#author: Creeping_dread

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

My wife and I are beside ourselves right now. This is the type of thing you see in the movies, but now it’s happening to us.

Yesterday evening, a little after six, my wife and I were in the kitchen cooking dinner when my six-year-old (almost 7) son Kyle walked in from the back patio. He was holding a folded piece of paper in his hand and had a strange look on his face. My son is constantly drawing (and loves to read and write) so this usually wouldn’t have stood out to me at all, but he’d just come in from hitting the baseball off the tee and really had no reason to be holding a piece of paper.

My son is the type of kid who wears his emotions on his sleeve. When I asked to see the piece of paper, I could tell he didn’t really want to give it to me because he flashed his typical I’m gonna be in trouble if I do face. I insisted, and he finally handed it over. Here’s what it said:

Dear Kyle,

I know this note may sound scary,

(your daddy will think it is),

but grownups don’t know

how friendships can grow

when kids are just left to be kids.

And what a kid you’ve become, Kyle!

You’re growing as fast as a weed.

Last night off the tee

you stroked it for three

and your team took a two-run lead!

Yes, I’ve been watching (a while now, its true).

I think we would make perfect friends.

You’re a kid through and through,

And I am one too,

even if just for pretends.

The problem, I fear, is your parents.

(I doubt they would let us hang out).

One is just rude,

the other a prude,

church-going, pure, holy, devout.

I’ve got an idea

(can you tell my hand’s shaking?)

for me and you getting together!

Tomorrow at three,

you can come and see me

at the address attached to this letter.

But please (pretty please!)

don’t tell your dad!

Your mom and he won’t understand.

Just come by yourself,

I’ll be dressed as an elf!

And we can even hold hands!

Would you like that?

(You will! You really will Kyle!)

We will have (my oh my) so much fun!

So I’ll see you at three,

by the sycamore tree,

where our two kindred souls become one!

There was an address scribbled at the bottom of the page.

3 Orange Circle.

I knew immediately it wasn’t a prank.

Carrie, my wife, is the youth group leader at our church. And Kyle did just have a tee ball game last night. Orange Circle is only one street over from our street, and I'm pretty sure lot 3 is the corner lot on the culdesac, which has an empty house with a large sycamore tree in the backyard.

Was this sicko really watching Kyle’s game? What would have happened I hadn’t seen him with the letter?

I shouted for my wife to come read it. When she did, she flipped out, and ran for the phone to call the police.

I flipped the note over, and on the back was some more text. I couldn’t read it at first, but quickly realized it was written backwards, I’m guessing so Kyle couldn’t have read it. To read it, I had to hold it up in front of a mirror:

And now (just in case)

if your Dad’s reading this,

it’s time to tell him a story.

If your mom flaps her hole

Or your dad tells a soul,

I’m afraid things might get rather gory.

On the 10th of July,

1995,

A woman named Susie went missing,

Susie, you see,

(unlike you and me)

wasn’t careful about who she’d been kissing.

I kept her a while (but old things get so boring!)

and in time I had gotten my fill.

I threw her away

and to my great dismay

the hunger I felt plagued me still.

I tried to bury it deep down inside

(where nothing down there can escape).

But lately it seems

I see Kyle in my dreams

And that hunger can no longer hide.

Now that you know what I’m capable of

(more than both of you can comprehend),

if one word is spoken,

then children get broken,

and Susie will have a new friend.

The police arrived in a half hour and we showed them the note. They told us to stay inside and lock the doors for the remainder of the night. The man had obviously been in our (fenced-in) back yard, which made me sick to my stomach and had me cursing myself for not installing the security camera I’d gotten for Christmas.

Nothing happened last night, thank God.

This morning, I got a call from the detective assigned to our case. He’d reviewed the list of missing persons cases from 1995 and something had turned up.

Suzanne Kerrington went missing July 10th, 1995, just as the note said. The last person to see her alive was a friend who saw her at the 24-hour gym they attended together. Susie had said she’d met someone new and wanted to get a quick workout in before getting ready for their second date. Susie was never seen again and the man was never identified.

And, maybe the worst part, was Suzanne's address.

3 Orange Circle.

I'm supposed to meet with the detective later this evening.

What should we do?

UPDATE: The detective just called back. They're sending an unmarked patrol car with two plainclothes officers to 3 Orange Circle at 3 p.m. today. Kyle's teachers have been notified and he's safe at school and won't be going to recess today. I'll update tomorrow with any news.

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

Carr picked up on the third ring.

Me: It’s Jay! Not Ray!

Carr: Wait, slow down…

Me: (I took a deep breath) Carrie looked at the church membership bulletin from 07. She recognized Jayson Fisher as the guy from ten years go...when she….

Carr: Okay….

Me: And he’s a tee ball ref. Umpire. Whatever you call them. He goes by Jay. And no one can reach him, not for the last several days. I think he’s got Andrew. We have to hurry…

Carr: Does your wife have an address?

Me: Address?

Carr: The bulletin. It should list an address. He may not still live there, but it’s as good a start as any.

Me: Okay, I’ll call you back.

I hung up and dialed Carrie’s cell phone. After five or six rings, her voicemail picked up. I hung up and texted her. Need Jay’s address. Check the bulletin!

I hopped off the couch and grabbed my keys in a mad rush to get to my truck. I climbed inside and waited, hand tapping on the steering wheel. I started to text Ryan to see if he knew Jay’s address, or could get it, when Carrie’s text dropped down at the top of the screen.

15 franklin dr

I texted her back: Thank you. Is Kyle okay?

Nursery at church. Fine.

I called Detective Carr as I whipped my truck out of the garage. When he picked up, I was almost shouting.

Me: 15 Franklin Dr. That’s his address.

Carr: Okay, got it. I’ve already radioed it in and I’m heading that way. Dean, are you on the road? (I turned down the radio, which was blasting some shitty pop song I’d heard a million times.) Look, you know this guy is extremely dangerous. (I heard his siren start its piercing wail). You and Carrie need to stay where you are and…

I hung up and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I knew he was right, but there was no way I was sitting this one out. Carrie and I had gotten Andrew into this mess and I had a sinking feeling he’d need at least one of us to get him out.

I called Carrie twice more on the way. This is Carrie! Leave a message. The second time, I did. Carrie, where are you? Are you okay? Please call me back.

Franklin Drive was only about ten minutes from our house, per my GPS, but I made it in about eight. The streets were always empty on Sunday mornings and I hit almost every green light. If Carr was anywhere near the police station, that meant he’d be several minutes behind me.

As soon as I turned onto Franklin drive, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Carrie’s white SUV was parked in front of a small brick house about three quarters of the way down the street. I recognized it immediately by the purple sticker on the back window. It was from Kyle’s school. In that moment, for some weird reason, the only thing I could think was: at least I told her I loved her. And that’s a brutal thing to have to think about someone you love.

I pulled in behind her and jumped out of the truck. I thought I could hear sirens blaring in the distance, but I couldn’t wait. Carrie was inside somewhere.

I made my way toward the front door, which was closed, but then I heard some shouting coming from the back of the house, and I saw the gate on the side of the house was wide open. I ran around the side and barreled into the backyard.

Jay was standing in the center of the yard, but he didn’t quite look how I expected. He was tall— over six feet—and had a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. The beginning of a wispy beard was showing on his jaw and neck and the hint of a belly protruded through the bottom of his one-size-too-small t-shirt. He stood as if his legs could barely hold him up anymore, like a prize fighter after a losing bout.

Andrew stood next to him, atop a box which sat on a tall kitchen stool. Duct tape was wrapped around both his eyes and mouth. He was standing perfectly still, hands at his sides, as Jay screamed at Carrie to stay back.

There was a noose around Andrew’s neck, tied to the branch of a sycamore tree which hung many feet above his head.

Carrie was standing in front of me and to the left, still in her dress from church. It billowed in the breeze around her thin frame.

When Jay saw me, he narrowed his eyes.

Jay: I wondered when you’d show up, Deano! Such a rude one, you are! Didn’t your mother tell you that wasn’t nice?

Carrie glanced back at me, but kept her body turned toward the threat in front of her. She mouthed I’m sorrybefore swinging her head back around.

Me: Just let him go, Jay! (I held my empty hands up). I’m sorry for being rude. No one needs to get hurt.

Jay: No one needs to get hurt? It’s too late for that, bucko.

Carrie: What do you want?

Jay: You, Carrie. It was always YOU!

Carrie: Why the note to the paper, then? Surely there was a better way to have me. Instead, you ruined me. And you outted yourself.

Jay: Because you lied to me! And I didn’t want you to lie anymore. If I’d come looking for you, you never would have had to tell Dean about our little affair. So, I pushed you. And then you had a choice! Tell Dean about your little secret, so he could put the pieces together, or keep it from him and let little Andrew die. Since you’re here, I guess it means you came clean. And what a wonderful little moment that must have been! Now everyone will know, and no one will want you, not even your husband! (He turned away from her). How's that wonderful marriage now? Do you like my sloppy seconds?

Me: Okay, you won, Jay. You won. What do you want to hurt Andrew for?

Jay: I don’t want to hurt Andrew! (He rubbed a shaking hand through his hair.) All this time. I’ve been good allthis time! When you’re good you’re supposed to get a treat! (He looked back at Carrie). You TOLD me you didn’t want to have kids. You said that! And then I heard them call Kyle’s name at his tee ball game, and I saw you in the stands, and I just…

He swayed a bit, and when his hip bumped the stool it almost went toppling over. Andrew reached out his arms, balancing himself, and the stool righted. But not before something fell from the back of the box—behind Andrew’s feet—onto the ground. Jay leaned down and picked it up. It was a large kitchen knife.

Me: You just what, Jay?

I needed him to keep talking. I’d heard the sirens for a moment, but they’d stopped. The police were outside.

Jay: Carrie was supposed to be MINE. And so was Kyle.

Carrie: How can we fix it, Jay? (She took a step forward).

Me: Carrie….

Carrie: Jay, how can we fix it?

Jay: We can trade.

Carrie: Okay, fine. Trade what?

Jay: Your life, Carrie.

I took a step forward, but stopped when Jay pressed the knife against Andrew’s side and shook his head. Then, he pointed the knife at Carrie.

Jay: Your life for Andrew’s. That’s the deal. That’s what all of this has come to! If I can’t have you, no one can. It’s the only way. And if you refuse…. (He brought the knife back and pressed it against Andrew’s side, harder this time). You’ll have to live with….

Carr: Drop the knife! Now!

Carr was standing in the gate, his service weapon drawn. Jay wobbled to his left and hid himself behind Andrew, putting his foot on the first rung of the stool like he was going to kick it over. Andrew was standing pretty high off the ground and I realized that if he fell, he’d probably break his neck before he had time to suffocate.

Carr: Touch him and you die, Jay! Listen to me! Put the weapon down!

There were two other officers beside him now, both with their weapons drawn.

Carrie: No, wait!

Jay paused, ignoring everyone but Carrie. His foot was still on the rung.

Carrie: It’s my fault, Jay. I know that. (She took another step).

Me: Carrie, what are you doing?

Carr: Both of you, stay where you are!

Jay: (A hint of a smile had crept onto his face). Do we have a deal?

Carrie: I can’t ever take it back. But I can make up for it.

Me: Carrie! It’s not your fault! I know he drugged you!

Jay: DO WE?

Carrie: I love you, Dean.

Me: Carrie!

Jay: DO WE HAVE A DEAL?

When Carrie said deal and charged at Jay, the entire world seemed to screech to a halt. It felt like she was running in slow motion, her tight blonde ponytail floating behind her as if gravity had no dominion over it.

I ran then, too, but I was several steps behind her. And I was too late.

Carrie— barely 120 pounds—who believed she’d made a terrible mistake and was now going to right it, and Jay Fisher—the 200+ pound tee ball ref—who had killed before and thought he owned the life of the one who’d gotten away, collided with a force that I swear was more than the sum of its parts. Ten years of shame and guilt and vengeance exploded underneath that sycamore tree, and as their bodies twisted and fell to the ground, a wayward arm knocked Andrew from his stool.

In that moment, which is now frozen in my mind, I had a choice: grab Andrew before he fell, or dive onto the pile and save Carrie. I don’t remember making a conscious decision. All I know is the next moment I was holding Andrew, the rope tightened around his neck just enough to make him cough, but not to cut off his airway, as I screamed for Carr to help Carrie.

Then I heard two shots, one right after the other.

When I looked down, I saw blood. So much blood. I wondered if Carr had missed and hit Carrie. But when Jay rolled onto his back, I could see both bullet holes. One in his chest and one in his stomach. So why was there blood on Carrie?

Once I freed Andrew, I knelt down beside Detective Carr. He was applying pressure to a wound in Carrie’s abdomen, where a red stain was spreading.

When I heard her cry, it was the greatest sound I’d ever heard. She was alive.

Yesterday, my entire world almost ended. Today, things seem a little brighter, but we still have a ways to go.

I’m sitting in Carrie’s hospital room with my laptop, watching her sleep. The knife pierced her large intestine but missed all other major organs. So far, there are no signs of infection, and the doctors believe with rest and time, she’ll make a full recovery.

I’ve replayed that moment right before Andrew fell in my brain a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. My heart tells me if I’d chosen Carrie, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten stabbed. My brain tells me Andrew would have died if I had. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to reconcile that choice, but one thing’s for certain: now I know how Carrie felt all those years.

It's a tough to look deeply within yourself, admit your sins (or mistakes) and seek redemption for them. I think that's exactly what Carrie did yesterday beneath that sycamore tree. She made up for the past. And I'm proud of her.

Andrew was returned to his father’s care completely unharmed. From what I’ve heard through Ryan, Andrew’s dad doesn’t believe any trauma—sexual or otherwise—occurred. This should mean that Andrew will be just fine, too. And that’s going to make Carrie very happy when she wakes up. Once their tee ball season gets started again—oh yes, the dads are already trying to get it going—I need to remember to sit down with his dad and explain what Jay’s note about Andrew meant. I hope he’ll understand.

Detective Carr visited the hospital earlier this morning. Jay Fisher is dead, of course, and the prevailing sentiment in the community is shock and disbelief. Apparently, Jay hid is true nature pretty well. He did use to be trim and clean cut, but word was he’d let himself go over the last couple years. Oh, and he never was an accountant. He’d applied to be an accountant, at the only tax firm here in town, but got rejected. He didn’t turn out to be a mall Santa or Easter Bunny either—so Carr got that part wrong—but they did find wigs and face paint in his home at 15 Franklin. He definitely had a thing for being a clown. And they found some other strange stuff, too. Other poems, just like the ones written to us, except about other people. Some written on paper, some in the white space of magazine pages, and some even on the walls. Carr’s checking into the ones that contain first names and other identifying information, but I doubt I’ll be privy to what he finds out. If I do, I’ll let you know.

We talked about 3 Orange Circle, too. Turns out there WAS a body buried down there, in a shallow grave about two feet deep.

Only problem was, it wasn’t Suzanne Kerrington.

Carr chuckled after he broke the news and he saw my face, but I knew it wasn’t mirth behind his smile. It was bewilderment. In a town like ours, you rarely come across monsters like this. For some reason, they gravitate to more highly populated areas, I guess so they can blend in with the crowd.

I asked him how they knew it wasn’t her. Turns out, Susie had fractured her left arm pretty badly cheerleading in junior high. Her Dad���who Carr said he’d called, although he hated to, asking for any features he could use to identify her— thought it was her ulna. I didn’t need those records, though, Carr told me. When someone gets a bad fracture, it leaves a mark when it heals. Like a scar on the bone. Whoever was buried down there in the basement had never broken either arm.

I asked him whether he thought Jay was the one who killed the woman (it WAS a women, Carr said, you could tell by the shape of the pelvis) and whether he thought he'd ever find out what happened to poor Susie, and Carr said We'll try to identify the bones, but we'll probably never hear the whole truth, now that Jay's dead. And maybe that’s for the best.

Who knows how many people Jay Fisher terrorized. Or how many he killed? There will be an investigation, and people will wonder, how did we miss this monster? Living right under our noses. And maybe there will even be some answers, despite what Carr thinks, but I think most of them are buried in the dirt with Jay.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your help and advice. Carrie, Kyle, and I WILL have scars from this. Not on the bone, like Susie, but deeper. And after Carrie wakes up and gets back to her normal self, I’ll think we’ll all be able to go on, despite them. +

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

Carrie and I met about sixteen years ago—late 2001, I think—at a church picnic. I was relatively new to town, so when one of my co-workers asked me to tag along with him on a Sunday afternoon, I took him up on it. I’d always heard churches and supermarkets were the best places to meet wholesome, single women, and that turned out to be right. That afternoon, I met the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was standing behind a bowl of fried chicken, her greasy apron reading Union Street Methodist Church, laughing as she doled out legs and thighs and breasts to people’s plates. I remember her blonde hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail and swung to the side as she turned her head. Like a cheerleader or something. I was hooked from the moment I saw her.

After lunch, I struck up a conversation with her and we hit it off immediately. We started dating soon after, and were married In October of 2002. That was the best day of my life. The second best was the day Kyle was born.

Reading the note that psycho sent to the paper tore my heart in two. My first thought was, Not MY Carrie. Even though she denied ever cheating on me, I couldn’t get the image of my wife of fifteen years in a car with some other guy—doing THAT, no less—out of my head. By the time she got home last night, I was angry. Seething, actually. As soon as she stepped through the door, I confronted her, the newspaper clutched in my hand.

Me: Why weren’t you answering your texts?

Carrie: Sorry babe, I got busy. You know how my boss is. I can’t have my phone out while I’m working.

Me: You’ve always been able to text before. What’s going on?

The look on her face told me everything. She wasn’t a good liar and I could tell something was up. For some reason, this made me less angry. She looked hurt.

Carrie: Nothing, Dean. (She wouldn’t look at me. She moved into the living room where Kyle was, watching tv, and told him to go to his room. She started randomly picking up things off the couch like she was cleaning.)

Me: I know that look—you’re a terrible liar. Babe, please, Andrew is missing and this psycho has him. If any part of that letter is true, you have to tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. (It felt like a lie, hot and searing in my throat, but I said it anyway).

She stared at me, tears welling in her eyes, and then she just broke down. She crumpled onto the couch and sat there with her head in her hands, sobbing. I sat down beside her and rubbed her back.

Me: Carrie, it’s okay. (My heart was thumping out of my chest at this point. It’s such a terrible feeling to know you may be seconds away from hearing something that can never be taken back. And might change everything).

Carrie: (between sobs) I didn’t think it had anything to do with this…

Me: What? What is it? Just tell me.

Carrie: I swear, it was a mistake.. I never meant for it to happen.

Me: Just tell me, Carrie. Please.

Carrie: (She wiped the mascara off her face) It was that weekend you were out of town with some of your friends. Camping, I think. It was so long ago. Eight or nine years.

Me: I remember. (I’d gotten together with some college buddies, which didn’t happen very often. We hadn’t made it back until late Sunday night).

Carrie: Me and the girls went to the bar that Friday night. I swear, I didn’t think I drank that much. I had a couple beers, I think, but no liquor and no shots. And there was this guy there, and…

Me: And WHAT Carrie?

Carrie: (She looked at me finally.) Don’t make me say it.

Me: It’s TRUE??

Carrie: Oh God, I’m so sorry. I remember sitting at the bar, next to Jenny, and a guy coming up and talking to us. Next thing I remember is sitting in his car in that parking lot by the river. I couldn’t remember how I got there. I was so ashamed….I swear, we didn’t have sex….he wanted to but I said no….

Me: (I’m tearing up by this point, holding back anger). Just some random guy? In a parking lot? Jesus Christ, I’m trying to understand, Carrie.

Carrie: I know it doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know what happened—I’ve never done anything like that before. And no, not random. That’s the fucked up part about all of this. I met him at the church.

Me: At church? OUR church?

Carrie: That Friday was a service day. We were going to Gentle Hills, the nursing home on Silver, to visit the residents. The youth group does this thing called “clowning”, where they dress up as clowns and paint their faces and bring balloons to the nursing home residents who can’t get out. They absolutely love it. I brought the idea to the adult Sunday school class and they wanted to do it too. When we met at the church, that guy was there. I’d never noticed him at church, but I assumed he was just someone’s friend. Dean?

I was speechless by this point, tears rolling down my face. Devastated. But I didn’t have to tell her that. She knew.

Carrie: I’m so sorry.

Me: Did he tell you his name?

Carrie: Ray, I think. (She sniffled). If he told me his last name, I don’t remember. Dean, I know what you’re thinking. It couldn’t be the same guy. He was just a normal guy. Jeans, button down shirt. Clean cut. He seemed pretty drunk, but otherwise he seemed normal. I think he said he was an accountant. He did make some joke about us making good-looking children together, but I just chalked it up to him trying to tell me I was pretty. I think I joked about not wanting to ever have kids. That was obviously before we had Kyle. Maybe this psycho saw us somehow? Maybe he was out there by the river. I don’t know.

Me: Have you seen this guy since then?

She looked like she didn’t want to answer.

Me: Carrie?

Carrie: He called me. The next day. I guess I’d given him my number. He said he wanted to see me again, that he was in love with me. I was so ashamed, I didn’t know what to say. I just hung the phone up on him, blocked his number. I swear, I never saw him again. I just wanted to forget about it.

Me: Never?

Carrie: I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I swear to God. (She turned to face me). Dean, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t have any excuse for what happened. I guess I drank more than I should have, and I made a terrible mistake. I know I’ve ruined everything. And now all this with the kids. Please, babe…

I got up right then and left her on the couch, sobbing. If I would have said anything, it would have been it’s over, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that either. I loved Carrie. Still do. But I knew I had to get away from her, for a little while at least. I blamed her for not telling me about what happened as soon as we got the first note from Kyle, even though there really was no reason for her to think the two things were related.

I went into Kyle’s room and sat down on his bed. He was on the floor playing with some figurines. When he saw me sit down, he looked up and asked me if the bad man was coming to get him. Is that why mommy’s crying. I got down on the floor and hugged him close. I hadn’t told him about Andrew, yet. Wasn’t sure if I ever would.

No, I won’t let that happen buddy. Not ever, understand? I’m your Dad, and my job is to protect you. And that’s what I’m gonna do. I promise. I think—I hope—he believed me. I didn’t talk to Carrie for the rest of the night. Avoiding her felt awful, especially with what she was dealing with. But I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stand the thought of talking to her.

Late that night, probably around 10, Detective Carr called. I got off the couch and walked onto the back porch as he talked. Carrie was asleep in the bedroom and I didn’t want to wake her.

He’d gone out to the retired detective’s house and talked to him about the Kerrington case. The detective remembered it well, he said—people don’t go missing in our small town very often, apparently, and this case was particularly troubling to him. Young girl from a good family suddenly disappears without a trace and he couldn’t bring her home. It still haunted him.

He confirmed the information Carr found on the missing person’s report. Suzanne was last seen at a 24-hour gym. The friend who’d seen her—Emily, he recalled—said Suzanne was excited about seeing a guy she’d met the night before. She wanted to work on her arms so they’d look good in a sleeveless top. Weird things like that, I remember for some reason. She was a good girl for being 21 years old. She never frequented the bars around town and never got in any trouble. Her main social outlet was her church, he said.

My heart skipped a beat when he said it. What church?

Union Street, Detective Carr answered. Why.

Union Street. Our church.

I knew I had to tell Carr about what Carrie did. Telling him made it even more real, somehow, and the wound was ripped open again as I recounted every detail.

Even though Carrie didn’t think the guy she cheated with was the same guy who’d taken Andrew, Detective Carr DID. And Union Street was the connection. Carrie had met “Ray” at Union Street, and maybe Suzanne had too. If that was correct, they may be the same person. He wondered at first why Carrie didn’t recognize Suzanne’s name from church, but I told him Carrie hadn’t moved to town until sometime in ’99. Detective Carr agreed: Suzanne’s case would have been long out of the public eye by then. He got off the phone hastily, saying he had some leads to track down. I knew he wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon.

After I hung up the phone, I sat on the back porch and looked into the blackness of the backyard, where Kyle stood as a stranger crept through the gate and left the terrifying note that started all of this.

Why the note to Kyle? Why now, after almost ten years?

I knew one thing. Whoever this creep was, he liked to dress up as a fucking clown.

And he used the church as his hunting ground.

I climbed back on the couch, but didn’t sleep well. I knew there’d be a crew at 3 Orange Circle in the morning, ripping up a newly poured concrete floor, and I kept picturing the shallow grave they’d surely find beneath, with the bones of Susie Kerrington inside. I hoped Andrew wouldn’t suffer the same fate.

This morning, there was no article in the paper as I’d hoped. There wouldn’t have been time for Detective Carr to get the information to them. However, I was listening to the radio at breakfast and during the morning show they interviewed Detective Carr. He instructed people to stay indoors after dark and make sure all doors and windows were safely secured. Then, he gave a description of the subject they were looking for.

Early-to-mid forties (Carrie's and my age), probably college educated. Clean cut. Regular job, possibly an accountant at one time. It’s possible he projects the image of a put-together adult, but alone feels more like a child. He may moonlight at children’s parties doing balloon animals or face painting, or could possibly be a mall Santa or Easter Bunny. He also may attend children’s tee ball games, so be on the lookout for anyone who fits that description who isn’t a relative of one of the children playing. May be named Ray.

He’s smart, he continued. And cunning. He wants the attention he’s getting. It’s what fuels him, which also means it’s possible he’s mentally ill. He’s killed once and he may again. DO NOT confront this individual if you see him. CALL THE POLICE.

On the way back from Kyle’s school, I drove by 3 Orange Circle. There were two police cruisers and a construction truck out front. They’d put some crime scene tape up and I could see someone holding two buckets coming from around the back of the house. He reached the front yard and dumped what appeared to be broken chunks of concrete into a green dumpster bag. I guess that was the only way to get them out of the basement. Then, he turned back toward the back of the house. I could almost hear the jackhammer doing its brutal work down there in the dark.

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

I’m so sick to my stomach right now I don’t even know how to type this, or where to start.

Okay, after we got the second note yesterday, shit hit the fan.

Carrie immediately called Kyle’s school and told the principal about both notes and how the second one threatened Kyle’s friends. The Principal immediately sent out an email to the school listserv with the details, letting parents know the school was probably the safest place to be but they were welcome to pick up their kids if they wanted to. All of the classes are pretty small, so each teacher was also instructed to call their students’ parents personally. We got the email about fifteen minutes later, but decided to leave Kyle at school, at least for now. Our security system was installed yesterday, but the school still feels safer at this point.

It also gives Kyle some kind of normalcy. I talked to him yesterday about what was happening and he seems to grasp how serious it is. The first thing he said was I’m sorry and started crying, like this was somehow his fault.

I know just how you feel, buddy.

Kyle feels guilty for giving us the note and we feel guilty for somehow setting off this psychopath. I guess that’s what this sicko wanted, though. Well, he succeeded. Pretty fucked up.

I called my boss and was given yesterday and today off work. I tested out the security system and made sure all the windows and doors were secure. I also called as many neighbors as possible to let them know what was going on. It’s weird having to tell your across-the-street neighbor, who’s nearing 90, there may be a serial killer/pedophile on the loose and to keep her doors and windows locked. She couldn’t hear me very well, but I hope she got the picture. Same deal with the woman a couple doors down who has two kids in middle school herself. I saw her as she was walking her dog and she freaked out right there on the spot and pulled out her cell phone and just started dialing her husband frantically.

Then I get the call from Detective Carr. They'd gotten the search warrant and executed it on 3 Orange Circle. Remember, this house is one street over, less than a quarter mile from our house. If I had stood on my roof I could have possibly watched them go in. I let out a large sigh of relief when he said no one was living there. It was good to know this person wasn’t hunkered down in our neighborhood watching us.

The detective said he did find some evidence, although he refused to tell me what it was. He said it could compromise the case. This leads me to believe that SK/P used the house for something. Maybe he took his victims there? There was a basement, too, with a thin concrete floor which looked newer than it should, he said. He believes that if Suzanne Kerrington is dead, she might be buried in the basement. They’re gonna dig it up, starting tomorrow or the next day.

Oh, also, Detective Carr found Suzanne’s missing persons file. There’s not much there, but the detective that worked her case still lives here. He’s retired, but he's willing to talk. Detective Carr wants to find out if there’s anything he saw or heard back in ’95 that could help—something he may not have included in the file because he didn’t think it was important. Right now, it’s the only lead they have. I think they're supposed to talk today.

Okay. I’ve been putting this last part off, but I have to tell everything. My hands are shaking as I type this.

I woke up this morning and went to get the paper immediately, hoping there’d be an article warning everyone about this psychopath. At least then I could rest a little easier knowing most people in town would be prepared.

Instead, I read this.

Police on the hunt for child’s kidnapper

Oh God. Everything suddenly became real. I think somewhere deep down I hoped SK/P would was just a deranged individual who wouldn’t really act out his threats, but when I read the headline that all came crashing down. I skimmed through until I found the boy’s name. He wasn’t a close friend of Kyle’s, but I knew who he was.

He's on Kyle's tee ball team. I know his parents.

His parents pulled him out of school yesterday, after the email went out! Jesus, how terrible they must feel. I hurt so badly for them right now, and I don’t even want to talk about Carrie. She's beside herself. Even though it’s not our son that was taken, this is our worst nightmare. No one deserves this.

Of course, there was another note, sent to the paper this time, so the entire town could read it. (Since then, I’ve heard the police chief is furious at them for printing what basically amounts to a piece of evidence. The editor of our paper would never miss a chance like this, but it may cost him his job).

They’d redacted the names, but I knew they were ours. And so would everyone else. In a small town like this, everyone knows.

XXXX and XXXXXX,

Greetings,

I see you (you don’t see me)

and now all the others do too.

The masks on your faces

are broken in places

and the darkness is now shining through.

What darkness, you say?

(Oh XXXXXX, you know.)

The past is a fickle old hag.

She sneaks up in silence

and dishes out violence,

wipes the knife on her sleeve like a brag.

You couldn’t just follow instructions?

You pushed me to do this you know.

And now it’s your fault

as I open the vault

and let all of your dark secrets go.

But first (ha ha ha!)

I’ve got a new toy.

And new things always make me grin.

I’ll wind him up tight

when today turns to night

and that’s when the fun will begin.

Unless

(yes, unless, like the Onceler once said)

you’d rather me not have my fun.

I’d consider returning

young Andrew, who’s yearning

to break free from his chains and to run.

But first, it’s TRUTH time!

(XXXXXX, ten years ago?)

And I think you know just where I’m going.

Remember your ass,

pressed right up to the glass,

And the man in the car you were blowing?

I just sat there, shocked. He's not only trying to scare us-he's trying to ruin our lives. I called Carrie immediately, shaking, and asked her what in God’s name he could be talking about. Had she ever cheated on me? She denied everything, of course. She’s at work today, but I’m going to have a talk with her when she gets home. I wonder if there’s something she isn’t telling me, or if this lunatic is just making shit it up to hurt us. I can't think about that right now.

I just want to find Andrew. And I’m hoping Detective Carr can get in touch with that old detective today. He may be Andrew's only hope.

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

There’s a certain terror in knowing your life is on a totally different path than the one you intended and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop it. Four days ago I could have looked out over the next 2-3, even 5 years, and said I pretty much know how things are gonna go. Well, not anymore. Even though every day is a living nightmare, it’s not knowing what tomorrow may bring that scares me so much.

Carrie and I started speaking to each other yesterday afternoon sometime. Just short conversations here and there, but it’s a start. My heart still feels broken, but my worry for her well-being is starting to trump my own feelings. She’s barely eating, for one. And if it’s possible to lose significant weight in the span of a couple days, she has. She was already thin enough to begin with. When she looks at me, I can almost read her thoughts through those puffy eyes: I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t.

There’s something else I’ve been considering: it’s entirely possible that Carrie was drugged. Cheating on me with a stranger in his car doesn’t seem like the Carrie I know. It just feels wrong. If the person who left those fucked up notes/took Andrew and the person who took Carrie down to the river are the same person, the idea that she was roofied is that much more plausible.

And I can’t help thinking Carrie saved her own life when she blocked “Ray’s” number from her phone. She may not have survived a second meeting.

Still, that stupid, smirking, voice is always there, whispering in the background. You’re so gullible, Dean. She CHEATED. And if what she says IS true, WHY did she hide it from you? Why, indeed. Shame, obviously. Or maybe she just didn’t want to get caught? It’s hard to ignore that voice, but I’m trying.

Detective Carr dropped by to interview Carrie around 4 yesterday. He thought she’d be more open about her experience with “Ray” if she didn’t have to talk about it in front of me, so I sat outside on the porch while they talked, that jealous little voice badgering me the entire time. When they were done, Carrie left the house to run an errand and Carr and I talked in the living room.

Of course, the police department had gotten dozens of calls after the radio show, which had sent our little town into a tailspin. I guess giving a name and a persona to this psychopath—whether correct or not—had really touched a nerve. People were reporting every single little “suspicious” thing they saw, which left a lot of work for Carr and his team. Every person that wore a hoodie, acted strangely, or was in an area they wouldn’t normally have been in was reported. The mall canceled its Easter Bunny pictures, which were supposed to take place each day of the week leading up to Easter. I’d gotten a text from Kyle’s coach explaining Kyle’s tee-ball season was canceled, too. Temporarily, at least. No one wanted to be responsible for another child being taken.

Leads needed to be followed, no matter how small, Carr said, but he knew he’d be lucky if any of them amounted to anything.

Before he left, I asked Carr bout what was going on at 3 Orange Circle. Had they found anything? He said the construction crew had finished breaking up the concrete floor and hauling it out just after lunch. He was waiting on the forensics guys—he laughed when he said it, it was really just two police officers with some special training in collecting evidence—to get over there and start digging. Even though he’d already refused to share it with me, I pressed him again about the evidence he’d found. He looked like he was mulling it over in his mind, then told me he could show me one thing. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, flipped through some pictures, and held the phone up to my face.

The picture on the screen showed a polaroid photograph laying on a scuffed wooden floor. The lighting was dim, so it was a little hard to see. For a split second, I thought it was a picture of Carrie. The blonde hair, pulled back tightly like a cheerleader’s, was almost identical. Then I realized who it was.

Suzanne Kerrington, Carr offered. Then, when he saw my face, Yes, I see the similarity. When I asked whether he thought this was all about Carrie the entire time, he shrugged. I’m not sure about that, yet. It’s an odd coincidence, if not. I thought he may agree to show me what else he’d found, but he demurred, glancing at his watch. I’ve been here too long as it is. Every minute is precious when you have a child missing.

A little after he left, I got a text message. It was from Ryan, a friend of mine whose son played on Kyle’s tee ball team. I’d kept him up to date on what was happening. Thought you might want to see this, the text read.

Below the message was a screen shot of a text message Ryan had received from Andrew’s dad. It said: What the fuck does this mean?. A picture of a note was attached below it.

I’m going to keep this short and sweet

before things get too scary.

If you want to know why

I chose Andrew to die,

you better ask Dean and Carrie.

I felt like throwing up. Who did this sick fuck think he was? It wasn’t enough to terrorize us—now he wanted to turn the entire community against us!

I had no idea why he chose Andrew! The only thing I did know—or THINK I knew, especially after seeing the picture of Suzanne that looked identical to Carrie—was that this was never about Kyle. Or Andrew. Not really. It seemed like he was targeting Carrie the entire time.

Actually, one other thing was certain: he wanted to destroy our reputation in the community. That’s why he had left that note for Andrew’s dad. I knew the picture would make the rounds, and Carrie’s and my name would be dragged through the mud. No doubt. But then, that voice was at it again. Gullible. Sucker. What if it’s more than that?

When Carrie got back from her errand, I showed her the picture.

Me: Any idea what this means? Is there something you’re not telling me?

Carrie: (Eyes wide and pleading) No Dean, I swear to God. I have no idea what this means. (She grabbed my phone and read the note again.) He’s sick. That’s what it is. He’s sick and he’s trying to destroy us.

Me: Well, he was telling the truth in the last note. Why lie in this one?

Carrie: (She grabbed my arm. It was the first time we’d touched since the day before). I have a lot of groveling to do. I get that. But please, if you’re ever trusted me—if you have any love for me left, any single solitary little bit—believe me now. Please. Believe me. I don’t know what this means.

She held my eyes with hers, and in that moment, I believed her. The little voice was silent.

I dropped the phone in frustration.

Me: What are we going to do?

Carrie: I don’t know, Dean. I just hope Andrew is okay. Do you think they’ll find him?

Me: (That reminded me of something). Oh, tomorrow at church will you ask Glenda in the front office if you can look at the church’s membership records? I assume Detective Carr will be by there, now that he’s talked to you, but maybe we can get a head start on it. I want to see if there’s a Ray listed anywhere.

Carrie: Okay. Are you going with me?

Me: I don’t think so. I don’t feel very close to God right now.

She looked like the words hurt her, but she also looked like she understood.

This morning, Carrie went to Union Street and met Glenda before Sunday school. The church didn’t keep any digital membership records, but Glenda did find a box with all of the membership bulletins for the last ten years. The kind with each member’s picture and their name underneath. When Carrie called, her words were dripping with disappointment. She couldn’t find anyone named Ray or Raymond. She asked Glenda to make a copy of each of them for Detective Carr and said he’d probably be by later to pick them up.

While Carrie was at church, I got a call from Ryan. Apparently, a lot of the dads are upset that the entire tee ball season was canceled. I know some of these guys, and you probably know some guys just like them. They have big trucks and guns, and they feel like they could protect their sons just fine if they were allowed to continue the season. I sort of agree with them, deep down, but I also understand its better to be cautious. Andrew was taken right out from under his dad’s nose, after all.

Ryan isn’t as bad as some of them, but he also agrees that this psychopath wouldn’t make a move out in the open like that.

So,they were supposed to have a “practice” game today at 1:00. Just to get some of the kids together at the field and let them feel like they’re actually getting to play. Full dress, scoreboard, ref, all that. The problem was, none of the dads could get in touch with the head ref. Some of the dads had been texting and calling him since the season was cancelled, but they hadn’t gotten a response. That's what Ryan had called about. To bitch about the refs.

The call was breaking up, but I thought Ryan said Ray’s usually here whenever we need him. He loves doing these games. He’s out here every chance he can get.

Me: Wait a minute. Say that again.

Ryan: I said Jay’s usually out here. But he won’t answer his phone.

Me: Shit, you just about gave me a heart attack. Jay who? Do I know him?

Ryan: Jayson Fisher. He’s been the head ref for a while.

Me: Who’s his kid?

Ryan: Doesn’t have any kids of his own. Just likes tee ball, I guess.

When he said it, something went off in my brain. Like a bell tinkling.

Me: How old is Jay?

Ryan: Uh, I don’t know, close to our age. Forties.

My heart started to thump in my chest.

Me: And you haven’t talked to him in a couple days? Any idea why?

Ryan: No, like I said, he usually texts back. He’s the one who assigns the other refs when he can’t make it. I guess I’ll need to track down someone else’s phone number.

Me: Keep trying to reach him, Ryan. And listen: if you get him, do you mind letting me know?

Ryan: Yeah, why?

Me: I don’t know, maybe I’ll bring Kyle out there.

Ryan: Really, I thought you said….

Me: Just let me know. Okay?

Ryan: Will do.

Me: I gotta run. Talk to you later.

My hands were clammy as I texted Carrie’s phone. Emergency. Please call me back.

About two minutes later, Carrie called, almost hyperventilating.

Carrie: What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: Nothing. Everything’s fine here. I’m sorry I scared you. (She breathed a sigh of relief). I need you to do something for me. Right now. Can you go back to the office? I want you to look for another name. I’ll stay on the phone.

Carrie: Another name? Okay, hold on. (I could hear the phone rustling as she hurried down front steps of the church and around to the side door that led into the office area). Okay, I’m here. The copies Glenda left out for the detective are on the desk.

Me: Carrie, look for a Jayson Fisher. Start in the one farthest back. 2007?

Carrie: Yes, 07. Jayson Fisher? Okay, let me see.

I waited. She was breathing heavily and I could hear her rustling through the pages.

Then, she gasped. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a new quality. Like that of a frightened animal.

Carrie: Oh God, Dean. Oh God.

Me: What?

Carrie: It’s him, Dean. It’s him! It wasn’t Ray, it was Jay!

Me: Are you sure?

Carrie: Yes, I’m sure. I don’t remember a lot, but I’ll never forget those eyes.

Me: He’s a tee ball ref, Carrie. He took Andrew! I know it.

Carrie: No! Oh my God. I missed Kyle's first game, but I was there for the second. Why didn’t I recognize him?

Me: I don’t know. But I actually spoke to him! During Kyle’s first game, he hit a grounder to the short stop and the ref called him out at first when he was clearly safe. It was a bad call. Everyone said so. And I let him know that. God. That’s why he said I was rude!

Carrie: It’s not your fault, Dean…..

Me: I gotta call Carr. I love you. Bye.

I hung up before she responded, then dialed Carr’s phone. As it rang, I thought: Hold on Andrew. Just a little longer.

[redditnosleep]

The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 (Final)

This story has a free audiobook available!

It’s crazy how you can be rocking along, living life the best way you know how, and then something like this happens and in a moment everything comes crashing down around you. I seriously woke up this morning, Kyle sleeping between Carrie and I, feeling like every bit of color had been drained out of the damn world. My stomach is still in a knot, but at least Kyle’s safe. Thank you for all of the support. We’ve never dealt with anything like this before, and hopefully never will again, and it’s nice to know people care. Here’s what’s happened since my last post.

Detective Carr dropped by the house last night around 7:00 p.m. I could tell he’d had a long day—his thinning hair was a bit frazzled like he’d been running his hand through it and texts and calls kept popping up on the cell phone which he’d dropped on our coffee table. He put the phone on silent and slid it into the case on his belt as if to say I’ve had enough for today, thank you very much.

He reminded me about the plainclothes officers he dispatched to Orange Circle at 3 o’clock yesterday. The cruiser stayed parked in a nearby driveway with a clear view of lot 3 for the better part of an hour, he said. The officers didn’t see anyone, which didn’t really surprise me. That culdesac backs up to an undeveloped forested area, which means whoever wrote the note could have come and gone without using Orange Circle. Likely the reason he chose it.

When no one showed, the officers walked down the street and took a quick look around. The house is abandoned, just like I thought, but they found one of the back doors pried open. They couldn’t go in (no search warrant yet), but they’re requesting one today.

The detective asked a lot of questions and Carrie and I answered them to the best of our ability. Have we made any enemies lately? Has anything happened at the church? Have we seen anyone strange at Kyle’s tee ball games? Good questions without good answers. We racked our brains, but couldn’t come up with anything that would set someone off like this. Carr seems to think it’s someone we know, or at least, who knows us. Someone smart, probably with a college education.

The forensics lab has the note and they’re checking it for fingerprints, but the detective thinks this guy is too smart for that. Also, fingerprints are only helpful if the person has been arrested before. I have a sinking feeling this person never has been. He’s also requested the entire missing persons file on Suzanne Kerrington. They keep those old case files in the basement of City Hall and he’s hoping it can be tracked down. Maybe it will have some clues as to who this guy is.

When the detective left, I realized I felt exposed. Vulnerable. I started questioning every stern word I’ve ever spoken, every slight I’ve dished out—no matter how small—and every one of my relationships. Had Carrie and I somehow brought this on ourselves with something we said or did? The way we treated someone? It’s like that guilt you feel when you’re trying to go to sleep but you know there’s something you’ve left undone. You know it’s useless to think about, but your brain won’t listen. It’s awful trying to rationalize why something like this is happening to you.

Last night we slept—if you can call it that—with Kyle between us. He’s still going to school, because frankly it’s safer there. You can’t get in without being buzzed in and there are security cameras everywhere. Even if this sicko is one of his teachers, which I highly doubt, he wouldn’t dare do something to Kyle out in the open. That’s not his game.

Our cameras are being installed this afternoon. They couldn’t come yesterday, but I wish to God they had. I saved this part for last, because transcribing this made my skin crawl.

This morning, when she went out to get the paper, Carrie found a single, white envelope in our mailbox. Inside was a folded note.

Dean and Carrie,

Brilliant, just brilliant!

(I know what you did).

Did you really think I wouldn’t see?

I WARNED YOU that talking

would bring me a-knocking

and now there is NOWHERE to flee.

You’ve broken your vow

(and you both know by now)

You’ve brought this down on your own heads,

I gave you a chance,

But in this soundless dance

You only get one ‘fore you’re dead.

Remember that I am the faceless,

the shadow that hunts in the night.

Anyone, really,

Or no one, and clearly,

You’re both unprepared for this fight.

A reprieve, I believe,

(though short, I admit)

is in order before we begin.

If I can’t get to Kyle

I’ll paint on my smile

AND START WITH ONE OF HIS FRIENDS.

I heard Carrie scream as I was sitting down at the breakfast table. I swear, that feeling of dread that coursed through me felt just like an electric current. I knocked my cereal bowl from the table as I scrambled out of my seat and toward the front of the house. I opened the door just as she reached it, and she collapsed into my arms, hysterical.

She was only barely holding things together before. Now, she’s just broken. I don’t know what we’re going to do.

I think Detective Carr is going to put something in the paper tomorrow. And I’ll have to talk to Kyle about this, finally. I didn’t want to needlessly scare him, but it’s time he knows. I really want to just get the hell out of here, but it seems impossible. We have no savings to speak of, I’m paying off student loans, and we have bills. We can’t just leave our jobs. Until we figure this out, we’re stuck here.

Stuck here, questioning the motive of every person we come across, thinking is that him?.