{"sf1_id":1662041,"sf2_id":"ynZNWAMn","title":"Haunting Noire","author":"A Smiling Face","words":4521,"posted_at":"2020-12-17T23:27:39.000Z","tags":["Anthro","Dystopia","HMOFA","Human","Murder","Mystery"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1662041-haunting-noire","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/ynZNWAMn","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/2f/ed/2fedbe57-3530-4a32-ae22-31849950eca1","description":"Greentext psychological mystery   \nCompleted","content":"1. \\\u003eAnother day another murder rape \n2. \\\u003eToday it was a nun ran through a chipper shredder \n3. \\\u003eLife ain't easy being the only Anthro Crime Investigator in Kiluak City \n4. \\\u003eEspecially when your a human \n5. \\\u003eGenerally the killings or rapes are pretty easy to solve \n6. \\\u003ethe perps are so sloppy \n7. \\\u003eExcept for one, he always sends you VHS tapes of them \n8. \\\u003eYou get them in the morning and at Noon exactly a body is found. \n9. \\\u003eMost of your fellow humans hate you for having their son, father, brother, or friend sent to jail where they're often ripped apart by the Anthro inmates. \n10. \\\u003eThe justice department is the only non-segregated institution here \n11. \\\u003eMost of the Anthros hate you too, thinking you charge too damn much. \n12. \\\u003eThat being said you charge less than the national average due to the volume of work. \n13. \\\u003eIt's a lose-lose but boy does it pay. \n14. \\\u003eToday is a slow day by any metric \n15. \\\u003eYou're just watching the tapes over and over searching for the barest of clues \n16. \\\u003eIt's a concrete room you've determined \n17. \\\u003ebut that's no help to you. \n18. \\\u003eIt's the man's usual murder-rape \n19. \\\u003eGoing hole by hole \n20. \\\u003eThen cut by cut. \n21. \\\u003eThe screams \n22. \\\u003eAll the same \n23. \\\u003eStaring at the bloodied corpse something catches your eye \n24. \\\u003eThe bleeding patterns of a broken hymen \n25. \\\u003eWith a moment of clarity you decide to review every tape \n26. \\\u003eone by one \n27. \\\u003eAll the same \n28. \\\u003eAll virgins \n29. \\\u003eYou call the local anthro pastors and priests and tell them of your findings \n30. \\\u003eSome thank you and will tell their congregations come Sunday \n31. \\\u003eThe Catholic just hangs up without saying thanks \n32. \\\u003eYou call the schools next to send letters home to the parents \n33. \\\u003eSome blow you off \n34. \\\u003eOthers heed your warnings as if a commandment \n35. \\\u003eFinally a customer comes through the door, a monstrous wolf \n36. \\\u003eHe looks oddly unnerved by you \n37. \\\u003e\"What brings you here sir?\" You ask \n38. \\\u003eHe hands you a yellow packet and leaves quickly \n39. \\\u003eIts a compilation of letters of to the families of the mystery serial killer's victims \n40. \\\u003eYour stomach lurches as you read each essay long letter detailing the sensations your sadistic target felt. \n41. \\\u003eHe's a sick bastard for sure \n42. \\\u003eTalking about how \"such innocence had to be punished\" \n43. \\\u003eYou look to your gun case, the Colt Monitor, Winchester 1887, and handy Model 28. \n44. \\\u003eYou've used all of those guns more times than you'd like too \n45. \\\u003eAlways a fight with the rich ones \n46. \\\u003eNever just \"I did it\" \n47. \\\u003eAlways \"they deserve it\" \n48. \\\u003eA shame really \n49. \\\u003eMore so the fact you can't rent anywhere so floor two is home \n50. \\\u003eStill, out there, somewhere is serial killer who is the sole person that's alluded you \n51. \\\u003eEvery time you feel you get closer, but every time he slips past. \n52. \\\u003eJust before you close you hear the telltale screaming of a kidnapping or rape \n53. \\\u003eYou grab your revolver and take to the crime ridden streets \n54. \\\u003eYou worm your way towards the labyrinth of slums \n55. \\\u003ethe screams get closer \n56. \\\u003eYou round a corner to find four thuggish black guys surrounding an iguana no older than 15 \n57. \\\u003e\"Boys is it really worth the 18 years as pedo?\" You ask trying to dissuade them \n58. \\\u003e\"Oh look its the fur-lover\" snaps one of them reaching for his waistband \n59. \\\u003eyou draw \n60. \\\u003e\"Not quick enough\" you remark \n61. \\\u003eA police car rolls by not caring at all \n62. \\\u003e\"So are we gonna start shooting or are yall gonna leave?\" you ask \n63. \\\u003e\"This job pays too much Detective Anon\" One leers reaching for his \n64. \\\u003e\"shame\" You say \n65. \\\u003e\"It really is\" says one of the men \n66. \\\u003eAll four draw \n67. \\\u003etwo catch a .357 to the chest before they can raise their pistols \n68. \\\u003eone gets a shot off an misses \n69. \\\u003eThe two scatter \n70. \\\u003e\"you alright?\" you ask the iguana \n71. \\\u003eshe scurries off \n72. \\\u003edisappointed you turn around leaving two still warm corpses behind. \n73. \\\u003elet the rats have em \n74. \\\u003eAs you near your office once again you see a figure in front of it seeming to laugh \n75. \\\u003eyou load your empty chambers and approach quietly \n76. \\\u003eYou see them leave a package \n77. \\\u003eno \n78. \\\u003eno \n79. \\\u003eNo \n80. \\\u003eNO \n81. \\\u003eNot again \n82. \\\u003eYou turn to look to where the figure went \n83. \\\u003eA van \n84. \\\u003ePlate Numbers 1456b1fs \n85. \\\u003eGot it \n86. \\\u003eRemember it \n87. \\\u003eYou fire at the van, a quarter size hole appearing in the back of it. \n88. \\\u003eYou walk up to your door punching it before opening it \n89. \\\u003eYou lost \n90. \\\u003eagain \n91. \\\u003eyou write down the plate number \n92. \\\u003eand the fact you put a bullet hole in the van \n93. \\\u003etomorrow you're going toe the DMV, Wednesdays tend to be slow \n94. \\\u003eYou open the package. \n95. \\\u003eAnother tape \n96. \\\u003eGoddammit \n97. \\\u003eYou watch it \n98. \\\u003eIt's as sick as it is normally \n99. \\\u003ecloaked from head to toe, laughing \n100. \\\u003eAt the end he approaches the camera with a message off a typewriter \n101. \\\u003e\"got a new camera, hope you liked the sounds\" \n102. \\\u003eYou want to find this man and give him over to the authorities \n103. \\\u003eYou've given the tapes to the police before to make copies, but they don't care \n104. \\\u003eYou feel eyes on you \n105. \\\u003eyou turn quickly only to find nothing \n106. \\\u003eyou hear what seems to be footsteps \n107. \\\u003etaking your shotgun you rush upstairs and swear you saw the glimmer of something for a second \n108. \\\u003eyou take a beer and go back down stairs \n109. \\\u003ethe smoothness of the shiner bock helps to calm you \n110. \\\u003eyou just killed to men in broad daylight and a serial killer delivered to you a snuff tape \n111. \\\u003emaybe the stress is finally getting to you \n112. \\\u003eyou hear a whisper in your ear \n113. \\\u003e\"hello there\" it says as if gurgling blood \n114. \\\u003eit's feminine \n115. \\\u003eyou look at your shotgun \n116. \\\u003ewhat's the point of being here again? \n117. \\\u003ehelping people who don't want you? \n118. \\\u003e\"please don't\" it protests \n119. \\\u003eyou turn to see it \n120. \\\u003ea figure standing like glowing smoke \n121. \\\u003ebleeding from her throat and crotch \n122. \\\u003e\"what are you?\" \n123. \\\u003e\"lonely\" it says \n124. \\\u003e\"and cold\" it follows \n125. \\\u003eyou restart the tape \n126. \\\u003ethe part where the man has his belt around her muzzle \n127. \\\u003e\"yep that's me alright\" she says \n128. \\\u003e\"Who did this to you?\" you demand \n129. \\\u003eshe seems to look around for a moment deep in thought \n130. \\\u003eshe gets progressively more frustrated and her glow begins to shift to red \n131. \\\u003e\"I don't know\" she says before vanishing \n132. \\\u003enot a fade or anything like that, simply is to isn't \n133. \\\u003egreat \n134. \\\u003eyou down your been in a few chugs and head over to your wine cooler for a bottle of gin \n135. \\\u003ethe stress has finally gotten to you \n136. \\\u003eYou crack the screw lid and down about half before you feel like throwing up \n137. \\\u003eNext is a fag cigar as you reach for your tobacco box\n138. \\\u003eThe cow lady sneers at you\n139. \\\u003e\"Boy you smell like booze and sadness\" She remarks\n140. \\\u003e\"You try waking up every morning to a dozen murders, rapes, and kidnappings and tell me how you feel?\" You protest\n141. \\\u003e\"Well we 'thras ain't got that opportunity hum-hum\" She says with all the sass of a half-water buffalo woman\n142. \\\u003e\"Lady, have you ever seen a nun run through a chipper shredder?\" You ask\n143. \\\u003e\"W-What?\" She asks\n144. \\\u003e\"Though so, shut up and let me do my goddamn job\" You say taking a bite out of one of the donuts\n145. \\\u003e\"Goddamn, a hangover, racism, and waiting around, all this needs is a busted boombox and it'll be a case on Bleeding Betty's\" You say\n146. \\\u003eWaiting in the cold December air is punishment in its own right the growing number of hateful stares from human and anthro's alike is salt in the wound\n147. \\\u003eYou finally hear a series of locks get undone and four officers step out followed by a tiny clerk\n148. \\\u003eShe hands everyone numbers and you fall in line.\n149. \\\u003eWaiting for the tiny woman to get behind her desk is torturous\n150. \\\u003eFinally she gets there and the cow bitch steps up\n151. \\\u003e\"WAAAAAAHHHHLLLLL\" She bellows\n152. \\\u003eYou take a large gulp of your coffee and don't even bother trying to hide mixing in your Irish Cream from your flask.\n153. \\\u003eOne of the cops puts forward his cup too\n154. \\\u003eYou oblige him quickly\n155. \\\u003eAfter about 15 minutes the bitch walks out tail swaying\n156. \\\u003e\"I need you to run a plate for me miss.\" You ask\n157. \\\u003e\"Oh alright what is the number?\"\n158. \\\u003e\"1456b1fs\" You reply\n159. \\\u003eYou have to say about 20 more times before she gets it\n160. \\\u003eA certain Joe Flamagank down on 15th and Hawkins\n161. \\\u003eYou walk back out to your car to find a group of hooligans with a tire iron trying to steal your wheels\n162. \\\u003eYou draw and yell\n163. \\\u003eThey scram\n164. \\\u003eAs is life\n165. \\\u003eYou make your way back home, its about a half hour faster to walk and you need your duffle bag anyways\n166. \\\u003eThe usual groups of thugs stand outside their liquor stores while the mafiosos wait outside their barbers and restaurants.\n167. \\\u003eGiggling can be heard from your door as you approach\n168. \n169. \\\u003eThe giggling stops the moment you put your key in the lock\n170. \\\u003eThe bolt puts up a fight and you hear what seems to be multiple female voices laughing\n171. \\\u003eYou draw your pistol and move through your home-office\n172. \\\u003eYou see the eyes on your framed polaroid seem to follow you while random distant footsteps stop and start\n173. \\\u003eSome hooved, some pawed, some clawed.\n174. \\\u003eYou think you see bloody smiles out of the corner of your eyes\n175. \\\u003eSnickering and muffled laughing as you look around\n176. \\\u003eYou walk up the stares feeling what seems like dozens of eyes on you\n177. \\\u003eYou quickly turn behind you to see the shape of a teenage fox girl\n178. \\\u003ebleeding from the throat and crotch\n179. \\\u003eglowing like a faraway searchlight in heavy fog\n180. \\\u003eThen she just flickers away with a sound akin to a dying sigh\n181. \\\u003eSo last night wasn't just a bad dream\n182. \\\u003eYou dig around your desks for the coveted whitepages\n183. \\\u003eFinding what you need you turn around to see about two dozen ghostly heads with endearing smiles staring at you\n184. \\\u003eYou hear what feels like distant fleeting cheering as you leave\n185. \\\u003eThe cold, cold inside of your shitty car\n186. \\\u003eRight, you have to get down to 5th and Jackson to pay a certain Mr. Flamagank a visit\n187. \\\u003ebut not before you make a quick stop at the hardware store and supermarket\n188. \\\u003eA quick detour and you have some Nair, a potato peeler, and a hundred feet of rope\n189. \\\u003eHelpful tools for, information persuasion, to call it\n190. \\\u003eYou can hear distant cheering as you drive\n191. \\\u003eProbably just a high school something\n192. \\\u003eProbably\n193. \\\u003eYou pull up to the address, a van rental place\n194. \\\u003eYou throw your new purchases in a satchel and exit\n195. \\\u003eYou're greeted by a large Rhino\n196. \\\u003e\"I need to speak with a Mr.Flamagank\"\n197. \\\u003e\"Yer speaking to him.\" He growls\n198. \\\u003e\"This'd be better behind closed doors sir.\"\n199. \\\u003e\"Understood Detective\" He growls\n200. \\\u003eYou follow him inside of the rental room\n201. \\\u003eIt's warm all things considered\n202. \\\u003eHe offers you a coffee which you accept\n203. \\\u003e\"I need to know the name of one of your clients sir.\"\n204. \\\u003e\"Fer wat?\" He asks\n205. \\\u003e\"They would either be a lead or the perp on the serial killer\"\n206. \\\u003e\"Is that so?\" He says clearly interested\n207. \\\u003e\"Yes, plate number 1456b1fs\"\n208. \\\u003e\"Lemme check my records, that is one of my vans, but many are long term rentals, so keep that in mind.\" He says going to the back.\n209. \\\u003eYou sip from the coffee\n210. \\\u003eIt's \"coffee\"\n211. \\\u003eIt has all the taste of dirt in water and all the kick of caffeine a man could ask for\n212. \\\u003eSoon the rhino returns with a big file\n213. \\\u003e\"here, take it and go. I'm only heling you because I know a family of a victim.\" He grumbles\n214. \\\u003e\"Thank you\"\n215. \\\u003eThe file has some wonderful details\n216. \\\u003eAnother name\n217. \\\u003eGeorge Wittacker\n218. \\\u003eA name you're rather familiar with\n219. \\\u003eWell known too\n220. \\\u003eOwner of the largest delivery service in the city\n221. \\\u003eAlso a city councilman\n222. \\\u003eDammit\n223. \\\u003eWell you have your \"persuaders\"\n224. \\\u003eNow you need a plan\n225. \\\u003eAnd some, \"situational friends\"\n226. \\\u003eUgh\n227. \\\u003eSkinning him isn't an option\n228. \\\u003eWaterboarding in diesel it is.\n229. \\\u003eSaves you the trouble of water sourcing\n230. \\\u003eAnd hides fingerprints\n231. \\\u003eDetective shit\n232. \\\u003eYou drive down the docks and steal a rusted barrel of oil\n233. \\\u003eOne of the large seals just tips his hat as you leave\n234. \\\u003eYou return back home\n235. \\\u003eIt's silent\n236. \\\u003eYou sit down on your desk\n237. \\\u003eWatching the tapes\n238. \\\u003eOver\n239. \\\u003eand\n240. \\\u003eOver\n241. \\\u003eYou walk across the street to the convenience store\n242. \\\u003eA 40oz Mickeys Malt Liquor and a coke\n243. \\\u003eThe teenaged human just looks at you with confusion\n244. \\\u003eYou hand him two bucks and walk out\n245. \\\u003eYou sit back down\n246. \\\u003eAnd the noises begin before you can put cold bottle to your lips\n247. \\\u003eFootsteps on the second floor\n248. \\\u003eDistant howling\n249. \\\u003eMuffled, far-away screaming and crying\n250. \\\u003eYou watch the tapes, drinking more as you do\n251. \\\u003eYou play them in the background as you plan tonight's gamble\n252. \\\u003eYou know where the fucker lives and the exact layout of his home\n253. \\\u003ecourtesy of the fire department\n254. \\\u003eYou finish your drink and make some coffee\n255. \\\u003eYou draw out plans\n256. \\\u003epolish and load your guns\n257. \\\u003ePack your bags with tool\n258. \\\u003eFor a night in the city it's oddly quiet\n259. \\\u003eNo gunshots\n260. \\\u003eNo screams\n261. \\\u003eJust the low rumble of your engine\n262. \\\u003eAnd the crushing weight of what will be your sins\n263. \\\u003eYou watched the tapes again before you left\n264. \\\u003eA few at least\n265. \\\u003eEnough to make you believe God \\*might\\* forgive you\n266. \\\u003eYou drive through the winding streets\n267. \\\u003eThe image of the dead deadens in your heart\n268. \\\u003eYou turn on Bishop's Avenue\n269. \\\u003eJust outside the Church a figure stands\n270. \\\u003eBleeding from the neck\n271. \\\u003eDressed in white\n272. \\\u003eHolding wilted roses\n273. \\\u003eShe smiles, before her eyes turn black\n274. \\\u003eShe lunges at your car teeth bared but fades before she can hit it.\n275. \\\u003e\"It was the eve of my wedding detective\" the seemingly distant voice says\n276. \\\u003e\"I had had my first kiss just a year before\" It continues\n277. \\\u003e\"And what do you want me to do about it?\" You demand\n278. \\\u003eA new voice answers\n279. \\\u003e\"Give us our peace\" It coos\n280. \\\u003eThis one sounding like it was being slightly choked\n281. \\\u003e\"Make him pay\" Answers another\n282. \\\u003e\"Suffer\" another still\n283. \\\u003e\"Repent\" growls one more\n284. \\\u003e\"Pay\" they all say in unison\n285. \\\u003eYou look to see if you have any drink in your car\n286. \\\u003eNothing within reach\n287. \\\u003eYou make another turn\n288. \\\u003eMore figures\n289. \\\u003eStanding and grinning with glee before fading\n290. \\\u003eEach leaving what sounds like dying breaths begging you to make Mr. Wittacker bleed\n291. \\\u003eBleed\n292. \\\u003ePay\n293. \\\u003eHurt\n294. \\\u003eAtone\n295. \\\u003eWhatever word they chose\n296. \\\u003eIt doesn't matter\n297. \\\u003eMr. Wittacker is going to hurt\n298. \\\u003eIf he knows the killer he'll tell\n299. \\\u003eIf he is, you'll see him in hell soon enough\n300. \\\u003eYou turn down an alley between a commercial strip\n301. \\\u003eIt ends in the drainage canal that backs up to Mr. Wittacker's home\n302. \\\u003eYou park and throw a tarp over your ride\n303. \\\u003eYou descend into the icy black winter water\n304. \\\u003eIt's so cold it feels like it's burning\n305. \\\u003eYou wade feeling your body chill\n306. \\\u003eYou stare into the tar black water to see smiles\n307. \\\u003eThey're still watching\n308. \\\u003eYou take each step in silence as you move through the canal\n309. \\\u003eYour pistol is drawn\n310. \\\u003eSawn off inside your coat\n311. \\\u003eRifle slung over your shoulder\n312. \\\u003eThe moon rises over the the canal letting the figures in the water be seen\n313. \\\u003eSmiling\n314. \\\u003eJust beneath the water\n315. \\\u003eEyes hollow\n316. \\\u003eBlack blood flowing from the neck and nether\n317. \\\u003eAs you near the high concrete walls fade into ever lowering\n318. \\\u003eYou see the first house of the many manors\n319. \\\u003eYou know they home you're looking for\n320. \\\u003eAs seen from space\n321. \\\u003eThe old adage rings true again\n322. \\\u003eHe who sins the most prays the hardest\n323. \\\u003eYou climb from the water hearing the cracking of your pants freezing\n324. \\\u003eYou approach the home\n325. \\\u003eYou see the man his living room\n326. \\\u003eYou look around to try to find a way in\n327. \\\u003eHis trellis leads to his balcony\n328. \\\u003eMaybe his door is unlocked\n329. \\\u003eYou climb up the study wooden structure with ease\n330. \\\u003eThe door is unlocked indeed\n331. \\\u003eYou wait in his room for a time\n332. \\\u003eSearching\n333. \\\u003eAnd just as you think there's nothing\n334. \\\u003eYou kick a rug\n335. \\\u003eAnd find a compartment\n336. \\\u003eAnd inside is all you need\n337. \\\u003eA knife\n338. \\\u003eA mask\n339. \\\u003eChloroform\n340. \\\u003eCamcorder and tapes\n341. \\\u003eYou find one labeled \"Jessica Mylies\"\n342. \\\u003eYou pop into the vhs on his in room t.v\n343. \\\u003eIts a tape\n344. \\\u003eOne you've seen before\n345. \\\u003eYou look out to the yard\n346. \\\u003eYou see the fox on the tape wave at you with a look of sorrow on her face\n347. \\\u003eYou throw on your mask\n348. \\\u003eAnd take the chloroform soaking one of your socks in it\n349. \\\u003eYou approach the man\n350. \\\u003eHe's jerking off to one of the tapes\n351. \\\u003eYou punch him in the throat and put the sock over his mouth\n352. \\\u003eHe doesn't even resist.\n353. \\\u003eYou get your rope and drag him to the garage\n354. \\\u003eYou stuff the sock in his mouth and leave.\n355. \\\u003eWading the mile up the canal\n356. \\\u003eGetting back into your car\n357. \\\u003eDriving to his home\n358. \\\u003ePulling into his garage making sure no one sees you\n359. \\\u003eA barrel full of diesel in the center\n360. \\\u003eAnd anger\n361. \\\u003eso much\n362. \\\u003eYou take the sock from his mouth and wait for him to wake up\n363. \\\u003eIn the meanwhile you take the last empty tape and set up the camcorder\n364. \\\u003e\"Who are you?\" he grumbles\n365. \\\u003e\"times up\" You say\n366. \\\u003e\"I don't know what you're talking about\" he spits\n367. \\\u003e\"The tapes, the knife, the mask, the chloroform? You know why I'm here.\" You growl\n368. \\\u003e\"Detective?\" he says trying to spin around\n369. \\\u003e\"Is it you?\" You demand\n370. \\\u003e\"What are you going to do to me if it is? The police won't do shit.\" He laughs\n371. \\\u003e\"I know. Now answer.\" You snap\n372. \\\u003e\"Yeah its me.\" he says smiling\n373. \\\u003e\"So Mr. Wittacker. Why?\" You ask feigning interest\n374. \\\u003e\"No fucking ANTHRO deserves that kind of purity or innocence. It needs to be taken, punished, ruined, broken. But you know that Detective, don't you.\" He says\n375. \\\u003e\"Of course but why?\" You press\n376. \\\u003eIn the corner of your eyes you see a figure\n377. \\\u003eIt moves to the corner shrouded in an unfitting shadow\n378. \\\u003e\"Because, we're human, better in every way than a fucking ANTHRO, hardly even sapient, barely more than the animals they resemble.\" He reasons\n379. \\\u003e\"I understand\" You say leaving the room\n380. \\\u003eYou grab his phone and phonebook\n381. \\\u003eYou relish in each dial you make\n382. \\\u003eThe bishop, the pastors, the principles, deans, and judges\n383. \\\u003eYou leave a message to each and every one\n384. \\\u003e\"Hi, its the Detective. I've found the killer. Meet me at Mr. Wittacker's home on Christmas Day if you'd like to meet him before we turn him over.\"\n385. \\\u003eJust as you say that more figures begin to appear\n386. \\\u003eAnd Mr. Wittacker begins to panic as you take your potato peeler out.\n387. \\\u003e\"Can you see them too Mr. Wittacker?\" You ask madness in your eyes\n388. \\\u003e\"I can see your sins\" You ramble\n389. \\\u003e\"They haunt me more than you seemingly\" You continue\n390. \\\u003e\"What are doing?\" He says panicked\n391. \\\u003e\"The police won't do anything\" You say\n392. \\\u003e\"I figure I need to give back to my community\" You say pressing the tool against the skin of his back\n393. \\\u003e\"Now I'm sure we can work something out.\" He pleads\n394. \\\u003e\"You're right! It would be a shame to open the gift before Christmas\" You say reaching for the battery and alligator clamps\n395. \\\u003eYou cut his pants off with a knife, not caring if you cut him\n396. \\\u003eHe screams\n397. \\\u003eNothing new\n398. \\\u003eYou take the clamps and place them on his balls\n399. \\\u003eAnd then connect\n400. \\\u003eHe shrieks\n401. \\\u003eLike a sinner in hell\n402. \\\u003eYou punch him in the gut\n403. \\\u003eOver and over\n404. \\\u003eYou remove the clamps and sit down again\n405. \\\u003e\"Wasn't that fun?\" You say to the sobbing man\n406. \\\u003e\"Now I'll ask again. Was it really you?\" You demand\n407. \\\u003e\"Yes.\" He says unchanging\n408. \\\u003eYou sit there waiting for the night to end, occasionally waterboarding him in the diesel\n409. \\\u003eYou get hungry and eat his food\n410. \\\u003eYou watch his t.v\n411. \\\u003eAnd as the sun rises the news caster talks about you\n412. \\\u003eHow you're promising to meet Mr. Wittacker to tell him of the killer's identity\n413. \\\u003eYou can hear the murmurs of a growing crowd outside\n414. \\\u003eAt 9 Am you open the doors\n415. \\\u003eThe crowd is in terror as to what they see\n416. \\\u003e\"I promised the killer\" You call to the two dozen odd people\n417. \\\u003eYou hand the lead city investigator your crate of evidence before he can speak\n418. \\\u003e\"Now, I know our amazing policemen won't do anything. So I found him, and he admitted it before I began to get some justice.\" You laugh.\n419. \\\u003eYou lower Mr. Wittacker to the ground.\n420. \\\u003e\"Now I leave you to them.\" You laugh seeing the figures begin to form around him\n421. \\\u003eMr. Wittacker begins to start shrieking again\n422. \\\u003eClaw marks begin to appear across his face and arms\n423. \\\u003eThe news team vomit as chunks of flesh being to be rendered from his limbs\n424. \\\u003eYou smile as you watch the girls get their justice\n425. \\\u003eHe starts screaming about how they deserved it\n426. \\\u003eHow it was their fault\n427. \\\u003eAnd as his sins slowly begin to rip the flesh from his bone like piranhas\n428. \\\u003eYou go the back of the garage\n429. \\\u003eAnd lift the rug by his tool bench\n430. \\\u003eFinding a shaft to some other chamber within the home\n431. \\\u003eYou climb down it as the police finally realize what's happening\n432. \\\u003eAt the bottom you hear crying\n433. \\\u003eA camcorder pointed at a crying girl\n434. \\\u003eA young falcon\n435. \\\u003e\"Are you okay?\" you ask\n436. \\\u003e\"No, where am I?\" She sobs\n437. \\\u003e\"The serial killer's home\" You say\n438. \\\u003e\"Don't worry, he can't hurt anyone anymore\" You say\n439. \\\u003eYou pick her up like a piggy back\n440. \\\u003eAnd climb up the ladder.\n441. \\\u003eMr. Wittacker is hiding in the barrel of diesel\n442. \\\u003e\"Here officers make sure this girl makes it home safely, she was to be the next victim\" You say handing the girl off.\n443. \\\u003eThe officers turn to face you as you reach for a cigarette\n444. \\\u003eOne you stole from Wittacker\n445. \\\u003eYou put one Wittacker's mouth\n446. \\\u003eAs if to light it before dropping it in the fuel\n447. \\\u003eIt catches\n448. \\\u003e\"oops\" You say\n449. \\\u003eIt burns your arm but you pull back before it sticks\n450. \\\u003eMr. Wittacker is screaming\n451. \\\u003eYou leave\n452. \\\u003eGetting in your car\n453. \\\u003eAs you arrive home you see a figure standing by your desk\n454. \\\u003e\"Thanks\"\n455. \\\u003eThe next day a small riot is brewing outside your door\n456. \\\u003eSuppose it's time to leave now\n457. \\\u003eBurning someone alive was perhaps too far for the average man to stomach\n458. \\\u003eEspecially a city councilman\u0026nbsp;\n459. \\\u003eCome the night you slink out of the back door and make your way towards the nearest rent-a-truck center.\n460. \\\u003eJoe's Self Storage and Moving\n461. \\\u003eOpen 24 hours\n462. \\\u003eThank God\n463. \\\u003eWith fifty bucks and a good deal of dedication you move all your belongings into a storage container by four AM\n464. \\\u003eBy the time the sun rises you're fifty miles out of\u0026nbsp;town at a shitty super motel 8 for six dollars a night, and that\u0026nbsp; includes a hot breakfast across the street and Holly's hotcakes\n465. \\\u003eNot that your awake to eat them\n466. \\\u003eYou sleep a whopping 16 hours\n467. \\\u003eNext morning you sit down at Holly's\n468. \\\u003ePlate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes\n469. \\\u003eServed with a tall glass of whole milk and coffee with a wink from the cow cook behind the counter\n470. \\\u003eYou buy a paper for a quarter and start looking for a new place to settle down\n471. \\\u003eAfter about two weeks at the motel you've found the perfect little place\n472. \\\u003eIt's about 6000 miles away in a place called Patagonia\n473. \\\u003eA plane ticket and a shipping crate for the price of a used car\n474. \\\u003e$1000 in\u0026nbsp;total and $2500 for the ranch\n475. \\\u003eCombine with another grand in cattle and seed\n476. \\\u003eIt's a sizable dent in your savings but the sale of your office did more than recoup\u0026nbsp;the costs\n477. \\\u003eYou buy a '64 Chevy in Buenos Aires and a trailer to haul your belongings to your new home\n478. \\\u003eOnce you arrive to your ranch for the first time you\u0026nbsp;a warm grin spread across your face\n479. \\\u003eSoon you go into town after setting everything down\n480. \\\u003eThere you meet a Tegu\n481. \\\u003eA voluptuous\u0026nbsp;as she is kind\n482. \\\u003eMaybe Patagonia might have more the grasslands and beef\n483. \\\u003eThat's what you tell yourself as you feel the cool scaled lips of your lover press against your cheek in the South American Sun","series":{"name":"One Offs","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1662002-a-new-king.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1662049-a-one-off-about-nutt.json"}}