It was nearing midnight, Halloween coming to a close. All the little kiddies were at home sifting through mounds of sweets in preparation of cavity orgies in the days to come. Most adult revelers were still partying or finding spots to nurse their binges.
Usually, I'd be home with a tumbler of Johnnie Walker Black in hand, microwave popcorn by my side, watching Halloween 1 & 2 back-to-back. It was a usual tradition since my teens, but now I sit in a corner booth at the waffle house, nursing my umpteenth cup of truck stop Java, waiting on him.
It all started with my fascination of horror movies and urban folklore, but that little fascination turned into an obsession while poring through the library archives in the campus library.
Two years ago, I was just a normal college sophomore on scholarship in a small college town near the Texas-Louisiana border. I did the usual college things, binge drinking, binge fucking, football games on the weekend, cramming for tests on Sunday. I chose English as my major, but thought about film school ever since I saw my first horror movie at the age of twelve.
I considered myself somewhat of a movie buff. I hold the record of most rented movies at the local Blockbuster and have a pretty extensive collection of tapes and DVDs. It was my senior year that I started research on folklore and urban legends for my graduation thesis. It was one of my many late night in the campus library that I came upon an article about an abduction so obscure, that it only garnered a few inches of text on the back page.
Coed missing off campus
The disappearance of a local college coed has authorities searching nearby bayous and questioning several students. Shannon Bates, Liberal Arts major at E.A. Poe College, was reported missing by her roommate after not returning from the Halloween party she was attending two nights ago at the gymnasium.
She was last seen in the vicinity of the King Memorial Gardens. She was registered at the college with no next of kin and law enforcement said there might be a possibility that she just left on her own. Authorities are questioning students and ask that any information be directed to the Royal Parish Sheriffs office.
King Memorial Gardens wasn't actually a garden. It was a small graveyard on the edge of campus, which held the tomb of the original landowners Richard and Betsy King. Around the ghastly mini mausoleum were a couple of unmarked graves, presumably offspring. It was too scary even for the like of me, with it's covered walkways and mildewed smell.
Only horny drunken kids and frat pledges during rush week ventured out there at night. In the morning, empty beer bottles, used scumbags, and the occasional panties would litter the area. It wasn't a murder yet, just a missing person's case until I found another article with the same circumstances, five years later to the day.
Missing college student's dorm ransacked
An E.A. Poe College student's dorm was pillaged, prompting the Residence Advisor to alert police. Judith Myers, a Journalism Major, has since been reported missing, following an extensive search of campus. The annual Halloween party held in the campus gym was where she last talked to her roommate, whose identity is being withheld. According to eyewitness accounts, she was seen headed in the direction of King Memorial Gardens. What was first thought to be a Halloween prank became more sinister when a mutilated hand was discovered among the bedlam tips missing. Authorities are silent as to the owner of the hand and expressed concern for finding the missing student.
"We just want to find Ms. Myers ASAP and get this all behind us," stated Sheriff John Stroh.
This is the second time at the college where a student was reported missing. In 1990, Shannon Bates went missing and after furtive efforts was never found. Like Bates, Myers was also a student with no next of kin, but local law enforcement says there is no connection. Poe College president Wes Romero showed concern for the allegations and promised, "to get to the bottom of it post haste." Anyone with information should contact the Royal Parish Sheriffs office immediately.
Next to the article was a photo of Judith Myers from the student directory with another of President Romero in his office right below. She was a pretty girl with sad eyes, as if she knew of her own demise. President Romero looked stoic as ever, puffed chest, and straightened back.
Anyone that ever met him knew he was all spit and polish, from his starched cuffs to his always-polished Stacy Adams. Him and his Southern Belle of a wife, Jamie Lee Romero, were known Hitler and Eva in quiet circles. After a couple more hours of poring over articles, slugging Bawls energy drinks, and three trips to the rest room, I put together what I knew to bring me to the Waffle House off I-10 at Midnight.
Even without the fingerprints, I knew that the hand belonged to Shannon Bates, but who could prove it. The federal authorities were never called in to assist. Nor were they called five years later for Judith Myers or five years after that when another coed went missing on Halloween and the nipples of presumably Myers were discovered on the kitchen counter in the off-campus apartment of the third victim, Simone Carpenter.
I guess these southern towns, still don't look too kindly on the "guv'ment" getting involved. All the victims were single with no next of kin to notify. They also were all African-American. Kinda easy to sweep them under the rug, with the Elizabeth Smarts, Jon Benets, and Natalee Holloways getting the above the fold headlines.
A few calls to area papers and even the USA Today produced no results and even the FBI confirmed what I felt. I realized that three black women missing weren't too high on the priority list with Homeland security trying to monitor the corner store terrorists. After all, there was no real evidence except for untraceable body parts and all the victims were adults with no one to miss them anyway.
I drew up a shoddy timeline and pieced together what facts I knew. It happened every five years on Halloween. Usually right after the annual party in the gym. The killer had to be someone who lived here year round, probably a professor or a local. Somehow, the victims were alone and in the vicinity of King Memorial.
No lighted area, leaving perfect seclusion for the abductor. Even the horniest and drunkest sumbitch avoids that area on Halloween. By the time incoming freshman have graduated and moved on with their lives, the next abduction happens. The college is small but large enough for news to never stay in place too long, before the next big thing. The closest daily paper is 40 miles away and the college paper has enough soft news like alumni grants and football scores to shy away from anything investigative.
By the time I knew that no help was coming, Halloween was a week away. I hacked the databanks of the admissions records; too easy since the only firewall on campus was the one at the Homecoming bonfire. I narrowed a search down to possible candidates, or should I say victims. I found fifteen women with no next of kin, but only three of them were sista's. I actually had to get off my ass and do some legwork. Of the three women, two lived in the dorms and one off campus.
The off-campus student was an Amanda Tittle, but after two hours of staking out her pad, I crossed her off the list. She had not one, but two men in her life. Not that she hid that fact, with her bedroom window open in the October night and both of them at either end of her like a Chinese finger puppet. I think if she came up missing, she would truly be missed.
Next on my list was Tiffany Jones. She was a sophomore on scholarship, Dean's list, Varsity Cheerleader, and pledge of Lambda Epsilon Iota sorority. It was no secret that the pledges were whisked away in the middle Halloween night, chained together in a rundown shack in the middle of the bayou, to be retrieved in the morning. Just the thought of half-naked coeds huddling together for warmth in pitch black made me want to investigate, but life and death were at hand.
Therefore my target of the night was Jasmine Sweets. She had no boyfriend, kept to herself, and slaved away on the third shift at the aforementioned Waffle House, just two miles up the road from Poe. By the time I found her dorm, she already left for shift and there was no picture of her in the student directory for me to find her
I went back home to prepare. Not wanting to look out of the ordinary, I rummaged through my footlocker for something suitable. Since I was strictly on the espionage tip, I decided with all black. I shook off my old leather pants that I bought with my first motorcycle, wore once, and decided too gay for my liking. I strapped on a pair of hiking boots with the hidden contraband heel.
As an afterthought, I slid a three-inch blade I bought in New Orleans in the compartment. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized I resembled a poor knockoff of Wesley Snipes in Blade. To finish the ensemble, I cut a hole in the top of my trench coat and slid my souvenir Hatori Hanzo from the Kill Bill Series down the back. A pair of Ray Bans and fake fangs and I looked a little better. I ran outside and jumped into my 78 Corvette Stingray with rebuilt engine, bald tires and rusted muffler. Hey, I was in college on a scholarship.
I got there about nine and there were few patrons scattered about. The only worker present was the portly cook slapping his spatulas together in an ungodly concerto as he moved hash browns back and forth across the spitting grill. I found a corner booth where I could get a good look at the door and the parking lot. I tried to relax, but my nerves were shot and the damn sword was rubbing a hole in my smaller back. My next move was nonexistent. Do I find her and say, "Hey, I think you're about to be abducted and possibly murdered tonight." That would probably put me in jail, she'd be killed and I'll be on trial for conspiracy.
I tried to call the F.B.I again earlier, but was told to call my local authorities first. I should have told them my name was Ahmed and I have a nail clipper. So before I left the house, I sent a Fed-Ex to the headquarters of the F.B.I with copies of all my findings and a note about events that may or may not take place in the next 12 hours.
As I fiddled with my Zippo, I felt a presence and smelled the intoxicating aroma of cocoa butter.
"Would you like some coffee, Sir?"
That voice drizzled over me like caramel over an apple at the annual parish fair. It had just a twinge of Southern twang to let me know that the owner was born and raised here, but stayed long enough to assimilate. I felt myself stiffen at the outside chance that I could hear that same voice in my ear asking me to do things that you couldn't get at the 24-hour restaurant.
"Are you Blade? I think that is so cute."
I lifted my head to respond and was struck by the mocha-hued goddess standing there with a steel coffeepot in one hand; the other placed demurely on her hip. She stood about 6'2", her hair blown out in a shapely natural with an Afro pick resting off to the side. Instead of the standard yellow WH smock, she was dressed in skin draped denim bejeweled with sequins and a pair of calf high boots with pimp heels.
"Foxy Brown?"
"Yep, you're the first," she replied as she poured that first cup of coffee smiling at me. "I thought that no one was gonna get it; you made my day."
I smiled back at her, my mind thinking of her warm and wet place. I shook off those thoughts and concentrated on the steaming liquid in front of me.
