The Map of the Mourners

The sun was setting when Claire finally reached her apartment in the quiet neighborhood of Oakhaven.

The air in the apartment felt cold but familiar.

Claire Parker was twenty-five years old, with long, straight hair, hazel eyes, and an average height of 5'6". She worked as an interior designer, which made her very observant and particular about her surroundings.

She noticed a book lying on the coffee table and immediately went to place it back on the bookshelf.

The photo frames were slightly tilted, which was odd.

She quickly changed her clothes and went back to the kitchen to prepare her dinner. She was too tired to make a proper meal, so she made something simple and quick.

She loved living alone. The quiet of the kitchen was something she enjoyed a lot.

She took her plate and went to the living room to watch a movie while having dinner, but she couldn't find the remote. After searching for five minutes, she gave up.

She could hear the quiet pitter-patter of rain outside her window.

It was already around 10 p.m. by the time she was done with the dishes and everything else. Now it was time for her daily night routine before she went to sleep, and that meant reading.

She loved to read, especially thriller books.

She was biting her nails as she got lost in her book, but then she stopped herself. She loved her nails, and she had recently gotten them done.

She was so lost in her book that she didn't even notice the time until her phone pinged with a new message at 11 p.m.

At first, she didn't immediately check the message, thinking it was some email she could check in the morning. Then it pinged again with another message.

She put her book face down on the bed, picked up her phone, and saw two new messages from an unknown number.

She opened the message and frowned, thinking someone was playing a prank on her.

"Welcome home."

The message read.

"Who's this?" she replied.

Then another message came. This time, there were two photos with a message.

How do you like the new setting? I have been trying to impress you for a week...

She frowned so hard that her eyebrows almost touched.

She looked at the photos. At first, she couldn't understand what she was supposed to look at until she realized that it was her apartment. Her closet.

She dropped the phone on the bed and rushed to check the front door. After making sure it was locked, she hurried through the apartment, checking all the windows.

Her hand was trembling, and sweat was forming on her forehead.

She was going from room to room, checking every little thing while trying so hard to breathe properly.

She went to her bathroom and realized that all her products had been reshuffled. And she was sure of it because she was particular about how she arranged everything.

Before she could turn back, the lights went off.

She heard the switch go off somewhere, and suddenly, the lights cut out.

She stood there in the darkness.

Then she heard her favourite music playing somewhere in the house.

Tears filled her eyes. What the hell was happening?

She tried to concentrate on the source of the sound.

It was coming from the living room.

She decided to go and check, but she hesitated for a moment too long.

Suddenly, the music started playing in her room.

She put her hands over her ears. She wanted to scream.

Was she dreaming, or was she going mad?

Before she could come to her senses, the music stopped again.

She slowly started walking in the dark towards her room.

But before she could reach it, she heard a whistle.

A slow, single whistle at first.

She looked to her left, then right, but couldn't see anything or anyone in the dark.

Sweat coated her forehead and dropped onto the floor. The house was so silent she could hear the rush of her own blood in her ears.

She heard another whistle.

This time, it was a little louder.

She put a hand over her mouth, but a desperate cry still tore out.

Then she heard it clearly.

The continuous whistling and the thud of boots getting closer to her.

***

It was raining heavily when Detective Samuel Reed and Detective Iris Sterling reached the crime scene.

The area was already taped off, and the forensics team had already started their work.

Iris studied the body for a moment.

"Something's off."

Samuel glanced at her. "The position?"

"The whole scene." She looked up at the tree. "If she did this herself, why does it feel staged?"

Samuel's eyes moved from the body to the rope and then back again.

"Because it probably was."

The forensics team slowly pulled the body down from the tree. They were already wearing gloves as they carefully laid her on a sheet on the ground.

Samuel and Iris pulled on their latex gloves and shoe covers before going closer to the body for the inspection.

Samuel examined the marks around the victim's neck.

"These marks don't tell us enough."

Iris looked at him. "You think she was already dead?"

"I think we wait for the report before we decide what killed her."

Iris nodded, then looked back at the body.

"What do you think? Was she hanged before she died or after?"

Samuel didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved over the body again.

"We'll know soon enough."

Iris's gaze moved to the victim's hands.

She froze.

"Samuel."

He looked at her.

"The nails."

Samuel crouched beside the body and looked more closely.

Claire's nails had been deliberately damaged and removed.

"Why would someone do that?" Iris asked.

Samuel looked at the body, then at the tree and the surrounding park.

"Because it meant something to them."

Iris frowned. "To the killer?"

"Maybe."

Samuel stood slowly, his eyes scanning the scene again.

Something about it didn't add up.

Maybe whoever did this... they wanted us to think she killed herself.