The Night Shift.

I haven't posted in a long time. And I don't think I can finish this post in one go, either. I have my reasons, certainly. First, and least importantly, my paperwork from my clinicals has been catching up with me. The time I've spent on this murderer (dubbed the Fishmonger or the Mad Surgeon, depending on which papers you read. Thankfully, Franklin's 'theory' hasn't been picked up by many of the major news networks.) has been cutting into my free time both at the office and at home, as much as I loathe to give it that credit. 

On the upside, I...believe I wouldn't be too wrong if I were to say I am somewhat of an expert in the Mythos that help formulate this killer's methods. I've read the origins of the character, I've seen the creative directions it has been taken in, I've noted the subtle differences in each blog's character, whether it's the Operator of Marble Hornets or the Wicked Gentleman of Hiking Fiend, or the many Slendermen of Breaker (I have read a LOT, good and bad.) I've seen what he does, and every so often, something still gives me chills (though I will be honest, those moments are few and far between. One is inevitably desensitized to a tall businessman watching from the treeline.)

So please understand that, when I describe what happened when I took Jess up on her offer to keep her company on the night shift, I am not speaking from a position of ignorance.

Detective White knocked on my door at about 9:45 that night. I opened the door to a rather more casual looking girl to the harsh, up and coming detective who so terrorized the precinct.

"What, you're wearing a suit on a stakeout? You want the kid to think you're with the fucking Bureau? You're a bit of an idiot, aren't you?" 

Well, she was still in casual clothes. That counts for something.
"I forgot to change after work."
"Well, whatever, we need to get there, NOW, to take over from Officer Madison. I'm driving."

I will not speak about the drive there. She was driving at...the speed that suited her, I said some things I shouldn't have, more loudly than I should've, and we almost crashed into a Pizza Hut.

Needless to say, when we first arrived at the house at the stroke of 10 (which was impressive considering where I live), we weren't exactly on speaking terms. She did initiate conversation after she got sick of sulking, though.

"So, what do you think? Any amazing breakthroughs you've made with your time reading teen dudes try to do horror?"
"For your information, most of the bloggers are in their 20's, and there's a fair few female bloggers. Or at least, dudes pretending to be females. And, you can try and belittle the genre as much as you like, but the fact of the matter remains that it is a group of literary works that clearly inspire our murderer. Would you be belittling it if the murders resembled say, the deadly sins of man, and I started looking into Dante's Inferno?"
"...Yes, mostly because I've seen Seven."
"...Point to you."

The night continued pretty much like that. I think I dropped off to sleep at about two, because I remember nothing between then, and when Detective White punched me in the shoulder at 3:33AM. "Something's happening."
"Hmm?"
"Look out the window."

I rolled over (we had apparently reclined the seats so we were almost lying down. I guess that provides us with more cover or something? I dunno.) and looked at the house. Only one light was on; from Theo's room. Poor guy couldn't sleep. I don't blame him; I'd be kept up by the events going down too. I could see his silhouette behind the venetian blinds, on his computer...

The lights flickered. Like a whisper through a candle. Barely noticeable.

Then, they cut out entirely, as a "SMASH" rang out through the neighborhood. A lone dog barked, breaking the night from its peaceful silence with its harsh staccato. Detective White jumped out of the car, opening the door with a fluid movement. "Look after the car," she demanded, before darting into the night.

I'm not a fighter, I'm a lover. Ah, so to speak. So when she made that demand of me, I was entirely content to follow orders from the officer. If only things were that simple. As the Detective disappeared behind the house, I watched as a shadowy figure slipped silently across the wall, right behind her. 

I'm not a fighter, but I know that fights are generally decided by who gets in the first good hit. And this...whoever they were...

I got out of the car, locking it as I left, and ran as softly as I could with my work shoes on, around the back of the house. It was deserted as I went, with tiny pieces of glass from the broken door glimmering in the moonlight. I stepped over the threshold and listened for any signs of movement, standing awkwardly in the dark kitchen, wondering desperately to myself what I thought I was doing.

You wanna be a hero, Rivers? I can see the headlines now, "Savvy Shrink Saves Damsel in Distress" Alternatively, "Stupid-Ass Psych Skinned, Detective Dead." Wanna take a spin at it, mate?

I wondered why my internal monologue sounded exactly like that goddamn reporter, before hearing slow footsteps ascending the staircase to Theo's room. I froze, standing in place for what seemed like an age, but was probably only a few minutes. I looked around the kitchen for anything I could use to defend myself; a rolling pin being the first object to come to hand. It was an odd weight to be carrying, but the heaviness comforted me enough to move through the house, with a slow 'tap tap tap' of my feet. The light was low, so I brought out my cell phone to help navigate.

Tap, tap, tap, squelch.

I looked down and was overcome with a wave of nausea, narrowly holding down my dinner. On the ground,  was...what my minimal knowledge of anatomy could identify as an intestine, snaking across the floor like a grotesque trail of yarn, leading inevitably to the main ball, hiding in the bathroom down the hall like some inhuman beast.

Garbage bags were strewn around it, slimy with the vestigial juices from what they used to contain; building blocks for the...grand construction. Organs. More organs than could possibly come out of a single human body, piled on-top of each other in a glistening, raw bastardization of the natural order. Some cleaved in two, dissected, as if this were just a macabre science lesson. I swear, they were squirming, the glistening of my cell phone light playing off them, invigorating them, giving them the power to beat, digest, consume. And the stench, oh god the stench. Ammonia and something else, something worse. I couldn't just smell it, I could feel it. My hair follicles felt like they were buzzing in protest, my pores screamed, my hands tingled.

I tried to shout, to do something, but opening my mouth only let that foulness enter my body further. I whimpered pitifully, my lungs burning, eyes tearing up unwillingly. I stumbled backwards, whispering, "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck...", only to feel a sharp pain in the back of my head.

I dropped the rolling pin, stumbled a bit more. My vision blurred and I fell to my knees. I felt the floor swing beneath me, toppling me to my side. I blacked out, but before the darkness consumed me, I looked up, seeing a ghostly mask grinning down at me, its hollow eyes streaming tears of blood.

Nice try, mate.