Creative Nonfiction Crime Suspense

This just in: "Criminal Porker Butch has been caught red-handed after trying to escape through Mr. Simon Salary's backyard," said the news reporter, speaking with certainty of these events. "His crimes for butchering 5 people have now been stopped and will be met with extreme punishment. Stay tuned to Scarlet's News. Now back to you, Charles."

Cutting the TV off, Simon sighs deeply. Last night, a criminal had wandered into his backyard and cops who were already in the area were looking for him. Simon had heard noises outside and went to investigate. When he found the man hovering over a patch of dirt, it puzzled him, but it seems he had puzzled the man as well. He leered at Simon with cold murderous intent before grinning. Simon felt his skin crawl, but before either of them made a move, dogs could be heard barking and the police had them surrounded. Being careful to keep Simon out of harm's way, they charged Porker quickly and subdued him with manpower. Simon stood there frozen still, his eyes locked on that cold-blooded murderer who spoke these words to him:

"I'll be seeing ya, partner."

After he was taken away, the police asked Simon if he had any connections with Porker Butch, but Simon denied any connection with the man. He was not sure why he came there or what he meant by the words he spoke. Taking his statement to heart, the police left without incident. Aside from going in for questioning later that day, Simon had no plans. So he thought he finally would get started on cleaning his backyard. With a light breakfast on his stomach, he got started right away. Rake in hand, he dug through the piles of leaves, effectively gathering them in smaller piles to take to his front yard. The leaves that decorated his backyard were an array of colors: Orange, red, dirty brown, green, and yellow. The sun made the colors appear to be dancing with ease. The breezes were sharper, and colder each time. And each swept away the piles gathered as if dancing in the wind, their small movements became swift and sudden, then stilled and calm. The trees around Simon were barren, but their branches still shook as if they were in remembrance of when they had leaves.

As Simon rakes his yard he happens upon a box made of wood. A thud is what drew his attention to the box. Crouching down, he's curious as to what such a small thing was doing buried in his yard of leaves. He decided to take a break from raking as he took the box inside. The whirlwind of leaves subdued as he headed for his kitchen. Once inside, he sat at his kitchen table trying to decide if he would open it or not as questions emerged quickly. Where did it come from? Who hid it? Did it have something to do with Porker's last words to him? Was it his? The horror of that reality settled in the back of his mind, but Simon told himself when he found Porker he was indeed alone. Nothing in hand, nothing surrounding him. He couldn't bury anything he told himself. He just didn't have the time, was his reasoning. And for a minute it reassured him that he wasn't meddling in something potentially dangerous. He saw that it was locked and looked around for something to pry it open with. Naturally, Simon wouldn't have wanted to open something like that. But truth be told, he was madly curious. Why, why, why, why, why, why, why would a criminal, a bloodthirsty maniac hide anything in his yard and think he wouldn't stumble across it. Maybe he was trying to hide more evidence of his crimes, trying to pin the blame on Simon further. Maybe it was stolen money. If it had been, Simon would have returned it in an attempt to get a reward and become the neighborhood hero.

"Simon Salary, a hero." It had a nice ring to it, he thought. With a growing greed to know what's inside, he hastily looks for his toolbox, finding just what he needed. A hammer and nail. Adjusting the nail, he wedges it between the slit opening between the lid of the chest and the base of it. With careful, calculated timing, he swung the hammer. The force of it pops the box open revealing something grotesque. Simon's grin of greed melted to disgust, and horror. He lost all energy nearly tumbling to the floor, the nail and hammer fell with a thud, big and small sounding. In the box was indeed evidence against Porker. They were the heart's of his victims nicely packaged in the box with a small pouch of money. Simon carefully retrieves the pouch, hesitant at first to look inside. Bloody hearts nuzzled together almost touched his hand as he takes the pouch out of the box. Inside the pouch are a couple of hundreds and that alone was tempting Simon enough. But then a new problem arose. Bloody money would never be accepted anywhere. He couldn't clean it either, making the money worthless. Feeling utterly frustrated, he drops the pouch onto the table. "This wouldn't work," he told himself. He wouldn't be able to use anything in the small chest. And not only that, his fingerprints were all over the pouch and chest itself. That cursed criminal had him where he wanted him. Simon thought about turning in the items, except for the chest and pouch, to the police. But that involved digging up the heart's and placing them in a different container. Plus, he ran the risk of them confirming if the items were indeed Porker's who would noticed the different packaging immediately. "No…no the best thing," Simon told himself, "would be to rebury the chest and let nature take it from me." Closing the chest again, using duct tape to hold it shut, he was ready to take it outside when there was a loud knock at the door. Hesitating, he waits to see if it was his imagination, but it wasn't. Three heavy knocks reached his ears as they echoed off the walls. Setting the chest down, he precedes with caution until seeing it was just his neighbor, Clag. Opening the door a little, he stares at the younger man with dreadlocks hanging like sprouts from the soil. He wore what he mistakenly thought was a jazzy yellow shirt that was crooked and had a button loose, worn and outdated, with black bell bottom ripped jeans. While he considered him a good Samaritan as a neighbor, he saw him as little more than a nuance right then. Giving a small dry smile he chuckles weakly.

"Cl…Clag… what a surprise," Simon mutters out. "What can I do for you?"

"The question isn't what you can do for me amigo, it's what I can do for you," Clag gave a cheesy smile as he opened his arms like he wanted an embrace. "I saw your yard in the back, not that I was spying or anything and it looked like a lot of work for one guy. So as your best man in the neighborhood, I thought I would drop by and see if I can't help."

"O…of course, thank you Clag…," Simon's eyebrow twitched in irritation.

Someone saw him, no… rather… They saw the mess he had to clean up. Th…this could possibly work in his favor he thought.

"Actually perfect timing Clag," he said, a smile growing. "Please come inside. Oh… and have you told anyone you were coming?"

"No way man, so we're cool or whatever?"

He asks stepping inside as Simon steps aside closing the creaky door.

Simon didn't answer as he led him to the kitchen where the chest was taped shut. Thankfully he covered his hands with gloves since he was preparing to go outside again so naturally, Clag didn't see his blood-stained hands. Out of excitement Clag rushed to the chest.

"Whoa dude you got yourself a chest!" He exclaimed with excitement. "Can I look?"

"Sure… but only once we're outside," Simon said, a crooked smile growing as he grabbed his rake.

"Thanks man," Clag eagerly headed outside to open the chest.

As he knelt down trying to undo the tape Simon put up he doesn't notice the shadowy figure that is Simon creeping up behind him, or the heavy stone in hand rising to bash his head in.

"Hey Simon, got any–"

Just as he was about to finish asking for something, a heavy blow to the head knocked him unconscious. And from unconscious to dead. Simon made sure to draw blood with each strike, to ensure there was no possible way Clag would survive. Afterwards, he threw the rock out of his yard and proceeded to hide Clag's remains inside the bags of leaves he was throwing away as well as the box with his fingerprints all over it. All in time for the police questioning. When they asked Simon if he had found anything that may have been dropped by the criminal, he replied this:

"N…No officer, I… hadn't." With a shaky voice and stuttering words, Simon let the nervousness he felt be the reason he made it out. "W…with what happened last night, I've been mainly cleaning up to keep my mind off things."

The police were understanding. Knowing what he witnessed last night, they imagined it would take some getting over and eventually let him go. Simon passed the cell on his way out where Porker Butch sat grinning from ear to ear. Simon glanced his way very briefly before continuing on his way. It really did seem his words came to fruition. Simon was no hero. Just a man like any other. And men are quick to be tempted, if they believe they can bury some hatchets.

The End

December 04, 2022 18:48

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