The Watchman

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They sing lullabies in the dark, and with their melodies we find peace. Michael Graves is a Watchman, a person who hunts creatures that many perceive to be nothing more than folktales. When a chilling incident involving murder in a small town catches their attention, Michael finds himself down a rabbit hole filled with his own nightmares that will put him closer to insanity.

Mystery / Thriller
P.S. Arlove
5.0 3 reviews
Age Rating:

Three Blind Mice

“Three Blind Mice… Three Blind Mice…” She sings slowly, her voice barely a whisper. “See how they run…” Her head snaps in their direction, a smile visible on her face. “Don’t you want to play a little?” The knife glints in her hand, a speck of blood visible on the blade. She takes a step, followed by another, her footsteps growing louder as she gets closer.

“F-fuck this!” The biggest of the group attempts to run, knowing that there was no way they were surviving this. “You dumbasses stay and get your throats slit, I’m out!” As he says this, his foot lands outside of the line and he stumbles, squirming in pain. “M-my eyes! I can’t see!” The two remaining students stay inside the circle drawn by the woman, stifling their screams.

She approaches the young boy now on the floor, clawing at the air. “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside the circle? Disobedient mice deserve to be punished now, don’t they?” She slashes at the air, slitting his throat. Blood gushes out, creating a small puddle beneath her feet as the boy gurgles. “Now, little mice…” She faces the remaining young men, quivering in fear. “Whose tail will I cut next?”

I wake up with a fierce hangover, knocking the empty bottle of whiskey as I fumble on my desk. The alarm failed to wake me up again, or was it the alcohol? My phone stirs and I look at it hesitantly as I rub my forehead as I feel a slight urge to throw up. I pick it up and I see thirty-seven missed calls from the office. “Well, shit.”

Days have been slow lately, as if I’m just waiting for tomorrow to stop coming. I get it, there will always be better tomorrows but I don’t have time for that. My line of work goes more than just simple detective stuff, more than just missing cars and simple murders. I am a Watchman, or at least they still want me to be. People like me keep people like you safe from all of the shit that goes underneath everything you know about reality, the things that go rustling in the dark.

“Anthony, it’s Mike. What’s all the fuss about?” The phone I used was old, but decent at its job. I don’t need all of the shiny new things, especially when I could die tomorrow without me knowing. Anthony, my partner-ish, was a tall blonde who acted way older than his age. He was dependable, though you can’t count on him to understand a joke.

“Took you long enough. You really should quit the alcohol Mr. Graves, it-ll” I pull the phone away from my ear before I listen to him rant about how alcohol is bad for me for the umpteenth time. Like I didn’t have enough pain for my head, dimwit.

“I get it, just get to the point. New case?” I say before he gets the chance to retaliate. For a moment, I could imagine him nodding in the same way he always does.

A pause, I think I hear the sound of an elevator ringing. “Possibly. I’ll fill you in on it once you get here. Make sure you don’t take long.” He cuts the phone call, who does that? I throw the phone on the couch and head to the shower, the headache is more bearable now. New day, new shit to take care of.

“Over here.” Anthony raises a hand for me to see, though it isn’t that difficult to spot him in his trench coat getup. “I’m surprised, you shaved?”

I throw a smile at him. “You’re not actually falling for me, are you?”

He throws a folder on the table, carrying papers about the new case. The idiot actually ignored me. “Fill me in.” I say as I open the file. Photographs of three bodies are found lying on the floor, a bloody mess found around them. Their eyes were missing, and it seems that their throats were slit. I take off my coat; this café was too damn hot.

“Apparently, three teenagers were reported missing a few days ago. Ethan Dirk and his brother Eric, along with their friend Damon Maxwell.” Anthony pauses, taking a sip out of his coffee. He really couldn’t buy one for me? “3 AM this morning, a local woodcutter found their bodies at an abandoned shack in New Hampshire when he was off to do his morning routines. Reported it straight to the police, he says.”

“Missing eyes, satanic scribbles, and… a tail?” I look up at Anthony who nods at me.

“A tail was observed to be growing out of Maxwell’s body. No stitches were found which meant that it grew on its own.” Anthony puts down his cup and points at the details written in the report. “Bumps were also seen on the brothers’ bodies, which seemed to be similar to Maxwell’s.”

I scan the photos again, looking at the various markings on the wall. They were nothing like I’ve seen before, and I’ve seen a lot of scribbles. “A mouse’s tail, huh? What does the office say about this?”

Anthony takes the folder from me and puts it away in his bag, tucking it neatly away. “We have the green light, you up for a road trip?”

“Not like I got much to do here anyways. I’ll tell you when I’m set, have to check something first.” He nods in agreement and bids me goodbye. I head to grab a cab as well, since I left my car at the apartment.

One pulls over and I enter, the strong scent of air freshener hits me like a truck. “Where to?” He asks, ready to set the meter. “Hellspawn, I need a drink.”

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