Story of a Killer

by Imagination2Words

Samual Kasper a color blind reporter for the City Tribune. Has a plan to save the paper. Using the Hallway he is cursed to walk in his dreams and an old stack of newspaper stories on a string of murders that plagued the city over fifty years ago. He intends to bring the killer back using his short story column. Unaware the killer has been hiding all this time waiting to kill again.

Part One

Spook Story

1

Plip…plink…plop

The sound of water droplets. The most hated color of the door, he has never walked this far down the hallway. The number on the door scares him. 1893. Why here, why now. He always could walk this hall without being hindered. The light gray walls, its dark gray carpet, and the lights hanging down from the ceiling, at every third door. This time was different, he was compelled to walk, walk further than he has ever gone. To a door that scares him, 1893. He can hear the sounds of water droplets coming from the door. The sound of rain hitting pools of water, or water leaking from a pipe into its own pool. He didn't know. It was just the plip…plink…plop. Over and over again. He stares at the door knob, same color as the number stamped into the door.

Samuel Kasper leans forward in his chair. Staring down at this rusted old piece of junk typewriter. Listening to the sounds of water droplets coming from the ceiling and hitting the floor of this crappy office. He didn't complain of course. He wasn't the only one in one of these disasters of a room. There are cracks in the walls, on the ceiling, and hell the glass on the window is cracked. He hoped for better accommodations from the leading newspaper of the city. The Tribune, or City Tribune. No one could stick with a name around here, and no one seemed to care. He still got the job, so no complaints. It certainly is better than writing scripts for the plays that were held at the Carnival his Aunt Beatrice owned. He did love the Carnival and his Aunt but too many complications, bad memories. He wondered which door in the Hall would take him back to those memories. He shuddered to think. The Hall is his now, and he must learn the best way to deal with it. What was it his Aunt told him before he left? Oh yes, "Fear the gift, and feel its curse. Accept it, and feel its power."

2

Plink…plop…plip

This time the water droplets are dripping into an old waste can. This didn't help him focus on the task at hand, but it did at least contribute in keeping the floor from rotting, which could lead to him falling through the floor. The building had enough holes. A knock comes to the frame of his doorway. A tall, balding man (the hair that was there looked to be soaked in ink to keep up the color) who is a little on the chunky side is standing there. It was the Tribune Editor, Mr. Hector Poe.

"Don't forget Sam, I need that story completed by the end of the week."

(Sam being the name everyone seems to want to call him, nicknames seem to be common here.)

"Yes sir, I will have it to you by Friday morning."

"Good man, I will leave you to it."

Mr. Poe walked away and headed down the hall. Sam could hear him yelling for information on current events. His team is, or the better word was, fantastic on finding out any kind of potential story. As of late, there haven't been any interesting stories. The city has been dull, not even a single person could be found committing a crime. Much to the Mayor's enjoyment, meaning his control was absolute in his eyes. That also is the very reason Sam was hired. The Publisher of the Tribune woke up one morning with a brain hemorrhaging epiphany. A whole back page devoted to short stories written by professional staff. It took the City by storm, for the first month. None of the characters had depth, and the stories could not continue drawing crowds. The Editor brought up the idea of stories that had a mystery to them. Stories that would end in a cliffhanger then pick back up in the following edition. That got him a small pay raise.

The first story was about a missing little girl, it continued for the next five editions. The people flocked to the newsstands. It was the last edition that covered the missing girl story that drew the eye of a passenger on a coach ride to the City, he loved writing, and he enjoyed what portion of the story he read. Sam folded the paper and tucked it under his arm. He flagged down the first newspaper boy he could find and asked for directions to the Tribune. Now here he is in front of an old rusty typewriter trying to write his first story for next week's edition.

Ticka-tick…plick…tick…tick…tick

Attempting to type his first sentence, Sam discovered he forgot to check to see if the ink ribbon was still usable.

"It is as dry as desert," he said

Sam walks out his office, and over to the first open door, he comes to and looks for someone to ask, where he can get another ink ribbon. He gets a slight shock at seeing a set of short legs standing on a latter. The old gentleman he asks looks down at him from a wooden shelf-latter. Glasses dirty from dust; the gentleman was removing old boxes filled with papers off a top shelf in his office. He wipes them with his finger to get a better look at Sam. He tells Sam he has to go to the basement supply room. "Take the lift to the basement floor, son, then, go down the hall to the green door on the right. You can't miss it."

"Green door indeed," Sam mutters, "It had to be a green door."

Of all the colors that he had trouble seeing, green was the hardest one. It always blended in worse than the others did. His country doctors couldn't explain it, but green was-

-"Damn near invisible to the boy." From what he remembers them telling his parents before they went their separate ways. You know, to the grave, and the nut house; the two places Sam hates, more than anything else in the world. So, this was it. For Sam to get what he needed, all he had to do is face his old enemy, the color green. With any luck, the doorknob will be of a different color. The short old man smiles at him and offers to walk him to the lift.

3

He tells Sam his name is Cornelius Schmitt, and that people call him Smitty. As they walk, he begins drowning Sam's ears in stories of what the Tribune was like when the city was in its infancy. "You understand of course, that I am merely telling you what was told to me. The Tribune was probably the fourth building built by the Founders of our great city. To suggest or even think I am that old would be silly." Sam of course never 'suggested' anything of the sort. Although by the look of this man, 'suggesting' that he may be older than dirt would be closer to the mark, but Sam likes to think his Aunt taught him better than that.

There is an 'OUT OF ORDER' sign hanging on the scissor gate to the lift. "Oh dear, that is the fifth time this month that confab thing broke down," said Smitty, "Looks like we will have to take the stairs. Follow me; the door to the staircase is just around the corner here." Sam was starting to regret taking this job more and more. The door to the stairwell looked like it hasn't been open in years. Cobwebs surrounded the corners, and the bottom of the door was coated in rust. "Mind your step."

Sam steps into the stairwell with Smitty and sees a metal spiral staircase that looks as if it has seen better days. The steps fade into the dark the lower they go. Smitty makes the first move, as he starts walking down the steps, the whole thing starts to shake as if it will fall apart any second, but it manages to stay together. "Come on, don't dawdle, it is a long way to the bottom." Sam follows; he can't help but feel like a buffalo following the leader of the herd off a cliff.

This spiral motion of going downwards brings to mind the time he and his aunt walked down a similar staircase. His mother has only been there for a few weeks. He and his Aunt Beatrice were being led down the shaky stairs to where they kept her. He couldn't remember whose hand was holding on tighter, him, or Aunt Beatrice. The sweat belonged to him, he knew. It wasn't from nerves; his Aunt insisted that he wore presentable clothes when they visited his mother. It was winter out, so he put on a wool shirt with his tie, along with a pair of gloves. He never took them off, because his Aunt held his hand the moment they walked up the stone steps.

This was his first time visiting Bleakewood, and it frightens him. The building was of an old gothic design. It even had gargoyles perched on the roof's edge. The shingles were made out of clay or stone, he didn't know which, only that it looked like it was made of the same material that made the walls; it all looked dark gray to him, and this shade of gray scared him. The doctors all wore white coats, and it made them look like ghosts moving around this big old gothic castle looking building. The same went for the patients in their gowns wandering around with a mindless look on their faces.

His Aunt tugged on his arm when they stepped out of the carriage. The steps lead them to a white coat-wearing doctor, Sam only made out a few words passed between his aunt and the man in white. "Good morning Ms. Kithhart, welcome to Bleakewood…yes she is doing well…I would like to see her…No, I do not believe that to be wise…I must insist…Very well follow me." There was much more to their conversation, but Sam was too focused on the patients roaming around the grounds. His aunt was a smart lady and had no room for nonsense, which showed as she remained firm with the doctor. Sam never found out what his mother did to have her committed. He only knew she 'accidentally' hurt herself. His aunt felt he was too young to understand.

They got off the staircase and walked down a dark hallway, lit by gas lanterns hanging on the wall. Sam would look up on occasion to see doors made of wood with square holes made for looking through. They were barred. Some had faces looking out at him. Those scared him too. There were patrolling guards, walking up and down the hall; they had cages on their heads, and big sticks in their hands. They didn't look any friendlier than the people they were guarding. Sam would just tuck his head behind his aunt when he passed one of them.

They continued down the hall and turned down the fifth corridor. There weren't many doors down this way, but it did have twice as many guards, and they wore thick gloves. A terrible rotting smell came to his nose the further down they went. One of the guards was sliding a tray of what looked like pea soup in a slot at the bottom of a door. A dirty old hand reached out for him, it moved like a snake striking at its prey. The guard made several swipes at the hand with his club, blood squirts out, and the sound of bone breaking echoes down the hall. Another hand reaches out and grabs the bowl before going back in the slot. The guard walked past them using a string of foul language that Sam has only heard from the strongman in the Carnival after he had a few too many.

4

The doctor leads them to a door being guarded by two of the men with cages on their heads. Sam notices that they have long poles in their hands with a 'Y' shape on end, it reminded him of the stories his aunt would tell him at night. "The sentries and their long arms guarding the prisoners in the castle dungeons." The doctor walks to the one on the left holding a big ring of skeleton keys. He tells him to open the door. The man removes the big ring and searches for the right key to open the door. The key turning in the lock makes a loud clanging sound. The other man tells the doctor and his aunt to wait a moment while they restrain the patient. Both the guards enter the room with their long poles at the ready. Sam can hear the screams of a woman; she is howling profanities at the guards. She said something about one of their mothers and animals on a farm. His aunt covered his ears before he could hear anything else. Sam looks up at her and sees tears forming in her eyes. One of the guards yells out the door. "BRING US A JACKET…HURRY UP THIS BITCH IS FIESTY TODAY."

Another guard comes running down the hall towards them carrying with him a white jacket with belts all over it. After a few more minutes of the guards fighting with the patient, they walk out. One of the cages on the guard's head was smashed in a little, the other had a bloody claw mark on his arm. It was this one that told the doctor that the patient was restrained and ready for the calming salve. The doctor asks his aunt to wait just a moment, while he applies the medicine to calm her down. Sam didn't know who 'her' was. He thought his aunt said they were going to see his mother. The voice of the woman in the cell did not sound like his mother at all. This woman was scary, and he didn't want to go in. He was about to tell his aunt that he wanted to go to where his mother was, and that he didn't want to see whoever this lady was. Before he could do that the doctor came back out, "Ok Ms. Kithhart, you may go in now. The salve will keep her in a calm state, but the moment she starts acting out again, you will have to leave." The doctor looks down at Sam standing there wearing his wool shirt and tie and walks away shaking his head muttering something about 'no place for children.'

Sam feels his aunt tugging on his arm, for him to follow. He didn't want to go in there. It was dark and scary, there was some monster woman in there. Sam reaches for the long pole that one of the guards was holding, but his aunt manages to grab hold of his hand and drag him into the cell. Tears start to form at the bottom edge of his eyes, his cheeks flush red, and his perspiration increases a hundred fold. He feels cold and wet. His mind is caked in fear of what he is about to see. First, there is a table. He sees someone laying on it. Aunt Beatrice picks him up and carries him over to it. He pees his pants a little from the fear. The legs are bruised with cuts from the fight a few minutes ago. The blood from the cuts has begun to coagulate. Sam's eyes move up to see a patient gown sticking out of the first set of belts strapping the legs down to the table. The woman's hands are covered by the long sleeves of the coat Sam saw the guard carrying. His eyes rest on the woman's face, he doesn't know her. His aunt gives him a shake. "Samuel, say hi to your mother."

5

The walls fell in Sam's mind. Panic was all he understood. What did his aunt mean, "Say hi to your mother?" That was not his mother. His mother was sweet, kind, and above all else the most beautiful woman in the world. Nobody could take that from her. This thing on the table was a 'MONSTER.' That monster looks at him and smiles. Its teeth were stained with something dark, it drooled something dark as well. He could hear it trying to speak. A horrible sound it was. He forgets how he got down, but he is no longer in his aunt's arms. He lands on the hard wet floor. The smell of urine and dung reach his nose, this room reeked of it. How could his aunt bring him here, and where was his mother. Sam runs from the cell, not hearing the calls of his aunt. He sees arms reaching out for him as he passes the doors. The faces of misbegotten wretches of society filled these halls, and all had the same colored teeth. Their faces were of pain, anguish, and suffering. His mother didn't belong down here. This was a place for, 'MONSTERS.'

The spiral staircase was a head, the guards reached out for him but couldn't catch him. He ducked and dodged them, his running seems to upset some of the things behind the doors. Arms of what could almost pass for human arms were reaching out the square shaped holes, grabbing hold of the cages on the guard's heads. The halls filled with the screams of the damned. He reaches the staircase, running up it as fast as his legs could take him. If it weren't for the adrenaline, he would have run out of breath before he made it back up to where he and his aunt started down those steps moments ago. He knew that his mother wasn't in this nightmare of a place, there is no way she could be. When he got off the staircase, none of the staff on the floor was paying any attention to him. They were too busy trying to control the patients that were getting upset from all the screaming.

The front double doors to the outside were wide open. Almost as if they were begging him to escape this hell. He could see the light, my god the light was beautiful, like his mother. Desperate to have its warmth on his flesh. Sam runs out those doors and right into an old man in a patients gown. The next thing he knows is the feel of floating in the air, then the hard stone steps, the feeling stays with him all the way to the bottom until the light he so desperately wanted, went out.

6

"Rr oo alryt, i lttl sprk."

Words sounding as if they came to him underwater reach his ears. His head was hurting, his vision cloudy. Someone was standing over him. The light fades out along with the voice.

For what seems like an eternity. The light comes and goes. In between the coming and going he could have sworn he was floating for a time, then more of the underwater speech. Always the same, "Rr oo alryt, i lttl sprk." They were not getting any clearer. The light faded one last time.

The grass felt good to his fingers. The cool breeze brushed his cheeks. Then came the words, much clearer now.

"Are you alright, my little spark?"

Sam opens his eyes, seeing a big oak tree towering over him. The sun was shining through its leaves. He could hear birds chirping, as they stood perched on the limbs of the mighty oak. Sam is not alone under this big tree. There is a frail looking man in a patient's gown sitting next to him holding his knees close to his chest.

"What did you call me?" Sam asks

"I called you, little spark, as that is what you are. A bright little spark in this great big world."

"Where am I? How did I get here?" asks Sam, not understanding what has happened.

"You fell, down those steps there," said the old man, pointing towards a wall, "I brought you here, and if you want to return to the steps you must cross the yard and go through the opening."

"I don't ever want to go back there," said Sam with a sense of finality in his voice.

"Why don't you want to go back? Isn't that where your mother is at?"

"My mom is not one of those, those, monsters," Sam is beginning to dislike this fellow, "Who are you, what is your name?"

"My name? I don't have a name, it was erased?" he said "He took my name, but he didn't take everything. No, he didn't, I still had my hallway."

Sam was getting scared again. He stands up, his legs feel a little wobbly. His vision starts to blur out, but he holds it together. He makes it half way across the yard when he hears the man yell out towards him. Those words will never be forgotten.

"I kept my hallway safe. Now I gave it to you to keep safe...I GAVE IT TO YOU!"

7

"You sure did give it to me, you dirty bastard," muttered Sam.

Old Smitty stopped a second and looked back. "You say something, son?"

"Just reliving bad memories is all."

"Ah, yes these steps will do that to you sometimes," said Smitty as he started back walking down steps again, "The constant spinning downward, the dim lighting; it all tends to make people think."

Sam and the Smitty reach the bottom to what seemed like an endless amount of levels. When they stepped off the last step, Sam's body felt as if was still walking in a downward spiral. He shuts his eyes to regain his equilibrium. The lighting is a bit brighter here. The door to the basement is straight ahead, an old desk with dusty books, loose paper, and a lantern sit right next to it. Smitty goes to the desk and starts fumbling through the drawers finally finding what he was looking for in the bottom one. It was a candle, which he placed in the lantern. Striking a match the lantern produced a sufficient amount of light for them to begin the search.

Once inside, Sam and Smitty start looking through all the boxes stacked up on the shelves for the one containing the ink ribbons. After going through what seemed like a couple of dozen boxes, Sam leaves his stack and walks over to the old man to see if he had any luck in finding them. Smitty was sitting down going through a bunch of old newspapers. He looks up at Sam coming towards him, then raises up and old newspaper, with a, 'Hey, look what found,' look on his face.

"There you are, any luck?" asked Smitty

Sam shakes his head no, "What do you have there?"

"This right here my boy is an old stack of newspapers from over fifty years ago. I am surprised they haven't been thrown away or destroyed by rats. This was when real reporting was done. You see back then, we had investigative reporters who would go around and try to solve the cases that the boys in blue couldn't. It would put such a twist in their pantaloons I tell ya."

Sam picks up one of the newspapers and starts looking through it. The headline read, 'Mayor Tutweihler loses to Swanson.' Throwing the paper down he spotting another headline, this one caught his attention.

-MURDER AT ST. RUE CHURCH-