It's nice to be working on the first fanfiction on this site of my favorite old time radio show, I Love a Mystery. Honestly, for anyone who doesn't know of this, go to Itunes and you can download episodes of it for free. Anyway, I only own my OC, Alicia Evanston. And just as a precaution, these events did not actually happen. Nerstrand, Minnesota is a real place, but none of these events that you are about to witness ever happened. I also do not own I Love a Mystery (though I wish I did). Enjoy!
Drip. Drip. Drip. A dark storm poured through the night in the small town of Nerstrand, Minnesota. Nothing on the streets except for the lamppost's faint glow and the water traveling to the sewers through the storm drains. It was eleven o' clock on the fifteenth evening of August. The year was 1948.
Out of the classic little diner just at the street corner, the door opened and closed as a short, portly man about the age of fifty five drew the small ring of keys. He fumbled with them for a short while, his spectacles which were becoming streaky from the falling raindrops. Finally, he locked the door and stashed them within his dark trench coat pocket.
Yip! Yip! Yip! The puppies at the local pet store bark, howl, and whine. Darkness is coming. The essence of the night and the storm reek of apprehension and approaching death. It burns their noses and curls their tails between their legs. The cockatoo squalls, the nature's alarm with his yellowish-white head feathers rising up like a frightened cat's fur sticking up on end.
Bringing out an umbrella, he opened it up and angled it to shield his body from the wetness. He began to trudge along the drenched sidewalk of the small town in silence.
CAW! CAW!
A lone raven glided through the heavy drizzle, a dark angel of foreshadowing tragedy on the move once again. His pitch-black talons scratched the water logged, aging wood of a random telephone wire pole. His beady brown eyes flashed in harmony with the lightning as they rested on the empty streets.
He whistled a tune, one all too familiar to him: A Solway Symphony by John Blackwood McEwen. The song he and his lady love had first listened to when their love blossomed on a chilly December evening many years before. The harmonious tune also played at their wedding day, where they danced and danced; danced more than anyone else ever had that day.
Still preoccupied with his own thoughts, he hardly noticed the dark shadow that had been following him from the start of his journey from his building to home that night.
The raven rumbled in his throat, his eyes seeming to narrow at the dark shadow that was stalking its prey. He spreads his wings; the lightning that flashed behind him sent an ominous silhouette across the small, friendly town of Nerstrand.
Deciding that the rain was just too unbearable, he made a sharp turn into an alleyway that would lead straight to his street where his wife would be asleep yet still waiting for him. The narrow passage was dark, but hardly wet at all. It was a chance he did not mind taking if only he had known the consequences.
BOOM!
He felt a chill go up his spine, making him stop and look over his shoulder. All that was there was the street light's luminescent aura shining on the sidewalk beneath it. It flickered occasionally, indicating a faulty bulb or perhaps wiring problems. Either way, the light would die soon. A flash followed by the bellowing of thunder revealed the true source of the haunting noise. With a mental shrug, he turned back onto his pathway to home, his mind at ease for now.
CRASH!
This changed his direction change immediately and his heart began to race with growing apprehension. He sharply turned around, the metallic lid of a fallen garbage can twisting around and falling to the concrete with a dull, echoing thud. A black kitten mewed in distress, running away from the lid. The contents of the can spilled over, rotten strawberries and maggot-filled, weeks old meatloaf splashed into the slowly forming puddles. His breathing, which had become hastened from his growing fear and low energy, started to relax and slow down.
He turned to continue on his way, only he never even saw it coming. Not with his poor eyesight. Not with the darkness of the night or the violent storm. His pale brown eyes nearly popped out of his head as he let out a gurgled gasp, his trembling, wrinkled hands grabbing at his neck. The street light suddenly flashing violently, lighting and darkening infrequently the whole time. He felt a rope constricting around his throat, cutting off the oxygen that his aged lungs already had enough trouble retrieving from getting there.
The dark figure behind him, one covered from the darkness of the alleyway, yanked on the rope to tighten all the more on the helpless elderly man. Still, the old man struggled, letting out a series of strangled coughs and muffled screams.
CAW! CAW!
The black bird screeches into the night, surprisingly waking nobody within earshot. If there were any, that is. The shadow of death, he knows, is fighting for its victim's very life. He takes off, his black clawed feet now being scratched by the red, hard, sandpaper-like bricks that overlooked the game of predator and prey.
As a final, lethal measure, the mysterious man's gloved hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled it back out, light reflecting off of the steel of a weapon. With the swiftness of a striking rattlesnake, the pocket knife planted itself into the pudgy side of the old man. Like a switch, the lamppost released a bright flash for several seconds before it began to dim. His flailing became even more powerful to the taller man yet more strenuous on his aged muscles and weakening bones.
Finally, the short man's struggling ceased; the noises for life and mercy he made receded into tragic quietness. The taller, shadowed man released the portly man's lifeless body. The carcass hit the forming puddles of water and blood beneath him. Light brown eyes glassy only for now, only until he is found and then eyes will be shut.
The lamppost at the end of the alleyway darkened completely. The bulb inside gave out one, tiny last flicker, like a firefly giving one last flash before the end of summer. The puppies in the shop howled together in despair. A wooden object thumped above them, startling them into silence as the middle-aged owner bellowed to shut up.
Like a demonic creature climbing to its haunches, the murderous and obviously younger man stood to his full height; which was easily twice the once kind, living elder man. Lightning struck at the ground quite a distance away from the gory scene, only enhancing the lifelessness of the old man and the killer. His coat swished a bit at the roaring of the wind that began to blow out of nowhere.
Silence was all that was there. Silence, the pitter-patter of raindrops, and the almost quiet flow of the short, husky man's spilled blood. The raven stopped his song of death, his wings tucked back in and his head bowed in mock sympathy for the dead. He did not care. The killer remained, much like a vulture deciding whether or not to eat the decaying meal he had found. He observed his masterful handiwork, admiring it almost.
Then, a startled, shrill screech pierced the cloud of peaceful silence. No, thought the murderer, not a screech. It was a whinny. The whinny of a horse. Practically a statue coming to life for the first time, he stiffly turned to the origin of the animal's call.
Only a few yards away, there was indeed a horse. The whiteness of it made it stand out above all things on a night like this one, yet it would vanish in even the smallest of mists without a trace to be found. Its mane and tail were as dark as the night, which made it appear that the animal had no such thing.
Lightning struck again, the frightened animal bucking around and nearly throwing off its rider. The rider yanked at its reigns all the while holding on for dear life as he or she tried to regain control. Whether a he or a she, the killer could not tell. A classic, yellow raincoat with a hood over the master's head concealed that very fact from him.
The wind attacked again, blowing mercilessly against all three of them: the man, the rider, and the steed. It was the wind, however, that gave her away. The air striking at her blew the hood off of her hair the color of charcoal. Her pale face and terrified emerald eyes, which looked to be no older than fourteen, looked into that of the monster's, for she saw no man after what she had witnessed.
The man slowly, yet lethally, stepped towards the adolescent girl and her horse not so much in a threatening manner, but his intentions were clear to her. Yet she remained frozen in place, almost as if the rain was snow that had solidified her on the spot.
A flash of black struck through the wall of light provided by the street light right in front of the girl and the horse. The raven landed on a rusting, but still used blue mailbox and lifted his wings at the larger creature and gave a great, loud, malicious,
CAW! CAW! CAW!
It was enough warning for the horse to make the decision for its rider. It whinnied and neighed fearfully, rearing back on its two back hooves before stomping the front ones back down. The very second they did and at the next flash of lightning, the horse took off, running a race with the thunder being the starting gun and the prize of its laborious running would be their lives.
They were out of sight in an instant, the mist forming on the edge of town cloaking them from unwanted followers. He couldn't catch them, the murderous monstrosity of a man thought, not now, anyway; but he would find them. That was something he would most definitely make sure of. He would not let years of perfect planning be ruined by a child.
The raven turned towards the man, unafraid yet completely knowing his reign of bloodshed was yet to end any time soon. He flapped his wings, his talons detaching from the mailbox and flying off into the night. Along with the girl and her horse, he too disappeared into the forming fog that would cover the town come the rising of the sun.
