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Murder Most Foul

Murder Most Foul
Victor Bisolglio spent most of his time either making meth or playing World of Warcraft but his pursuit of one was always a detriment to the other. Sometimes he missed raids because he was too busy cooking, other times he was so fixated on his daily quests that he ended up making a useless batch of product.
He lived in a trailer on his parents property, they'd long ago given up on him but they didn't have the heart to kick him out either. Victor was just an unpleasant obligation to them now, like jury duty or spring cleaning. Maybe if they had known what he was doing in that tool shed he'd quickly and shoddily constructed a few yards from his double wide they'd have reconsidered.
At ten o’clock in the evening the door to that shed hung open to reveal a mad scientist’s dream of tubing, containers and smoke. A stink like cat piss and nail polish remover wafted from the rickety structure. Victor sat at a picnic table nearby, crouched over the dim multicolored illumination of his laptop. He was lost to the game: he only had eyes for the imaginary world unspooling before him, he only had ears for the constant on and off topic chatter of fellow gamers.
Did Victor care that he was slowly turning his parents’ property into a small scale toxic waste dump? Did it worry him that the last three batches of meth he’d delivered to Murder Mekembe had been unsellable garbage? Did he care that his friends, just like his family, had given up on him?
No, not in the least, not when he had reached a place where respec mattered far more to him than respect.
I was nearby, hidden behind one of the trees that groundwater poisoning hadn’t left leafless and bent.
A few low level dealers and cooks had been murdered recently. Their throats ripped out, entrails clawed through, skulls split open and emptied. They say that the police had found a secondary source of DNA in the wounds, and teeth marks too. They say that witnesses had reported seeing a man near the murder scenes. They described him as shambling, dead eyed and covered with dirt. If anyone had the temerity to use the ‘Z word’ they were quickly silenced by the forces of order and decency.
At a quarter to midnight a shape lumbered out of the shadows, heading straight for the double wide and the smoking toolshed. I snapped a few pictures on my iPhone and watched. Victor was too intent on his screen to notice the figure bearing down on him.
Closer still.
My conscience got the better of my caution and I shouted a warning but Victor didn’t hear anything beyond the music, sound effects and online chatter blasting through his earbuds.
The dark figure flipped the picnic table over and reality came crashing down on Victor Bisolglio. The dark figure swiped at him but Victor managed to scramble out from under the table and get clear of grabbing range. He might have even lived if he hadn’t recognized his attacker.
I heard him shout “Earl?”
Victor sure as Hell hadn’t expected to see Earl Edmonds again, not since he’d buried him in the woods almost three weeks ago.
When the dark shape advanced again Victor pulled what I thought to be a revolver from his jacket. He issued some of the standard threats but his attacker kept coming.
I broke cover and ran towards them, waving my arms, begging them to stop before this got out of hand. The shambling figure didn’t react but Victor did.
He screamed and fired his weapon.
Not at me, but at the man he’d once called a friend.
A bright ball of Fourth of July fireworks leaped from the barrel.
That’s right, a flare gun. Victor’s sidearm of choice had been a flare gun.
There was just enough time for me to think What is this? I don’t even-
Then sputtering ball of burning red bounced off the shambling figure’s chest, bounced twice along the ground and rolled into the toolshed.
The report from the fire inspector would later reveal that there was also a propane grill being stored in the cheap little building. That was why the blast blew the walls out and the roof ten feet into the air.
Victor was lost to the explosion. Had it hurt to die like that or had it been too fast for him to even know what happened? I hope for the latter.
The other figure wasn’t so lucky, the fire engulfed it. The figure staggered and flailed. Then it screamed.
And perhaps, in his final agonizing moments, Earl Edmonds realized he wasn’t really one of the walking dead after all.
Let the record show that if you are going to be an investigator in all things preternatural and uncanny, then you are going to find yourself huddling in the bushes more often than a compulsive masturbator in a nudist colony.
It was almost dawn and I had been watching the comings and goings at the house on Lana Drive for half the day and most of the night. When the owner left on an errand I did a little breaking and entering. I gave the first floor of her place a quick once over, I couldn’t risk taking the time to check out the basement or the second floor.
And it was a good thing I chickened out because I got back to hiding spot in the woods just as Murder Mekembe pulled her escalade back into the driveway. A car full of her thugs showed up few minutes later. The rest of the night was cars coming and going, a constant ebb and flow of customers and cronies. It wasn’t until 4 a.m., when the last car full of cronies left that I made my move.
Raevyn ‘ Murder’ Mekembe , half Bokor, half crime boss, didn’t look at all surprised to find me knocking on her door. When she addressed me it was with a community theater level Jamaican accent, “Brian Foster. Come in. Come in.”
“Not surprised to see me?” I asked as she closed the door behind me.
“I been expecting you,” she said. Her skin was the color of coffee, her hair the color of bone, “They all said there was some guy in an ugly hat going around asking lots of questions.”
“Well, you can’t learn anything if you don’t ask questions,” I grinned.
We were both smiling but they were phony smiles, politicians’ smiles. She led me past her parlor with all its faux Voodoo knick-knacks and a pair of very real Lorcin .380s on the center table.
It was very telling that she hadn’t grabbed them, I guess she didn’t see me as much of a threat. Her and everybody else in Albany.
There was a long hallway through the center of the house leading to a trio of bedrooms. My earlier snooping had revealed that Rayven used the bedroom on the right for sleeping and the one on the left was where she kept her ziplock bags of dried pufferfish, marine toads and hyla tree frogs, as well as her Tupperware containers of Datura paste and lysergic acid diethylamide in crystal form. The third one was where she warehoused her product.
I followed my host to her bare kitchen. There was a bottle of rum on the counter, her last bottle of rum if I was correct. It was already half empty.
Raven ‘Murder’ Mekembe half Bokor, half crime boss, fully functioning alcoholic. She poured me a glass and offered it, “Have a drink.”
I lied, “Sorry, I don’t drink.”
“Your loss,” she emptied my glass then refilled her own. “What you be wantin’?”
“I know you had Victor Bisolglio killed, a lot of other people too.”
“You wearing a wire?”
“Why would I help the police?”
“Maybe you want to be a hero,” she said.
“I just want the real story, for my dozen or so readers,” I explained, “they love stories like yours. Do you know there are people out there that think you raise the dead to do your bidding?”
“You believe everything you hear Brian Foster?” Her accent slurred to an Irish brogue for a syllable or two then back again, “Everyone tells these crazy stories. I’m a drug dealer, I’m a witch, I’m an insatiable nymphomaniac...”
“Er... That last one is a bit of a surprise...” I didn't know whether to cringe or blush so I did a little of both, “But back to the matter at hand. My sources tell me that Earl Edmonds O.D.ed at a party you held here almost a month ago. The same sources say that rather than get the authorities involved you had some of your employees wrap him in an old rug and bury him in a shallow grave.”
I paused for effect but she just smiled.
“Now someone dug up that grave a few days later and I'm pretty sure that someone was you. Why did you do it? Because Earl wasn't dead. Oh, he looked dead but he had been drugged with a little psychotropic cocktail people sometimes called,” I made quotation marks in the air, “‘zombie powder’.”
She raised an eyebrow and emptied her glass of rum. Then she poured herself another, the bottle was two-thirds empty now.
“This zombie powder causes a paralysis so severe that a layman might think the victim is dead. It's the stuff of Edgar Allan Poe's nightmares.” I took a cautious step towards her, “And all the while the poor bastard is in a state of living death they're having nightmarish hallucinations. Imagine all that happening and being buried alive to boot.”
She laughed at me, but I’m used to women doing that so it’s all good.
I continued, “I imagine the Earl you dug up was not the same man from just a few days before. I imagine it would have been easy to mess with his broken mind. How long did it take you to convince him he was a zombie?”
Murder emptied the glass again but this time she set it down on the counter beside her, “Why would anyone do something so... Theatrical?”
“Oh I agree it is a very theatrical way to go about things but then again I’m not the failed law student from Wisconsin pretending to be a witch woman from Jamaica so what do I know?”
That got her. She frowned and crossed her arms.
When in doubt keep talking so that’s what I did “Like they say on the Internet, Google is your friend. But don’t worry your secret is safe with me.”
“Why-” she paused as if she was collecting her thoughts, “why would I go to all that trouble?”
“Because criminals are a cowardly superstitious lot.”
I waited to see if she got the reference. She didn’t so I went on.
“You did it because you suspected there was a snitch in your organization. You used poor Earl to eliminate the usual suspects.” I counted off on my hand, “They found what was left of Craig Aden in a dumpster. Shortly after that a 911 call sent the police to Adrian Driscoll’s apartment but there wasn’t much they could do for him. There wasn’t much an undertaker could do for him either if you get my meaning. Then there was Sandro Elsdon, he was killed alongside his girlfriend and two young kids.”
“But why? Why not just put a bullet in their heads instead?”
“Because it taught your employees a very valuable lesson. Cross Murder Mekembe and you end up dead, or worse.” I took off my straw fedora and fiddled with it, “What are you going to do now that your pet zombie is really dead?”
“If what you’re saying is true I would just make another. Maybe I got more waiting down in the basement. What would you do then? What if all I had to do to wake them up was just snap my fingers?” She tried to snap her fingers for emphasis but her hand wouldn’t quite obey her.
Panic settled into her eyes. Her legs failed her. All the while she slid down to the floor she kept trying to snap her fingers.
There was a handkerchief in my left pocket, I used it to pick up the bottle of rum and pour it out. I suppose you readers out there figured out what I did when I was snooping around her house
Murder said “Fa- fa-”
I’m not sure if she was trying to say my name or curse me out. Truth is I didn’t much care. I had a packet of baby wipes in my coat pocket and I spent a little while cleaning off any of the places I might have touched. All the while Murder called after me “Fa- fa- fa-” while her fingers spasmed and her eyes shone with rage.
Finally I looked down at her, “Don’t worry, I didn’t give you a lot. At least I think I didn’t. Once I get a few blocks away I’m going to make an anonymous call to 911 and since you’ve got enough meth here for a tweekers convention I think that once I have the police get here they’ll have you,” I paused for effect, “dead to rights.”
Gloating and puns, two great tastes that go great together.
Yep I just confessed to another crime or two on the Internet but once again my story in no way matches the way the powers that be want to portray events. If they arrest me my testimony will raise too many questions.
I waited until I was halfway home before I made a 911 call on a burner cell phone but when the authorities got the house on Lana Drive they found Raevyn ‘ Murder’ Mekembe dead. Something, maybe several somethings, gnawed her flesh down to the bone.
The authorities blamed the attack on pit bulls which is an insult to all the well behaved pit bulls out there and an insult to reality because Murder was allergic to dogs.
So I guess maybe she did have some spares somewhere in the basement I never got around to checking. I wonder if they heard our entire conversation as they lay there on the cold basement floor in a state of living death and decided to get a little payback.
Or maybe in her weakened state she couldn’t control them or their appetites.
All I know for sure is that sometime between me leaving and the police showing up, Murder managed to snap her fingers.
submitted by thenightblogger to DarkTales


I think the end of the world is floating in a Ghost Ship in the Pacific. (Part 4)

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
There's things in this world we'll never understand, things so bizarre and out of our realm of understanding, that even the most brightest and most open minded physicist would be left in awe if they were presented with this. Our civilization, in my opinion is figuring things out, but at a snails pace.....it'a a shame we'll never get there.
Did you know in Switzerland, scientists have developed a 17 mile tube (oversimplifying LHC's complexity I know)? Accelerating energy particles at a super high speed via super cooled magnets to collide with each other to test various theories on what happens. We are so advanced in these experiments, that we can do so with the precision of launching two strands of hair from a distance and make them collide perfectly half way. Absolutely astonishing right?I can't take a piss and hit the water most mornings.
Recreating the "Big Bang" is the purpose....hopefully giving us insight into how we got here. (Moot point folks)
There is also a theory that doing so could wake up a particle that could open up a black hole that engulf our entire existence. Though previously discounted, there is always an "off-chance" that this may happen by waking a black hole that will engulf everything. Tin foil hat wearing conspiracy theorists have compared this to playing God if that's your choice or thought.
We are in the process of producing nanotechnology. Something that could either rid the world of diseases such as AIDS, cancer and other terminal illnesses, or leave us victims of what researchers have called the, Grey Goo Theory. This is where our bodily and Earthly resources are used up by these little robots, meant to help, replicate at an exponential rate, theorized even to outgrow the mass of the sun given they have the resources and eventually use up everything leaving nothing but a grey goo.
I could spend the day naming off other possible scenarios, nuclear war…..even man-made biological pandemics that would do us in....but it's a waste of time. You see, we'll never make it to a self-induced apocalypse…..no, our shepherds have come to harvest their flock.
Like I have told you in other posts, we'll never be able to fathom why we're in existence. Even if told directly to us, our capacity for understanding merely grasps the outer layer of what existence is. What's out there in the far reaches....where telescopes can't view....where scientists can't theorize....where we'll never see.
I set sail from Brisbane, to no particular point but I guessed with the current, our ghost ship had drifted towards Tonga, Fiji or possibly New Caladonia. This was a guess, but something told me I would run into the ship....I did.
About eight hours off the coast, the hum became stronger. My head ached along with a healed bone I had broke as a kid in the 4th grade. Kind of like when an older person says they ache when the weather changes.
The sky seemed a bit...bluer than normal. Almost like Bob Ross mixed his happy bright sky a bit too happy. The still of the water would only break by the wake from the Onyx.
Over the horizon a small dot appeared...like before my sonar started it's ever increasing beep, beep, beep as it draws near. I sat on the bow watching it like a kid I sat there cross legged waiting...I don’t remember hearing a thing. No water, no wind…..not even my own breathing. Just the beep of the sonar. This is when I knew I was slipping away.
Have you ever felt your sanity slipping? Like your mind is having a difficult time distinguishing reality? I started to question this all being real. A floating being....a crazy old man....watching the world destroyed via blue vapor. I sat still pondering these as the ships features became clearer in the distance. Then I tasted the dingy iron taste in my mouth as my nose started to bleed....
"This is fucking reality." I remember saying breaking the silence.
She was just as I remembered her. A massive soviet beast. One of the first “Mega Tankers” that were commissioned in the 70’s. The hum….the hum……..it was just so luring now that I think about it. Almost like a drug. Giving me a euphoric numb that I could feel throughout my body, the aches gone….my nose bled freely now, running down my chest but no concern startled me since this zombie like trance had me on a mission.
When I made it to the same anchor chain I had tied to before. Like walking into a bar to meet an old friend, I smiled as I climbed the chain up. Boarding the ship, I looked down the deck, watching the waves of holds leading to the bridge and the path I had originally took. The hum….the hum……I felt a grin hit my face as the hum, now ever so strong went through my body. I’ve watched the same grin in heroin addicts right after the plunger in the syringe goes down, eyes rolling back into my head Every ache, every pain, and every worry I had was now going away. No fear…..no fear…..there was blood on the deck…my blood….my nose was pouring.
I made my way down the stairs….the hum…..to the cat walk. I saw the light. Just as it was when I first boarded her. Bright enough to light up the entire hold exposing her dilapidated insides, pipes, wiring and various control panels down the sides. That viewing window turned into a pillar of light. I was at a shuffle as I got closer…….all my muscles seemed to give into the hum.
Y…..ou’re c……..urios
I froze. That same voice…that voice….the voice…..it’s know me. It’s in my head. The hum….the hum…..It’s……it’s the end.
W…ha..t yo…u are seek….ing is….n’t in you…..r real….m of und…..erstanding
Tears poured from my eyes and I crawled over to the viewing window….I couldn’t stop….that hum…..oh God…that hum. I pulled myself to the window.
“Please… Oh God please…I have to understand. What do you want? PLEASE!” I blubbered like a baby….the same way the old man outside of Brisbane did….screaming in lunacy. The hum….my mind was mush at this point. No complete thoughts were made…..just wanting what I had come there for…….to understand.
The light went so bright…the hum…so fucking intense…..it was an inch from my face and the glass had disappeared. I didn’t feel the grated catwalk under me….I was suspended with this thing. Like a ghost off of a movie….a force was holding me up in mid-air. I felt a sense of calm and intense fear all at the same time, like the beings voice with its high and low voice side by side. Somehow impossible, yet possible all at the same time.
What I watched in its eyes this time was more terrifying than anything I have ever witnessed.
I watched a line of people all races, old, young, tall, short, fat, fit, ugly, attractive….standing completely nude in hundreds of lines. All in the same trance I was in….one by one they walked towards a beam of light….stepping into it to would result in each layer of them shedding...pulled down to a hold below them. No expressions. Skin….fat….muscle….organs…bones. All gone one by one. These beings stood, still suspended above watching with their hollow eyes and almost a.........a goddamn grin on their face.
Harvested……they are going to harvest us.
Numb……ers of yo….ur kind wi……ll su…..stane ou…..r obj…..ective.
Like swiping through your iPhone photo library, the same snippet was played…..species that I can only guess from different civilizations. All of your sci-fi fantasies of other planets species lined up evaporating layer by layer to nothing. Big, small, odd skins, colors and appendages. All being harvested while they watched.
Suddenly I felt the hum directly on my chest…..I was completely immobile. My body went limp and my head flopped down where I noticed its hand wrapped around my chest….holding me where it drew me closer……
“What…….what are you?” I muttered out.
“Li……fe an…….d de……ath brin……..ge..rs sav……ing harv….est f….rom the….mse….lves.”
Leaning in to me I looked into its eyes one final time I watched them….hundreds…..thousands of them…their offspring…..watching….just watching us and many other planets. Sleeping.....monitoring….waiting. Catching us when there’s just enough of us....and when we're about to obliterate ourselves. Enough to provide them with what they want……that goddamn hum…enough to fill their needs…..
I woke up on the deck of the Onyx about a mile off the coast of Sydney…..I have no memory of the trip back here. I docked and tried to recall the events of the last few days. The hum…….THAT FUCKING HUM!!!!
I think I’ll go inland…..it won’t do any good I know but I can’t stay on this fucking boat any longer…..this…..this hum….
A good Shepard catches his flock right before they run off a cliff.
submitted by shipinthesea123 to nosleep