Hamster Owl

Trigger Warning: Crime scene, murder, suggestion of sexual violence.

Douglas hadn’t felt his stomach stir on the job for years, not since he was green out of the academy. Something about the blood spatter against the kid’s toys though. It had sent his head spinning, dizziness threatening to undermine his hard-won reputation. The bright, dancing geometric shapes that adorned the red-stained sheets and curtains were not helping matters. Thankfully, the girl’s body had already been removed. He averted his gaze to the ceiling and traced the lines of the Artex pattern, while taking deep breaths and composing himself. Putting his heavy case down in the doorway, he steeled his will and finally stepped inside.

Douglas methodically placed his feet on the clean areas of carpet, stepping over the red smears that had been spread all over the room. Slowly, he made his way over to the grim-faced detective, who was already surveying the scene.

        “If you’re gonna lose your lunch Doug, please do it outside” Bishop remarked, not looking up from where he crouched, picking through the youngster’s possessions with the blunt end of a pen.

       “I’m okay. It just got me for a second. Not seen one this bad since ’87 and the Dillby murders down in Reading. I’ll be alright.”

        “Hmm. It’s a damn shame, that’s for sure. Sweet girl, going by all the stuffed animals and posters. My kids got a thing for boy bands too,” he said, gesturing around at the walls that looked like they’d been at the business end of a meat grinder, “You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you, ready for a long night?”

        “Absolutely, Sir. It’ll be worth every coffee to nail whatever sick son of a bitch could do something like this.” Douglas said, his muscles turning from jelly to iron at the resolve his own words invoked.

        “Good. Well, I’m done here for now. Do your thing and get me the results as fast as you can. The father is in the back of a car already, but he’s denying it all. Doin’ a grand job of playing the distraught, loving parent. So, I’ll need whatever you can get me to pin him.” Bishop said as he pulled off a pair of sweaty latex gloves and threw them into a hazmat bag in the hallway.

        “Ever consider, it might not have been him and you’re torturing a grieving parent?” Douglas asked to his retreating back.

        “Come on, Doug! How long you been doin’ this? It’s always the dad,” The detective said, turning when he reached the top of the stairs, “I’d start with the machete stuck in the bed head if I were you, but hey, I’m not the scientist.”

Douglas took up his large case, unclasped it and opened it wide on the floor of the hallway outside the girl’s bedroom door. He pressed his shoulders against one wall to let a beat officer past and swore under his breath at the close confines. It was almost easier in the woods, although the results were undoubtedly better from inside a sealed home. He snapped on his own gloves, grabbed a sharpie and a handful of plastic bags and went to work. With a roll of his eyes, he grabbed the machete first. Of course, that was marked ‘vital’. Then he gathered all the jewellery she had been wearing and had been left behind by the morticians. Most of it was plastic, brightly coloured and in the shape of butterflies or flowers. He pulled hairs and fibres from the bed and carpet, then combed the room from top to bottom for any dropped items. Nothing turned up. Sheets, clothes, carpet and curtain swatches all went into larger bags. Even those fundamentals took hours, mostly because he was more fastidious than most. He had lost count of the cases that had been won thanks to his diligence. Having worked with Bishop for almost a decade, he knew all too well that whichever way it went, a grieving father’s future rested on his work alone. The detective had already found his man.

Sipping a hot coffee from a cardboard cup, he scanned the room from its centre. Taking a break had the tendency to reveal more than the close-up work. Sometimes, you had to take a step back and think. He marked a blockbuster video on the desk. He would fill out the forms to get it returned, but he doubted the shop would ever see it again. Once they saw the news, they would probably refuse it anyway. What looked like her diary was tucked under the edge of the mattress. He made a mental note to grab that, and in the same vein, thought to check for any hidey holes in vents or behind furniture. Girls of an age stashed plenty of secrets.

His eyes fell on the mountain of stuffed toys, wedged against the dresser and covered in a mist of dried blood droplets. He had avoided it until then, worried it might set off his queasy reaction a second time. While forcing his gaze to wander across it, two beady yellow eyes caught his attention. With a smirk, he put down his coffee, quickly reapplied the gloves and strode over to greet them.

        “Well look at you!” He said, pulling out what could only be described as a hamster-owl. The freakish chimera stared back at him, almost with its own intent. “Furby, right?”

        “OOoooooo! Woo Woo! Wooooooooooo!” The demented toy yelled as it came to life in his hands, batting its eyelids and twitching its ears. He almost threw it across the room in surprise but managed to control the impulse and holding it at a full arms-length, set it down on the girl’s desk.

        “Damn thing!” he yelled to a series of chuckles from the officers stationed outside.

He went back to the list of tasks he had assigned himself, but throughout his bagging and tagging, he was constantly assaulted by an unintelligible babbling. The cursed doll would go quiet and then out of nowhere, at high volume, holler at Douglas. After the third time of jumping out of his skin, he stalked back to the desk in a fury.

        “I remember the ads for you-” he said through gritted teeth. Fully aware he was now talking to it.

        “REMEMBER!” It interrupted.

        “Yes, remember! Very clever. I remember that you are supposed to be smart. Hell, I’m pretty sure there was a ban on you being brought into the station, in case you could listen in on things you shouldn’t. Something about spy software or AI even…”

        “REMEMBER!” The Furby squawked again.

        “Urgh! You don’t seem so smart to me! Just a damned novelty. Do me a favour and SHUT UP!” Douglas roared. He turned his back on it, not wanting to waste any more time trying to figure out how to turn it off. He was almost done and was feeling the impatience of the late hour and the clouded thinking it brought. Yet, before he could take a second step, he spun around at the words the toy belted at his back,

        “You’re mine! Bitch!”

He stood frozen, head cocked to one side and looking into its demon-like eyes. Surely not...?

        “...What did you say? Did you…remember?” He ventured, not sure if he was pushing the limits of what was reasonable.

        “Remember! You’re mine! Bitch! You can’t prance around naked in your window like that and expect me not to want you! I might be your neighbour, but I’m still a man!”

Douglas shook his head with raised eyebrows, let out a sigh of disbelief and bagged the toy. He marked it as ‘vital’. Hopefully, it would be enough.