Beagle in the City #219

Bodies and Smiles

Friday, 10:30 am

Strange foot prints from an apparent unseen figure appear leaving a double murder.

Ethan: Homicide, If you’re going to write a report you need to say it right.

Simon: Shut up, you are not a good partner right now. I knew I should have brought Garf. He’s street smart. I’m going to call it in.

Ethan: I’m just saying.

Simon: This is Dog Bonz to Shelter. I have a double Homicide with apparent foot prints that are untraceable.

Garf: Guys we’re out of goldfish crackers. Also, I have to pee.

Simon: Don’t go in the office!

Ethan: Use the pad!

Simon: How do you expect him to learn anything!

Garf: I was supposed to use the pad? I thought that was to protect the floor. Like, go anywhere but here…

Ethan: Seriously?

Garf: also, you guys have a serial killer on your hands. Another body was found. As well as more crackers. I’m gonna kill some goldfish.

Simon: Wait! A killer?

Ethan: What did you think Homicide and murder was?

Simon: I don’t know. But not this, I’m not chasing a killer. I’m too young to die. I have too many things to do.

Ethan: Like what? You sleep all day and steal my sandwiches!

Simon:Well, you make crappy sandwiches!

Ethan: then stop stealing them!

Simon: Wait…what if this is an alien life force?

Ethan: I don’t think that’s what this is though…

Simon: It would explain the prints…they just disappear!

Garf: I’m about to abduct some more cheese and crackers…

Ethan: But why leave the bodies?

Simon: Maybe they got everything they need?

Ethan: Maybe they’re still looking?

Simon: We’re going to need to look at some more clues…

Garf: Blues –

Simon: Don’t say it!

Ethan: I told you not to radio everything in….

Haunted October #7

She kept drinking. 

The lights faded down 

Somehow lost in the smoke 

And the music 

Terrible karaoke 

Someone attempting Sheryl Crow 

“There’s a favourite mistake.” I said nodding to the girl on the little stage.

“At least she’s trying.” Sam laughed.  “I’ve never seen you with a mic in your hand.” 

“You never will. That’s my power.” 

We made our way to the back.  Knocked on the office door.  It opened. Men in suits moved to block the door. “Holden Caulfield” I said. 

“There’s a password?” Sam asked as we walked in. 

“No one told ME a password. Why didn’t I know the password?” 

The smoke wasn’t so bad in here.

We sat at the table. There was a card game going on. Someone offered a drink. Sam started for a yes. 

“We’re fine.” I said. Taking the drink and stirring it. I handed it to the head of the table.

 “What’s the case, How did he die?”

The younger one in the middle kept cutting cards. He always handed out a card for a case. He wasn’t a big talker. Each agent knew his assigned neighborhood. And each card had a meaning. Like a fortune. 

” Middle age is a Dead Sea filled with quiet waters. That is no place for passion. His wife knew she could never match an erotic affair.  How could she?” 

“You’re saying his wife had him killed?”

He lit a cigarette. Rubbing his forehead. “No. I’m saying. The dead seeds bring a dead harvest.” 

“You have to think ahead. Short term vs long term. What did this do for the long haul. What were you thinking?” I said. 

Sam poured another drink. I sat down and turned a card over. Looking him in the eyes. There was sweat on his face. He was nervous. 

“Eric was – impulsive. Yes, but this is just bad business. He handled your cards well.” 

He stopped shuffling… 

“You’re not here for a job …”

“You are the job.” 

“Shit.”

“Exactly” 

His eyes panicked. Before he could move he fell face down on his own cards. Cold. 

No one moved. Sam and I slowly got up. 

I looked around the room. Setting the drink straw on the table. 

“We don’t have to make a mess, but remember who watches your assets. Your family could be broke in two hours.” 

We made our way out. Back through the crowd. The music a low hum. 

“Holden Caulfield?” Sam asked. 

” an annoying dick.”  I said .

She kept drinking and lit another cigarette. 

Cold #3 

The girl was there in the floor. Cold and lifeless.  Her limbs spread like wet pasta. Her eyes open and grey. 

Agent Baldwin walked through the house. His clothes wrinkled. He had grabbed whatever happened to be laying across a chair in the middle of the night, when he got the call. 

“What’s the story, Sarah?” He asked while rubbing his eyes. 

Sarah just looked at him. 

– how long do you have? 

She asked. 

– I’ve got a female adult body. With no markings of any kind, dead in her own home with no signs of breaking or entering. More than that…

She stood up and stood closer. Whispering while looking straight ahead. 

– I’ve got three more bodies from across the county.  All the same.  

– shit. 

Baldwin took his phone. And texted Janice. 

– I’ll get Janice on it. I better bring her some chocolate cake for this one. 

– you’d better add beer and pizza 

Sarah said dryly. 

– it’s going to be a long summer. I hope you already got your PTO in. 

Murder Muse #1

I’ve entered a contest where you write
Up to 3 poems in the mind of a murderer/victim

The words

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Photo origin (unknown)
I was dead
It all happened so fast
I was pushed in front of a train
It was always the words …
That’s what it was for me
But
standing in the grey
I realised it was too late
This was one experience
I would be unable to
Communicate

The Burning of The House Of Sylvia

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I like New York
I like the flow
This bar
I come here to relax with the piano
I come here to forget ….Sylvia.

Sylvia
A widow
Her husband died in the war
She never came out
She never came to town
Or to church
You could see her movement through the windows from time to time
a shadow
Fleeting

I was just starting in journalism
I wanted to be a success
And my first real chance came
When a story regarding Sylvia
And the loss of her husband landed on my desk

It required staying with Sylvia
For three weeks
Documenting her life
What she did
What she liked
Find out who she was
And if she was grieving

Her house
Was intimidating
more like a manor or hotel
dark
as if it held every
Demon haunted story
Branded by this city.

Inside wasn’t much better
Cold and consuming any light
Rather than being illuminated by my lamp.

I was startled by her ghostly movements
She never made a sound
Rather just floated from room to room
Dressed in black
Her red hair framing her face

The days passed
Without her sleeping
she sat around reading
Or in her window
Whispering to herself
Often going away into her room
For hours
Once I asked about her husband
all she said was
I’m too young and old for this I don’t know what to do

And then rose and left the room in her soft way of moving

I don’t know what it was
But on a particular rainy Sunday
Exploring the house and library
I noticed her bedroom door open
I couldn’t help looking around

It was dark
Consuming all my energy
Old photographs
And painting
covered the walls
And a desk at the window

this is my life do you know what you’ve been sent for?

I was startled turning around
I hadn’t noticed her in the room
But there she was
Standing in the corner
Filling the blackness
Her red hair almost like a fire
Framing her green eyes

I’m sorry I didn’t realize this was …I just..couldn’t help myself

you will find..there are darker rooms in the world then what you’ve seen here and darker evils than all mystery

Later I woke at the darkest hour of the night
There was faint singing
Like an echo
moving through the house
I looked out my window and saw her
Sitting in the garden playing a piano
I left that Monday

all I had was
A story
About a young woman
Racked with loneliness
Voices
And mystery

They published it like she was a witch
Condemning her property under
Eminent domain
She refused to leave
The banks came
And burned her out

I never saw her again
I remember seeing her face in the window
They never found her body
I personally like to think
She went back to her family
In London but I don’t know

Her property was ideal for a large bank…which ironically burned due to an electrical fire last Christmas

That’s my story

I came here to New York to get away
And write about new things
Real things
From time to time I’ll come in this bar
And find an old photograph of the city or of me playing
waiting on my piano
Sometimes I think I see her in a crowd
A flash of red hair …
But I never know for sure
I hope wherever she is
She found her center
I hope she found her light.

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Reagan’s Category

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This is Reagan
Many of you know
Reagan.He’s my brother.
If you don’t know Reagan
Look under my autism category.
In which case -voila-what an introduction.
He’s reading now,and quite – well if I do say so myself.
Therefore, I have had an idea!
Because I was surrounded by small children all day,
And I was looking at children’s books
The other day at the library
(They’re just so awesome)
I
Shall
Write
1 story a week
For Reagan
Which shall be FILED
Under his new category
I just made and I can’t remember
What it’s called,but it has his name on it!.
So you will know it.
This category
Will feature
All of Reagan’s favorite things
Short stories
About
Breakfast
Zombies
Batman
Monsters
Spiders
Robots
Space
Ghosts
Dying
Blood
Baths
And
The absolute
Red handed
Worst thing next to
Communism
Bed-time.

Once a week!
Good day.

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Opaque

The gun,
Cold in his hand.
He had a shot
But should he take it?

Tucked away
In the country
An old castle of a home
Boards protesting
With each step
It was a place
Vampires would’ve inhabited
Centuries ago
Opaque and cold
A place…
He despised.
Not just hated.
But it kept
A corner of his
Mind,always.

Rain
Falling on the distant
Rooftops,
The sun breaking,hot
Through the clouds…
He had a shot,
One shot.
He would take it…

Echoing across the
Landscape
Cold as the steel in his hand
Slicing the empty air
The shot was made
The body,
Dead.
The job,
Done.

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