Chapter 1: The Cul-De-Sac Chronicles*

"Good evening, cul-de-sac dwellers, night owls, and those just waking up from the void," Eddy's voice oozed through the microphone, slick like the grease he used to slick back his thinning hair. "You're tuned in to *The Cul-de-Sac Chronicles* where we unravel the mysterious, the macabre, and sometimes just downright disgusting."

A switch flipped, and the low, haunting jingle of their podcast intro played—Edd had worked on it for days. It had an eerie, nostalgic sound that gave their listeners chills, drawing them back episode after episode.

"Tonight," Eddy continued, leaning back in his chair, "we're diving deep into the murders the cops are pretending don't exist. It's like someone left the city's skeletons out in the sun, and now they're rotting right in front of us, and no one's bothering to bury them. But you already knew that, didn't you? You've been listening. You've been keeping track."

"People *are* keeping track, Eddy," Edd chimed in, his voice smoother but no less serious. Double D—still the most mature of the three—handled the podcast's technical side, but he'd long since embraced the chaotic energy of their show. "We have reports from listeners all over the city. Homeless men found beaten half to death in alleyways, women—some sex workers, others just wandering too close to the wrong side of town—discovered in ditches, barely clinging to life. But the police? They say it's nothing. Coincidence. 'High-risk individuals,' as if that excuses their lack of investigation."

There was a pause as Ed, the third host, fiddled with something off-mic. A moment later, his booming voice cut in, cheerful despite the topic. "And *get this* listeners! The police chief said that the 'homeless like to fight each other!'" Ed laughed, though there was no humor in it. "Like, what? Are they throwing *secret fight clubs* under the bridge? It's ridiculous!"

Eddy grinned despite himself. "Yeah, sure, Ed. They'll make that into a blockbuster next. *Fight Club 2: The Skid Row Edition.*"

The three of them laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that masked their frustration. Behind the jokes, all three knew the situation was worse than they let on. Eddy, Edd, and Ed were no strangers to shady dealings, having grown up in a neighborhood where scams and small-time cons were their bread and butter. But what they were talking about now wasn't just another grift. This was real. People were dying—people that no one seemed to care about.

"What makes this different," Edd continued after the laughter faded, "is the pattern. The police can say what they want about these people being 'high risk' or living on the fringes of society, but there are common threads here. The way the victims are found, the kinds of injuries they sustain. We've been doing this long enough to recognize when something's off, and this? This stinks."

"Stinks like Rolf's goat," Ed said, chuckling to himself, but there was a bitterness behind his words. Growing up in the cul-de-sac, the trio had always felt like outsiders in their own way, but now they felt more connected to the forgotten people of the city than ever.

Eddy leaned in toward the mic, voice dropping low in a conspiratorial tone. "Now, I know some of you are already connecting the dots out there. We've seen the messages. Heard the figurative voicemails that are the crumbs of clues being left behind. There's a serial killer out there, folks. And this guy, or girl, or whatever, they're not just picking victims randomly. No, they're hunting the people the city has forgotten—the ones they think won't be missed. It's classic. The cops think these people are disposable, so they're ignoring the bigger picture."

"And that's why we're doing this episode," Edd cut in, always the one to keep them on track. "Because if no one's going to investigate, we will. We've already spoken to a few people on the streets—those who knew the victims—and they're scared. There's something going on that the authorities aren't telling us. Whether it's incompetence, indifference, or worse, a cover-up, we need to keep this conversation alive."

A brief silence fell over the three of them. Ed fidgeted in his seat, tapping a pen against the table in rhythm with the podcast's background music. He hated the quiet. It made him think too much.

"I was talking to Jimmy the other day," Ed said, suddenly breaking the tension. "He runs that shelter downtown now, remember? Well, he says people are starting to disappear. Not just the ones turning up dead, either. Others. People he's known for years. They're just...gone."

Eddy raised an eyebrow. "And no one's talking about it?"

"Nope," Ed answered, his voice uncharacteristically grave. "Jimmy's worried. Real worried."

"That's not good," Edd murmured, rubbing his temple. "If people are going missing on top of the bodies we already know about, then the situation is escalating. It could mean that whoever's doing this is getting bolder—or they're gearing up for something even worse."

Eddy leaned closer to his mic, his eyes sharp. "So, listeners, what we're saying is, we need your help. If you've seen anything strange, if you've heard anything—hell, if you've even got a gut feeling about something off—you let us know. We're going to figure this out, whether the cops want to help or not. We owe it to these people, to the ones nobody else gives a damn about."

Ed nodded emphatically, the words seeming to embolden him. "We gotta do something. For all of 'em. This is bigger than us, and you guys out there listening, you're a part of this now, too."

There was a sudden chime—a notification from the show's live feed.

"Looks like we've already got some messages coming in from the fans," Edd said, glancing over at the screen. "People are definitely seeing the connections we are. One listener says they saw a man in a long coat hanging around one of the murder sites a few nights ago. Claims he looked out of place, like he didn't belong."

"Well, there you go," Eddy smirked. "Seems like we're not the only ones paying attention."

Ed's face lit up. "And we'll keep paying attention! No more hiding, no more secrets!"

As the trio dove deeper into their conversation, their usual banter mixing with a growing sense of dread, the night stretched out around them. The streets outside their studio were quiet, almost eerily so. But just like their listeners, the Eds knew something dark was lurking out there, waiting to be exposed.

And if the police wouldn't do anything about it, well, then they would.

"Stay safe out there, cul-de-sac dwellers," Eddy signed off, his voice lower, more serious now. "We'll see you next week. Same time, same place. Don't let the darkness swallow you."

The sound of their outro music played, the haunting notes lingering as they faded into silence.