A Substance Unknown

Chapter 1

This wasn't new. Don't get me wrong, it was scary, and surprising, and it happened for a reason that no one knew. But it was nothing the Clinton Police Department, or even just the citizens of Clinton, hadn't seen before.

Robert Nonans was found dead in his bed on November 1, 2013. He was discovered by me, his son, Martin, at 6:15 in the morning, after my alarm clock woke me up. I remember looking at him, thinking he was asleep, but just sleeping, stomach-down. After I had poked him several times, I began to get worried, considering last night had been Halloween. I reached over to him and rolled him onto his back, and immediately screamed. I'm pretty sure I passed out, because when I woke up an hour later, I remembered the white-ish gray eyes, the cold touch of his shoulder, the faded blue of his lips, and proceeded to sprint out of the house, screaming. Then my neighbor, an elderly man by the name of Bill, ran out to me.

"M-m-mm-my-d-d-dad..." I stuttered, unable to breathe, with tears beginning to stream down my face. Bill looked at me with a great concern, and pulled his phone from out of his back pocket, dialing 911. I think he panicked, because he almost dropped his phone, but once he reached the 911 operator, his voice and body altogether became stable, as he told the person on the other end of the phone that it had "happened here, on Marshall Road."

The cops and a few medical cars then showed up five minutes later, but there was nothing I could see them doing that would help. He's dead, that's it, I had told myself. Everything happening was beginning to blur as time seemed to speed up but nevertheless go slower.

After what seemed like an eternity, a man in a long brown coat with a handlebar mustache appeared from my house, and slowly strolled towards Bill and me with a saddened expression. I noticed a yellow badge on his coat, but for a reason I have trouble explaining now I wasn't able to read it. For that time, however, I just referred to him as the Detective.

"Well, Mr. Johnson," he began saying to Bill, " we brought in the X-Ray to find the cause, and it was no doubt the same person - or, God forbid, people - who struck in years past."

"So what was it?" I blurted out. "Was he tortured?! What happened?!"

The Detective looked at me, and sighed. "Look, kid, I'm not going to sugarcoat this considering you're seventeen, and almost an adult." He took a pause. "When we brought in the X-Ray, and inspected him through it, it showed us that Robert's brain was completely absent. Nothing there. It would appear he died instantly, but no pain."

What? I thought to myself. "What do you mean, no pain?! His head would have had to have been sliced open!"

He looked at me, looked at the house, and looked back at me. It almost seemed like his eyes were starting to water. "We-we..." he stuttered, as if there was a lump in his throat, "we found no evidence that his head was cut open. No cuts or anything. Just a missing brain."