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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Two cops find themselves in over their heads.

Submitted: April 24, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 24, 2007



Frank reached into the lining of his coffee brown corduroyed jacket, and pulled his gun from its holster.  He had carried this piece for the last thirty-five years.  It wasn’t anything fancy just a basic revolver, with an oak wood handle.  The gun was a gift that his father had given him when he first joined the force.  Although, he had held it in his gun hand thousands of times, tonight the weight of his piece felt alien. 

He looked into the vanity mirror from the driver’s seat of his 1996 Crown Victoria.  He stared into the mirror and looked into the eyes of a stranger.  The lines of his face were very defined, making him look ten years older then he actually was.  His hair had gown gray years ago, not so much due to age, more so over stress and years of alcoholism. His eyes were blood shot, and his forehead wet with sweat. 

He reached into the glove box across the seat and took out a flask.  He took a long drink and looked at his watch. 

“Damit Reeves, where the hell are you?”  It was a quarter past five in the morning now.  He opened the revolving chamber of his piece and spun it.  With a flick of his wrist he snapped it shut again and took another drink from his flask.  “No matter Reeves, I should have known better then to trust you.  I’m on my own, like it ought to be.” 

As if on cue, headlights pierced his window.  Frank put a hand up to cover his eyes; the bright light shot a pain through his skull.  He winced.  The lights went dark and Detective Brandon Reeves stepped out of his car.  He was a tall slender man, dressed casual, black long-sleeved shirt and jeans.  He was built well, and very strong for a man of his size.  Brandon walked up to the passenger door of Frank’s car.  He sat down and closed the door, putting out the interior light. 

“Jesus Frank!  It smells like whiskey factory in here!”  He reached over and took the flask from Frank’s hand.  “You know shit like this makes me distrust your crazy bullshit ideas.”

Frank reached over with instincts of a veteran detective and took the flask back before Brandon knew what was happening.  He held it a moment and looked out his windshield at the house across the street from the deserted sight they had met in.  “I thought you weren’t coming.” 

“Well, you sounded pretty upset on the phone.  I knew something was wrong, though I’m not really sure I buy into this theory of yours.” 

“I know what it sounds like.”

“Why did you call me of all people Frank?”

“We have history Reeves, I knew I could trust you and this one has to go under the radar.  Does that sink in son?  No one can know about what’s about to happen here.” 

“What is about to happen here Frank?  What exactly is it you plan to do?”

“We need to make sure these things don’t hurt anyone else.”

“Things, Frank?” 

“You think I’m lying.  You think I’m crazy.”

“I think you are under a lot of stress and that you aren’t thinking straight.  I think you drink way too much and you should drop this whole thing and go home and go to bed.  Call in sick tomorrow and sleep this off.”

“Did you come here to stop me or help me kid?”

“Seriously Frank, vampires?”

“I didn’t believe it at first either, but now I’m absolutely positive what we’re dealing with here.” 

“How can you be so sure?  What possible proof do you have that millions of scientists and Dracula freaks around the world haven’t found?” 

“I’ve seen things Kid, things that I couldn’t explain.” 

“Frank, I really think we need to think this through.” Brandon rubbed his fore head.  “You said you were attacked?”

Frank sat silent for a moment, thinking it may be a better idea to not talk about it.  He let out a long sigh, “It was almost three weeks ago.  I found a couple of them in a dark alley in town; they were feeding on a woman.  I went to help, but there was nothing I could do.  By the time I reached her she was dry,” he took a drink from his flask, “as a bone.  Well, I tried to chase the little bastards down, but they’re fast.  Faster than any human being, it was like chasing a hotrod with a bicycle.

“I ended up at the doors of an abandoned warehouse of the back streets of Eleventh Avenue and Matlock.  There, they ambushed me, three of ‘em. They floated out of the fucking sky.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone?” 

“I knew it sounded crazy.” 

“And the woman?”

“When I got back to her, the body was gone.  They must have taken it.” 

“No evidence at all?”  

“Look kid, I’ve spent the last three weeks and endless hours of nightmares tracking these fuckers and I finally found out where they sleep.” 

“In there?”  Brandon pointed across the street.

“Yeah, in there.” He took another drink off his flask. 

“Ok.  We’re gonna go in and look around, you let me lead and don’t lose your fucking head! You got that Frank? Stay focused, and no hero shit!”

“Fine, let’s dance.”  He opened the car door, the interior light hurt his eyes, that pain in his skull shot out again.  He waved the pain away and turned over his shoulder at Brandon.  “Hey kid.” He said.  Brandon paused and turned over his shoulder at Frank. “Thanks.”

“Yeah Frank, no heroes ok?”  Frank shook his head, and they made their way to the back of the car.  He unlocked the trunk and it popped open.  He reached in and took out a box of shells and a pump action twelve gauge shot gun.  He loaded it and shoved a handful of shells into his jacket pocket.  He looked up at Brandon who was giving him a stare of distaste.  “Just in case.” He said.  Brandon shook his head and started across the street. 

In the twilight of dawn, both men crept through wild grown grass and trees towards the house.  It appeared to be abandoned.  It was two stories tall, with a red roof and white trims.  The windows had all been boarded up.  They snuck up onto the porch like trained police men.  Frank took the left side of the door, and Brandon covered the right.  They spoke to each other with hand gestures.  Frank reached over and tried the doorknob.  It turned, but the door wouldn’t budge as he pushed on it.  He shook his head, and Brandon nodded in return.  He gestured for Frank to stand back and counted to three with his fingers.  On three he stood in front of the door and kicked it with all his weight.  The shock of the impact cramped his muscles.  The door didn’t budge.  Brandon cursed under his breath. 

“Maybe there’s a way around the back.”  Frank whispered out loud. 

The two made their way around the side of the house, there didn’t appear to be a back door.  Brandon thought it very strange that a house wouldn’t have a back door, then Frank caught his attention.  He pointed to the cellar doors only feet from the house.  The handles to the door were locked with four pad locks and a thick chain with a pad lock of its own.  “Well, someone is going out of their way to keep people out.” Brandon said. 

“I guess we’re S.O.L.”  Frank said. 

“Hey, look at that.” Brandon was looking up. 

Just above the two men a window to the second floor of the house sat open.  The dingy sheet curtain blew in and out of the window with the morning wind. 

“That makes sense.” Frank said. 

“What’s that?”

“Bastards can fly, they don’t need to get in through and of the lower entries.” 

“Now what do we do?”

Frank tucked the shot gun into the back of his shirt so that is stuck out of his jacket like a sword.  He reached out and grabbed a thick pipe attached to the wall. 

“We climb kid.”

“You are too old to be playing monkey at the zoo Frank.”  Frank took a good hold of the pipe anchor and pulled himself up into the wall “You are gonna fall on your back and shoot your ass off you stubborn son of a bitch.” Brandon watched for a second then fallowed Frank up the pipe.  “Might as well be here to break your fall.” He said as he climbed. 

Frank reached the window and stopped for a second.  He drew his gun and peeked his head inside.  Brandon saw Franks head disappear into the darkened window before he came back out and whispered loudly down at him.  “It’s a bed room, a kid’s room.” 

Frank lifted one leg over the sill and crouched into the room.  Brandon followed faster, being slightly more agile.  Once in the room, it took several moments for Brandon to adjust to the darkness.  He blinked and rubbed his eyes.  The walls were baby blue and the floor was hard wood.  There was a crib up against the wall in front of them.  This house was defiantly abandoned.  Frank still had the shot gun tucked into the back of his shirt as he stood by the door to the room with his piston in his hand.  Brandon chuckled inside at the thought that Frank looked like a samurai, then chuckled more at the thought of Frank with a top knot. 

He turned the knob to the door and it creaked open loudly, he poked his head out into the hall way.  Brandon took the other side of the door and looked out into the hall as well.  There were several other doors, one a bathroom, the other two were closed.  At the end of the hall was the staircase.  Brandon drew his gun and took lead down the hall. 

The two moved in synch, one watched the front while the other watched their rear.  They came down the stairs into a large living room.  To their left was the front door.  It had been barricaded by several large pieces of wood and a six seat heavy oak kitchen table nailed into the frame of the door.  “Well that explains the front door.”  Brandon said. 

“Yeah, but not the cellar doors.”  Frank made his way to the kitchen just behind the living room.  “Frank look, there isn’t anyone here.”  He followed him into the darkened kitchen.  As they entered the room, the sounds of rats scurrying to safety were heard.  “Frank.  Frank!”  Brandon reached over and took Frank’s arm.  “Hey, I lead, remember?” 

Frank looked over at the door leading down to the cellar.  He raised his arm to the door and said to Brandon.  “Be my guest.” 

Brandon stared Frank down for a second, not bothering to hide the fact that he was upset.  He walked over to the door and turned the knob.  Half suspecting it would be locked, and half hoping it would, his heart jumped as the door opened.  Behind it was nothing but blackness.  He stood at the doors entrance staring down into the darkness.  There was a cold air down there; Brandon could feel it from the top of the staircase.  His hair rose on end, and he quickly shook it off. 

He turned around to face Frank.  “Look, I’m gonna give it too you straight.  There is no on in this house.  There hasn’t been anyone in this house for at least twenty years, look around.  And most of all Frank, there are no vampires!”

At that moment a loud sound caught Brandon’s attention.  It came from the darkness behind him.  He started to turn when he felt the weight of a wall hit him full force.  Some one, some thing, had jumped from the darkness and was on his back.  He fell forwards with the weight and force of the blow.  Once on the ground, Brandon struggled hard not to let panic over take him.  He tried to turn over on his back to face his assailant.  A shot pierced the air, and the assailant fell off Brandon’s back and into the darkness from where it came.  Brandon took advantage of the opportunity and hurried to his feet.  He ran to stand next to Frank and aimed his gun into the dark.  “What, the fuck was that!”

“Still don’t think there are any vampires?”

“It was like getting hit with a sack of potatoes!” 


“I don’t want to go down there!” 

“Come on man, you’re a cop act like one.”

“Fine, but you lead.” 

Frank cocked his pistol, “My pleasure.”

Their eyes adjusted to the darkness faster this time.  They walked down the stairs with great care, ready to ward off any attack.  Frank reached the bottom first, and turned the corner of the staircase on one knee.  Brandon turned the opposite corner when suddenly a loud bang startled them both.  The door they entered through had been slammed shut.  Brandon turned his gun in the direction then back to his left once the cost was clear.  As the men stood still crouched at the bottom of the stair case in the dark, all that could be heard was their breathing, then movement, in the corners of the cellar. 

Frank moved towards the sounds slowly, keeping his breath slow and steady to try and keep himself calm.  Brandon was breathing heavier, now more afraid that his drunken friend was right.  A hissing sound came from the corner, and Frank raised his gun.  As he neared the corner, Brandon was hit from behind again.  This time it was a hard hit almost taking him from consciousness.  He fell to the floor and turned over on his back immediately.  He saw a figure standing there, just over him.  It almost seemed like it was floating.  Brandon aimed and shot twice.  The figure fell to the ground. 

Frank had turned over his shoulder hearing the sounds of Brandon’s attack.  Suddenly he felt cold and strong hands take his gun hand.  He turned and saw the face of a boy pale and insane.  The boy pulled on Frank’s hand, and his pistol went flying into the dark corner.  He was caught off balance.  A cold hand took his throat and the boy screamed into his face.  Frank took the boy’s wrist with one hand and tried to reach over his shoulder at his shot gun with the other. 

Brandon started over to help frank, when he was grabbed from the ankle.  A strong hand took his ankle and pulled his leg out from under him so hard, that Brandon flipped over onto the floor.  He turned and saw a young woman holding his pant leg.  She was pale blue in color, and had a look of the devil’s rage in her eyes.  Brandon aimed at her, but paused.  “Let me go bitch, or I’ll shoot!” 

It was just a girl, a teenage girl, how could he shoot a teen age girl.  Then she pulled herself level with his knees and bit into his leg.  Brandon screamed in pain as he felt teeth puncture his flesh.  “Mother…” He took a moments aim and pulled the trigger.  The girl’s head opened like a watermelon.  Blood, skull and brain matter splattered all over.  Her body fell limp to the floor. 

As Brandon stood up another tug on his arm pulled him sideways.  A boy this time, pulled his arm and bit down on it.  Brandon screamed again and didn’t hesitate to put a bullet in between the boy’s eyes.  Once again he was splattered with gore.  “How many of these little fuckers are there?”

Frank hardly heard the question as he tried desperately to keep from passing out due to lack of air.  He was being choked, and he couldn’t get his fingers around the handle of his shot gun.  The fingers around his throat were piercing his skin, blood began to run down his shoulders.  His eyes became very heavy and the room was going dark.  He then felt the shot gun being removed from his shirt.  He had lost it, and now he would pay for it with his life. 

Brandon reached over and pulled the shot gun from Frank’s shirt and aimed it directly at the boy’s face.  “Let go or die!” He yelled.  The boy smiled and opened his mouth.  He placed it over the barrel of the gun and laughed at Brandon.  The laughter only lasted several moments and Brandon pulled the trigger and the boy’s head disintegrated. 

The headless body fell to the floor with a thud.  Frank took in a long gasp of air and fell to his knees.  He started coughing trying to regain his senses. 

“You ok?” Brandon asked. 

“Yeah.” Frank grunted.  He got to his feet. 

“I thought they were supposed to explode or something.  You know, like the ones in the movies.  They burn up right?” 

“Maybe these don’t.” Frank took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face and neck.

“Well what happened to the other one’s you killed?” 

Frank turned and looked at Brandon for a moment.  He was covered in crimson and junks of flesh clung to his shirt.  “You look like shit kid.” He tossed his hankie at him.  Brandon caught it with one hand.  “Frank! What happened to the other vampires you killed?”

“I haven’t killed any until now.”

Brandon raised his voice, he threw the handkerchief back at Frank hitting him in the head with it.  “What?  What the fuck did you just say?” 
“I haven’t killed any of them until now!”

“Jesus aged fucking Christ Frank, these were kids!  Just some crazy fucking kids!”

“They weren’t just kids Reeves, I know what I’m telling you.” 

“No you don’t Frank.  You don’t know anything, not a single fucking thing outside from the bottom of a fucking bottle.  You’re a drunk, a has been, washed up, drunk cop and your sick!  Now four kids are dead cause of it!  They were kids Frank!”

“They were vampires!”

“NO!  Shut up, she the fuck up!  There are no such things as vampires do you hear me?” 

Frank ignored Brandon’s yelling and insults as he looked around the darkness.  He walked up to a bright red gas can.  It was full. 

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked. 

Frank uncapped the can and started spreading its contents over the floor and walls.  He started coating the staircase with it.  Brandon took franks arm and turned him around hard.  The gas can went flying from his hand and landed off in the distance of the room.  The smell of gas filled the entire room. 

“Frank, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Look, this place can’t stay standing.  It’s a nest; they’ll come back here again and again.”

“Stop talking that crazy bullshit!”

 “Fine, so you killed a bunch of kids Reeves, you can’t leave the bodies here to be found right?”

Brandon stared at Frank with hatred, but it was obvious that his mind was registering what had just happened.  Frank was right.  They had to get rid of the evidence.  The house was abandoned out in the middle of no where.  Who would know?

I would know Brandon thought to himself. 

“God Damn you Frank, God Damn you to hell!” 

With that said Brandon limped his way up the stairs.  Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter.  He Followed Brandon up the stairs and turned around half way up.  He opened the lighter and sparked it. 

“Good night.” He sighed and tossed the flame into the cellar.  The darkness illuminated immediately as flames swallowed everything under the house.  Brandon limped as fast as he could out of the kitchen to the front door.  He turned to Frank and put out his hand.  “Shells!” he yelled. 

Frank fumbled in his pockets for a moment, the produced a handful of shot gun shells.  Brandon cracked the top of the gun and let the spent shell fall to the floor.He loaded it and stood less then a foot from the massive table blocking the exit.  “Stand clear!” He yelled over his shoulder as he pumped a full round into the wood. 

The wood splintered but held strong.  Brandon reloaded and emptied another round into the wood.  As he shot and reloaded, the empty shell cases fell at his feet where now a small puddle of blood had formed from the bite in his leg. Both men could feel the floor becoming extremely hot under their feet.  The floor boards started to creek as the fire under them ate away at the support beams holding them up. 

Four shots later, the wood gave way.  Light from the sun outside pierced the room.  The farthest corner of the living room caved into a pit of flames.  Brandon rammed the splintered mess of wood with his shoulder and went crashing through it.  He stumbled and fell onto the porch, Frank came right behind him.  Both men hurried across the road to their cars.  Brandon limped halfway before Frank came up behind him and placed his arm over his shoulder for support.  As one, they reached the other side of the street and fell to the floor once at a safe distance.  They turned around and watched the house burn down.  Piece by piece it came undone in smoldering ashes. 

Both men were breathing heavily.  Frank reached into his coat and pulled his flask.  He opened it and was about to raise it to his lips, when Brandon reached over and took it from under his chin.  He held it a second and then took a long drink. 

With a gasp he handed it back to Frank.  Frank went to take a drink but it was empty.  He grunted and put it back in his coat pocket.  They got to there feet and started to their cars. 
“Damn.” Frank cursed. 


“I lost my gun.”

“Go home Frank.  Go home and get some sleep, and when you wake up, loose my number.  Don’t call me, don’t talk about me, don’t even think about me you got that?”

“You’re bit kid, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you Frank, they were just kids.”  Brandon got into his car.  He looked into his rearview and tried to wipe the blood off his face.  He took off his shirt, and lowered his window.  He tossed it at Frank’s feet and put the car in reverse. 

In moments he was gone, and Frank was alone.

Frank went home and did as he was told.  He went to bed and slept for hours undisturbed.  He dreamt of flames and children burning in them.  He could hear them scream, and opened his eyes.  His face was covered in sweat.  Off in the distance the phone was ringing.  Frank slowed his breathing and got out of bed to answer his phone. 

“Mitchell here.” He answered. 

“Frank, it’s Lorenzo.  Where have you been?”

“Sorry boss, I um… wasn’t feeling well.  I meant to call in, but I guess I forgot.”

“Have you been watching the news Frank?” 

“What? No why?”

“Turn on your TV.”

Frank took his phone with him to his living room and sat himself on his leather couch.  He reached over to the coffee table centered between himself and the TV.  It was over crowded with papers and empty bottles of liquor.  He dug through the mess until he produced a remote control.  The TV came on with a click. 

“Channel nine.”

Frank turned to the channel and watched half awake.  His mind was clouded with sleep and aches from the night before.  He needed a drink and an aspirin.  As he watched the screen he realized there was a news bulletin on.  He thought he should pay attention since his boss had bothered to call him and wake him up to watch it.  As he listened his hands went numb.  His throat dried up and he dropped the remote. 

The woman on TV announced.“This just in breaking news on the Brandon Reeves family slaughter case, police have informed me that a suspect has been pin pointed but no further information has been released.  For those of you just tuning in, what you are watching is live footage of the Reeves home in downtown Las Angeles where Brandon Reeves, his wife Kimberly, and their three children have been discovered murdered in the early hours of this evening.  No one can be sure exactly what time the attack occurred, or the weapon used in the attacks.  Police describe the scene as a gruesome scene like something out of a horror movie.  More to be released as we have it.”

“Frank are you still there?”

Frank cleared his throat, tears came to his eyes.  “The news said they had a suspect.”

“We have some evidence that may lead us to someone yes.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Frank, be sober.”

Frank hung up the phone and sat for long moments watching the footage and Brandon’s house on TV.  There were police cars all over the city block, and the C.S.I truck parked at the doorstep.  Frank cried into his hands as he watched the house surrounded in yards and yards of yellow tape. 

After ten minutes or so, he got up and went to his kitchen sink.  He opened the faucet and let the water run over his hands.  He splashed water on his face and leaned over the sink for a moment.  Then he opened the cabinet and took out a fresh bottle of whiskey.  He cracked the cap and drank straight from the bottle.  He wiped his face and his eyes, then went to put on a clean shirt. 


Frank sat in Tony Lorenzo’s office.  He felt heavy, and his stomach burned.  He thought it was all due to stress and he knew he drank too much.  His skin was cold, and he was sweating profusely.  Tony came into the office and sat down across the desk from Frank.  He was an average sized man, dressed very well in a dark blue suit with matching tie. His hair was slick back and he was clean shaven. 

“How are you feeling Frank?” 

“Like shit run over twice and hung out to dry.”

“You really need to get off the booze Frank, you’re a mess.” 


“Yes Frank, we have someone in mind.” 

“Then why are we wasting time here talking about my problems when we could be out there trying to catch a sick cop killer?” 

“Relax Frank.  We already got him in custody.” 

Frank looked a bit shocked.  “You didn’t say that over the phone.”

“We didn’t have him when I called you, but we have him now.” 

“I want to see the son of a bitch!” 

Tony reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a brown paper bag the size of a kid’s lunch bag.  He reached in and took out another bag, this one plastic and see through.  He placed the bag on the desk in front of them both.

Frank stared down at the desk, and suddenly understood.  In the plastic bag was his gun, nothing fancy just a revolver with an oak wooden handle. 

They said he did it.  His gun was found at the scene.  The bodies were torn limb from limb.  Kimberly was in three pieces when they found her, her torso and legs in the kitchen, her head was in one of the bathrooms.  The children were unrecognizable.  All four had closed caskets at their funerals, Brandon was not dismembered.  He received a single shot to the head.  Frank knew this murder was intended to set him up.  The blood was not drank, it was spread everywhere.  Over every wall in the house, the kids’ blood filled every crevice of the floors.  The police and the F.B.I thought Frank did this, but Frank knew.  He knew and he said nothing. 

I’m beat.  You win.  I’m just an old drunk, and you win.  Are you happy? “You killed your friend are you happy?” No one asked him to come along!“Yes.  You asked him.  Don’t you remember?”  NO!!!!“YES!!!”

Frank splashed water on his face.  The voices were talking to him again.  He sat on his uncomfortable mattress in his cell.  It was well after bed time, the voices had woken him up again.  This was the fourth night in a row since he had been sentenced that he had to shut the voices off.  His body was aching and pain jolted in every movement. He hadn’t had a drink in over six months now, no case of alcohol withdrawal lasted this long, he knew.  This was more then him coming off the booze, his body was dieing.  His mind was weak, and his body was weaker.  He felt that every breath he took was too short and possible his last.  He sighed out loud and looked up at the ceiling of his cell.  The concrete was chipped and aged.  Rust stained the walls from the leaking water during thunder storms. 

He felt a sudden pain shoot up his arm, and into his chest.  It was unlike anything he had felt so far.  He knew this was the one.  His breath stopped, and he struggled to get one more out, but his lungs refused to cooperate.  He heard nothing but the sound of his heart in his ears, it slowed drastically, until it came to a slow thump in the air.  Frank fell over in his bed, and stared out into the distance.  He half expected to see a tunnel and a bright light.  Instead he saw a figure standing in his cell with him.  He as tall and slender. 

Frank let out what little breath was left in his lungs as the dark figure came into the light.  Frank believed he was dead for he was looking at angels. 

Brandon Reeves knelt down beside Frank’s dieing body.  He stared Frank in the eyes. 

“Hey, I know you are still alive.  I can hear your heart beating.  I know you can hear me, so let me give it to you straight up Frank.  You are dieing, but you aren’t done yet.  Your body is dieing, but your mind will live on.  You were right Frank.  They were vampires, and no so are we.”

Frank gasped slightly. “Shhhh, it’ll all be over soon.  I only hurts for a little while Frank.  Soon you won’t feel any pain ever again.  No sickness, no death Frank.  They though you killed my family.  You think they did.  No Frank, you did.  The second you picked up that phone and called me to go with you on that suicide mission, you killed them all.  You were bitten, and it took you this long to transform, you fight hard you old bastard.  I, however, must have gotten a bite far worse then your cause mine was almost over night.  I went home and went to sleep and woke up with the thirst.  You’ll like the thirst Frank, it takes over everything until you don’t care.  You don’t care about life, or your family, you just need to feed.  And I did Frank, I fed on my family because of you Frank.  But don’t feel too bad about it, I have a new family now, and soon so will you.  Welcome home Frank.”

Frank let go of his last breath as he stared into the face of his former friend.  He didn’t close his eyes, but the room went dark as the last seconds of life with in him expired. 

In the morning, the guards were baffled to find Frank’s cell empty.  He had disappeared, not a trace of escape.  It was known as one of the greatest mysteries ever printed, the “Amazing escape of Frank Mitchell” was the front page of every major news paper in the country.  Thousands of Paranormal investigators patrolled the gates of the prison, hoping to get a glimpse of the cell.  The fellow inmates spread rumors quickly about a man that had been in the cell with Frank the night he disappeared, they said that what he did was so horrible, that the Devil himself came up and took him home. 

Frank chuckled as he read each headline about him, printed in every tabloid he passed as he walked the streets late at night. 

© Copyright 2018 Mr V Darkling. All rights reserved.

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