Larson grimaced at the withered, lifeless corpse on the ground that was currently being placed into a bodybag. "That's the sixth one so far." He said to his partner, Detective Roberts. "Yeah... witness says the guy tried to mug the Stitchwraith. You can see how that turned out for him." Roberts said, gesturing at the corpse that was now being carried away.
"Did the witness say where the Stitchwraith went?" Larson asked.
"They said it fled the scene as soon as it killed the guy. It disappeared into the alley." Roberts said.
Larson looked down the alley. "And there were no signs of it in there?" Larson asked.
"No. Not a single thing." Roberts answered.
Larson scratched his head. He then got out his journal and began taking notes. He closed his journal once he was done. Larson thought to himself and realized he still needed to question the individual who lived at the location where the Stitchwraith mask came from.
"I need to take care of something. Can you keep an eye on things here while I'm gone?" Larson asked.
Roberts looked over at him and nodded. "Of course." Larson walked back to his car and drove away. He glanced at the picture of his ex-wife and son.
Larson finally arrived at the small house he was supposed to go to. It looked decent, maybe the lawn needed to be mowed, but it was fine otherwise. Larson walked up to the door and knocked. After a few seconds, a woman answered the door.
"Can I help you?" She asked. Larson showed his badge to her.
"Detective Everette Larson from the Hurricane police department. I have a few questions I need to ask you. Are you busy, or can I come in?" The woman's eyes widened slightly.
"Uh, yeah, sure! Come on in! Make yourself at home!" She said, slightly panicked.
Larson walked inside and looked around. It was small, but organized. He saw the dining room table and sat down, gesturing the woman to sit down. She sat on the opposite side of the table.
"So, you are Margie Goldberg?" Larson asked.
"Yes." Margie responded. "I'm not in trouble, am I?" Margie asked, nervously.
"You're not in any trouble. I just need to ask you a few questions regarding a case I'm currently trying to solve." Larson assured.
"Oh... can I ask what the case is?" Margie asked, hesitantly.
"The Stitchwraith." Larson responded. He could tell that Margie was getting unsettled by the revelation.
"Oh... I uh... I heard about that. Terrible what happened to those people." Margie responded. "Yeah." Larson said.
"What do you want to know? I don't see how I could be involved in that. I don't know what I can tell you that'll help you, Detective." Margie said. She spoke quickly, so her sentences blended together somewhat. She was overly nervous. Who wouldn't be when a police detective was asking them questions?
Larson pulled out a folder with photos of the Stitchwraith in it and showed it to her.
"You can tell me what you know about this." Larson said, pointing at the mask.
Margie looked at it and gasped. She put a hand to her mouth. She was on the verge of crying. "It can't be..." she said shakily.
"Are you alright, Margie?" Larson asked. She rubbed her eyes.
"Yes. I-I'm fine. Sorry, it's just... it's been a while since I last saw that face." Margie said. Larson raised an eyebrow.
"So you do know what this is?" Larson asked. "I do." Margie answered. "Could you... tell me what it is?" Larson asked. Margie took a few deep breaths before speaking.
"It was a few years ago. I used to be the caretaker of this house... and the family that lived in it, mostly... their son. The mother died a long time ago and the father was overseas at the time. The son, he... he had a tumor in his brain. The poor boy was dying and there was nothing anyone could do to save him. Before he left, his father believed that we could help his son recover if he remembered the good times in his life. We made a doll and drew all over it. We made it to where the drawings resembled important memories in his life. We even rubbed pizza sauce all over the mouth. He loved pizza. The doll had a walkie-talkie in it so that his father could pretend to be the doll and talk to him at night, reminding him of his life before he was sick." Margie explained.
When she didn't speak anymore, Larson assumed she was done. "The boy... what happened to him?" He asked. Margie looked at Larson. Tears were coming out of her eyes.
"He died." Larson sat there and listened to that confession. It felt like a punch in the gut. Losing a child is something no parent should ever have to go through. Even if she wasn't his mother, Larson could tell that Margie really cared about the boy.
"I'm... sorry for your loss." Larson responded solemnly.
"It was a long time ago. But I feel like he's still here. I know it might sound weird, but I feel like he's out there somewhere... alone and scared. After they took his body away, I looked in the closet where we kept the doll and it wasn't there. It vanished without a trace. Now, I learn that this man, whoever he is, has its head as a mask. I... I'm sorry, I just really need to be alone." Margie said.
"Of course. I'm sorry to bother you. Thank you for the information." Larson said. He left Margie at the table and nearly walked out the door. Before he grasped the doorknob, he turned around.
"Before I leave, can I ask you one more thing?" Larson asked. Margie looked up at him and nodded.
"The boy... what was his name?"
END OF CHAPTER VI
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THE CYCLE OF TORMENT
FanfictionMillie Fitzsimmons barely survived the attempt on her life made by Funtime Freddy. Now, she is traumatized by the attack. She has constant nightmares. She cannot get any sleep. One day, she decides that enough is enough and that she had to find a wa...
