Hallowe'en Challenge 3
Sep. 8th, 2005 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessBlood, gore and fear. And like the duracelle bunny keeps going and going...
They trembled under the thick blankets provided for them. The paramedics hadn’t been happy for them to stay at the police station, wanted to get them down to hospital as soon as possible, but now they had reached shelter, none of them seemed inclined to leave it. DI Simmons didn’t exactly blame them. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone in such a state before, and he knew these kids. They had a few weird ideas and strange habits, but they were good kids, reliable kids. He’d left them in the hands of the scolding paramedics and some of his more sympathetic officers who might be able to get a statement when they were more coherent. At the minute he could barely understand a word, and he hadn’t believed those few words he had understood.
Looking up at the tree, he didn’t know what to believe. It went without saying that he'd never seen anything like it. Suddenly the world didn't feel like a police drama, it didn't even feel like a horror film. No horror film could have had that tree in it. Not and guarantee the sanity of any of the viewers. He wasn’t sure about his officers and the parameds who’d joined him and were busy losing their lunches all around him. A thread of prayer could be heard over the hoarse retching.. Hell, he wasn’t very sure about his own sanity.
Over twenty bodies. Well over. He didn’t know how much over because he couldn’t bring himself to count them. not yet. Besides he didn’t think it would be possible until they got all the pieces together and started to match bits up... Who could kill all these people, tear up their bodies and use them to decorate this huge tree with them - all the way to the top! - So quickly that they had barely begun to cool and the blood was so fresh it nearly run like water.
Dr. Waterman joined him in staring up the tree. In DI Simons experience, most pathologists were morbidly jolly men with inappropriate senses of humour - probably necessary to survive the job. Actually, more than a few cops had similar ideas on what was funny. Dr. Waterman was true to type, but the man’s round face was set in cold, bleak lines. No-one could find anything to laugh about in the shadow of that tree.
“What could do it, Doctor?” DI Simmons whispered, suddenly afraid of breaking the silence around this terrible place.
“I wish I knew.” Like the detective, Dr. Waterman strove to preserve the silence. He frowned. “No... Looking at that tree, I don’t think I do want to know. There are some things I wish to go to the grave ignorant of.”
“We can’t afford ignorance right now.” DI Simmons replied, more to himself than anyone else.
The pathologist seemed about to reply when a constable ran towards them, his face grey. He stared fiercely at the detectives face, desperately avoiding looking at the tree. “Sir! We found something... oh God we found something!”
Inwardly, Simmons winced. “Calm down Constable,” he paused to remember the man’s name. It was amazing how effective a name was in pulling someone from shock. “Jackson. What have you found?”
“More bodies, sir.” Simmons nodded, inwardly cursing. More bodies. It seemed almost impossible. With leaden feet he and the pathologist followed the constable, both passing their duties under the tree to subordinates.
“I’ll never collect all the evidence in time to save it all, John.” The pathologist groaned, retreating into professional griping. “Our forensics team’s just not big enough. I‘m going to have to call on neighbouring counties.”
“Do what you must, Frank. But you know how stubborn they are.” Simmons beat his own retreat into old complaints. Police authorities really didn’t co-operate enough.
“Give me one picture to show them. One picture of the tree. They’ll co-operate.”
DI Simmons agreed, but they’d arrived. no more running, harsh reality would always catch you. He looked down at the family. It was almost worse than the tree, no gobbets of flesh, but these untouched bodies were unmistakably, cruelly human. Mother, one hand still wrapped around the small bundle in her arms. Father, one hand still held in that of a small girl. The small blonde girl next to her father, her elder brother coiled protectively next to her. And the bundle. Dressed in white, Simmons didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl.
All stared back with wide glassy eyes, faces twisted into a white masks of unbelievable terror.
***
They’d moved in together after that. It wasn’t really planned but they didn’t really feel safe alone. They didn’t really want to be alone - the dreams alone were almost impossible to live with. The only thing they could all cling to was that feeling of safety underneath the King in the circle. That brief moment of peace. Before the terror started. Even Michael was considering moving in with them - the sight of that tree haunted all fo their dreams. The town was fully panicking. A full 48 people were found dead that night - most of them construction workers but also a fair few people connected to Arnet Houses Ltd. A surveyor, a lawyer, a couple of accountants. One of the councillors who granted them planning permission complete with his family. Mr. Arnett was rumoured to have fled town. Everyone had prayed that the horror would stop now he had left and the construction had stalled, especially. It looked like a peace had been reached, there had been further accidents, but always with people entering the forest. The forest was a no go area for anyone now. Far from perfect, but it was something they could all live with. For a time anyway.
Graham moved through the cramped house quietly, homing in on the latest flare of hostilities. Inwardly he sighed, but gently. He was long accostomed to playing peacekeeper with his volatile coven but the last week they had spent living together had had him on duty nearly constantly. Thankfully they seemed capable of resolving their own disputes more and more, maybe he’d be able to have a peaceful day. Not today though. He wished they were in a calmer mood to receive the news he brought.
Fiona and Suzy were snarling in the living room, Matthew curled up in a corner, watching in amusement. Easing past, Graham was sure he could hear his coven mate chanting “catfight, catfight, catfight” under his breath. He gave the smaller man a stern look until the muttering stopped, even if it was just for Matthew to grin up at him. Graham settled down next to Matthew to observe.
“He’s shook, Sara and we still have room.” Fiona growled, not yet in full rage.
“We know next to nothing about him!” Sara hissed back, she was always able to go from calm to full spitting rage in no time at all. Especially now, she was a little listless after the Hallowe’en party and fete had both been cancelled.
“I know him! In a Biblical sense.” Fiona smirked back.
“If we have to open our home to everyone you ‘know in a biblical sense’ we’ll have to move into a tower block!” Sara snarled back.
Fiona tossed her head, flaming hair flying, she glared daggers at Sara as she prepared a counter attack. Graham rumbled to his feet between them. “An interesting debate though this may be for later, it must wait, I’m afraid, I have bad news.” Everyone collectively held their breath as Graham continued. “There has been another string of deaths in the woods. It would appear Mr. Arnett is content to direct things from outside the town and has demanded - and received - a full police escort for his workers. They are all dead, police and workers both.”
They blinked in silence. Unable to comprehend. How could any serial killer do anything like this? It was unnatural - no-one could kill this many this quickly. Woodenly, Sara turned on the television and they silently watch the grisly details play out in front of them. Unconsciously they huddled together, drawing strength from each other’s touch. The news scrolled on to other events, but their eyes glazed over, memories painting more gory scenes than ever a television screen could.
***
DI Simmons tried to think. It was nearly impossible. Only 3 days had passed since the disaster and he had already dragged himself to half a dozen funerals. So many dead, it was unheard of. Dr Waterman was working flat out every hour of every day and night as well as the teams he had conscripted from other local forces - their normal hording of resources forgotten in the horror of the sheer scale and horror of what was happening here. The pathologist had still found nothing. Some of the bodies had been killed in the obvious freak accidents - if a branch falls on someone’s head it doesn’t take qualifications to guess what killed him, and the… pieces were simply ripped apart while still alive. Others simply… died. No known cause, heart just stopped. Inwardly he shuddered, he was getting practiced at hiding his inner revulsion. He knew his men were very near to utter collapse - especially with their own now being taregtted. Some of the people killed had been families of workers on the site. Even the toughest veteran police officer balked when their families were threatened.
The detective sighed. He sincerely wished that Mr. Arnet would just go. Have the council refund his money, even give him a bonus, anything just get rid of him. Of course, the council couldn’t afford to pay the man the amount of profits he’d expected to turn selling houses on this site (of course, the detective did wonder how much those houses will be worth now the media had the story). And they couldn’t really ask the man to leave, however annoying he was or how many lives he cost or even how much the locals were still vehemently opposed to having the forest destroyed. If they forced him to leave they would be giving in to the killer - they’d be declaring the forest a no-go area, letting the killer - or killers - claim it.
“DI Simmons?” A middle aged man in police uniform politely interrupted his gloomy thoughts. The detective recognised him as one of the Chief Constable’s - or possibly Assistant Chief Constable’s, associates.
“I’m afraid there have been no new leads on the case, the pathologists are still working as fast and as long as they can but they are turning up no new clues. No tool marks. No chemicals or substances. No poisons. No DNA or fingerprints. Nothing.” The Detective sighed again, trying to reign in his own frustration.
“I know, Simmons, I read your report. No, the ACC has decidied that this cannot continue any longer. He has spoken with Mr. Arnet and he has agreed to begin clear cutting the forest in a broad swath - he is happy for his housing development not to include any of the old forest at all. We are to provide armed teams to guard his men as they remove as much of the forest as possible, as soon as possible.”
“We tried that… I have several more funerals to attend as a consequernce of this.” The Detective suppressed yet another wince.
“No. Mr. Arnet plans a full slash and burn operation, that should be sufficient.”
DI Simmons nodded. At last that should flush the killer out. He couldn’t crush his saddness at the death of the forest, though - nor his sudden fear.
***
They trembled under the thick blankets provided for them. The paramedics hadn’t been happy for them to stay at the police station, wanted to get them down to hospital as soon as possible, but now they had reached shelter, none of them seemed inclined to leave it. DI Simmons didn’t exactly blame them. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone in such a state before, and he knew these kids. They had a few weird ideas and strange habits, but they were good kids, reliable kids. He’d left them in the hands of the scolding paramedics and some of his more sympathetic officers who might be able to get a statement when they were more coherent. At the minute he could barely understand a word, and he hadn’t believed those few words he had understood.
Looking up at the tree, he didn’t know what to believe. It went without saying that he'd never seen anything like it. Suddenly the world didn't feel like a police drama, it didn't even feel like a horror film. No horror film could have had that tree in it. Not and guarantee the sanity of any of the viewers. He wasn’t sure about his officers and the parameds who’d joined him and were busy losing their lunches all around him. A thread of prayer could be heard over the hoarse retching.. Hell, he wasn’t very sure about his own sanity.
Over twenty bodies. Well over. He didn’t know how much over because he couldn’t bring himself to count them. not yet. Besides he didn’t think it would be possible until they got all the pieces together and started to match bits up... Who could kill all these people, tear up their bodies and use them to decorate this huge tree with them - all the way to the top! - So quickly that they had barely begun to cool and the blood was so fresh it nearly run like water.
Dr. Waterman joined him in staring up the tree. In DI Simons experience, most pathologists were morbidly jolly men with inappropriate senses of humour - probably necessary to survive the job. Actually, more than a few cops had similar ideas on what was funny. Dr. Waterman was true to type, but the man’s round face was set in cold, bleak lines. No-one could find anything to laugh about in the shadow of that tree.
“What could do it, Doctor?” DI Simmons whispered, suddenly afraid of breaking the silence around this terrible place.
“I wish I knew.” Like the detective, Dr. Waterman strove to preserve the silence. He frowned. “No... Looking at that tree, I don’t think I do want to know. There are some things I wish to go to the grave ignorant of.”
“We can’t afford ignorance right now.” DI Simmons replied, more to himself than anyone else.
The pathologist seemed about to reply when a constable ran towards them, his face grey. He stared fiercely at the detectives face, desperately avoiding looking at the tree. “Sir! We found something... oh God we found something!”
Inwardly, Simmons winced. “Calm down Constable,” he paused to remember the man’s name. It was amazing how effective a name was in pulling someone from shock. “Jackson. What have you found?”
“More bodies, sir.” Simmons nodded, inwardly cursing. More bodies. It seemed almost impossible. With leaden feet he and the pathologist followed the constable, both passing their duties under the tree to subordinates.
“I’ll never collect all the evidence in time to save it all, John.” The pathologist groaned, retreating into professional griping. “Our forensics team’s just not big enough. I‘m going to have to call on neighbouring counties.”
“Do what you must, Frank. But you know how stubborn they are.” Simmons beat his own retreat into old complaints. Police authorities really didn’t co-operate enough.
“Give me one picture to show them. One picture of the tree. They’ll co-operate.”
DI Simmons agreed, but they’d arrived. no more running, harsh reality would always catch you. He looked down at the family. It was almost worse than the tree, no gobbets of flesh, but these untouched bodies were unmistakably, cruelly human. Mother, one hand still wrapped around the small bundle in her arms. Father, one hand still held in that of a small girl. The small blonde girl next to her father, her elder brother coiled protectively next to her. And the bundle. Dressed in white, Simmons didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl.
All stared back with wide glassy eyes, faces twisted into a white masks of unbelievable terror.
***
They’d moved in together after that. It wasn’t really planned but they didn’t really feel safe alone. They didn’t really want to be alone - the dreams alone were almost impossible to live with. The only thing they could all cling to was that feeling of safety underneath the King in the circle. That brief moment of peace. Before the terror started. Even Michael was considering moving in with them - the sight of that tree haunted all fo their dreams. The town was fully panicking. A full 48 people were found dead that night - most of them construction workers but also a fair few people connected to Arnet Houses Ltd. A surveyor, a lawyer, a couple of accountants. One of the councillors who granted them planning permission complete with his family. Mr. Arnett was rumoured to have fled town. Everyone had prayed that the horror would stop now he had left and the construction had stalled, especially. It looked like a peace had been reached, there had been further accidents, but always with people entering the forest. The forest was a no go area for anyone now. Far from perfect, but it was something they could all live with. For a time anyway.
Graham moved through the cramped house quietly, homing in on the latest flare of hostilities. Inwardly he sighed, but gently. He was long accostomed to playing peacekeeper with his volatile coven but the last week they had spent living together had had him on duty nearly constantly. Thankfully they seemed capable of resolving their own disputes more and more, maybe he’d be able to have a peaceful day. Not today though. He wished they were in a calmer mood to receive the news he brought.
Fiona and Suzy were snarling in the living room, Matthew curled up in a corner, watching in amusement. Easing past, Graham was sure he could hear his coven mate chanting “catfight, catfight, catfight” under his breath. He gave the smaller man a stern look until the muttering stopped, even if it was just for Matthew to grin up at him. Graham settled down next to Matthew to observe.
“He’s shook, Sara and we still have room.” Fiona growled, not yet in full rage.
“We know next to nothing about him!” Sara hissed back, she was always able to go from calm to full spitting rage in no time at all. Especially now, she was a little listless after the Hallowe’en party and fete had both been cancelled.
“I know him! In a Biblical sense.” Fiona smirked back.
“If we have to open our home to everyone you ‘know in a biblical sense’ we’ll have to move into a tower block!” Sara snarled back.
Fiona tossed her head, flaming hair flying, she glared daggers at Sara as she prepared a counter attack. Graham rumbled to his feet between them. “An interesting debate though this may be for later, it must wait, I’m afraid, I have bad news.” Everyone collectively held their breath as Graham continued. “There has been another string of deaths in the woods. It would appear Mr. Arnett is content to direct things from outside the town and has demanded - and received - a full police escort for his workers. They are all dead, police and workers both.”
They blinked in silence. Unable to comprehend. How could any serial killer do anything like this? It was unnatural - no-one could kill this many this quickly. Woodenly, Sara turned on the television and they silently watch the grisly details play out in front of them. Unconsciously they huddled together, drawing strength from each other’s touch. The news scrolled on to other events, but their eyes glazed over, memories painting more gory scenes than ever a television screen could.
***
DI Simmons tried to think. It was nearly impossible. Only 3 days had passed since the disaster and he had already dragged himself to half a dozen funerals. So many dead, it was unheard of. Dr Waterman was working flat out every hour of every day and night as well as the teams he had conscripted from other local forces - their normal hording of resources forgotten in the horror of the sheer scale and horror of what was happening here. The pathologist had still found nothing. Some of the bodies had been killed in the obvious freak accidents - if a branch falls on someone’s head it doesn’t take qualifications to guess what killed him, and the… pieces were simply ripped apart while still alive. Others simply… died. No known cause, heart just stopped. Inwardly he shuddered, he was getting practiced at hiding his inner revulsion. He knew his men were very near to utter collapse - especially with their own now being taregtted. Some of the people killed had been families of workers on the site. Even the toughest veteran police officer balked when their families were threatened.
The detective sighed. He sincerely wished that Mr. Arnet would just go. Have the council refund his money, even give him a bonus, anything just get rid of him. Of course, the council couldn’t afford to pay the man the amount of profits he’d expected to turn selling houses on this site (of course, the detective did wonder how much those houses will be worth now the media had the story). And they couldn’t really ask the man to leave, however annoying he was or how many lives he cost or even how much the locals were still vehemently opposed to having the forest destroyed. If they forced him to leave they would be giving in to the killer - they’d be declaring the forest a no-go area, letting the killer - or killers - claim it.
“DI Simmons?” A middle aged man in police uniform politely interrupted his gloomy thoughts. The detective recognised him as one of the Chief Constable’s - or possibly Assistant Chief Constable’s, associates.
“I’m afraid there have been no new leads on the case, the pathologists are still working as fast and as long as they can but they are turning up no new clues. No tool marks. No chemicals or substances. No poisons. No DNA or fingerprints. Nothing.” The Detective sighed again, trying to reign in his own frustration.
“I know, Simmons, I read your report. No, the ACC has decidied that this cannot continue any longer. He has spoken with Mr. Arnet and he has agreed to begin clear cutting the forest in a broad swath - he is happy for his housing development not to include any of the old forest at all. We are to provide armed teams to guard his men as they remove as much of the forest as possible, as soon as possible.”
“We tried that… I have several more funerals to attend as a consequernce of this.” The Detective suppressed yet another wince.
“No. Mr. Arnet plans a full slash and burn operation, that should be sufficient.”
DI Simmons nodded. At last that should flush the killer out. He couldn’t crush his saddness at the death of the forest, though - nor his sudden fear.
***