day, as my husband was taking a shower. I heard his cell phone ringing – NONSTOP. So I decided to investigate it. I answered the phone, it was an incoming call from a woman named Catherine.

 

“Hello,” I said. 

 

But there was no answer. “Your husband isn’t who you think he is”, she said. 

 

“What? I don’t understand what you’re talking about, “I replied. 

 

And then the call ended. After my husband got out of the shower, I decided to ask him, “Who’s Cathrine? She was calling you nonstop.”

 “Oh. She’s my cousin. She’s probably asking to meet up, since we last saw each other, “ he responded.

 

 At first, I thought to myself. Maybe he’s cheating on me. NO. He isn’t that type of person. I know who he is. I couldn’t get these nonstop thoughts out of my head, until I decided to investigate. When he informed me that he was going to go visit his cousin. I decided to stalk him – secretly. He arrived at a motel and there was a woman. They were kissing. On the lips. My heart started to hurt. The pain. I just wanted it to be a dream. I had to get myself together. They entered the motel room. I decided to go to the office to go tell them that I had forgotten my key to my room. I didn’t want to look suspicious, so I also said.

 

 “I’m here with my husband. We’re on a date.” I said. 

“That’s great. Here is your key. Have a great time,” the worker replied. 

 

The worker didn’t suspect anything. I inserted the key. And I stormed inside. Andrew stood frozen. 

 

“What are you doing here?”, he said angrily.

 

 “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I screamed.

 

 I looked at the bed. There were pictures laid out. But it was not just any pictures. It was my parents. I grabbed them and scanned them. One image to the next. The next image showed my parents being tied up onto their bed, with blood on their face.

 

“WHO ARE YOU?”