Jacqui
Police Officer
A Halloween story for you. I'd wait to post this until Halloween but I'm giving a birthday party for my son that day, so it'll be very busy! This follows Of Nightmares and Pinkie Swears, but you can follow without having read that monstrosity. The usual disclaimers apply - I don't own nothin' and all I'm getting out of this is warm fuzzies. Enjoy - and I really, really love reviews....!
Nick could smell the slaughter the moment he entered the house on Walnut Street and his heart hit his shoes.
Cautiously, he moved into the house. He didn’t want to disturb anything. He wished he’d thought to grab a pair of booties from his kit, but this was, after all, his own house. Things were eerily in order in the entryway – Cassie’s backpack was hanging on the hook on the wall and her tennis shoes were lined up tidily beneath it. The twins’ shoes, one pair with Thomas the Tank Engine and one pair with Tinker Bell, were a tad less tidy, but there they were in their usual heap along with Elizabeth ’s pink walking shoes.
Four pairs of shoes . . . that meant that they were all home. All of them. . . .
His knees wobbled slightly as he walked further into the house, looking for his family. In the play room he could see a confusion of books and toys, but those were usually there. He had often thought that it was best that he and Elizabeth had had twins, rather than one child – for starters, as healthy as she was, Elizabeth was no spring chicken and if a second pregnancy hadn’t killed her, she would’ve killed him. Another reason was that twins kept both of them, even with Cassie’s help, very busy, and this proved to be a distraction from the fact that they frequently considered their house a disaster area.
The twins were just three. Ricky’s eyes were shaped like Nick’s but colored like Elizabeth’s and he charmed everyone. Parker was wild and full of life and her mother, in between cursing her for pulling out her pigtails and drawing on her shoes with chalk or crayons, encouraged her toward the mischievous. Both children had thick, dark hair and though Ricky’s features were a little more angled, like his father’s, their beautiful faces were almost identical.
Cassie was sixteen, and Nick could not have been more proud of her. She was a diligent student and often worried too much about homework, but that was balanced by her taking every opportunity to help others, try new things, and enjoy herself – in short, to live her life to its fullest extent, because she understood that it was why her mother died and why Nick stopped at nothing to find her. Although she and Nick were more often than not at odds about her friends who were boys they remained as close as could be, and she adored Elizabeth and the twins to no end.
Nick walked further into the house, knowing what he’d find when he reached the dining room and trying to prepare himself mentally for it. In the kitchen he observed some of the evidence of the crime – knives of varying shape and size, covered in the sticky goo, along with scissors, forks, and spoons. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him and covered his mouth, proceeding further.
In the dining room the four victims were laid on newspaper on the table. Two were crudely carved, as though butchered by an inexperienced hand. Guts spilled out of the mouth of another. And on the end, the biggest one sat with a grim smile, teeth bared, eating a tiny pumpkin whole.
Nick’s head started to spin and he had to crouch so as not to fall over.
“I’m sorry, Nicky,” came Catherine’s voice. He had forgotten she’d followed him into the house; forgotten how he had invited her over for supper to soothe her aching heart. Lindsey had gone away to college and she was still having a hard time adjusting.
He nodded. “I’ll be OK. Give me a minute.” He took a few steadying breaths and then stood. His eyes then alit on his youngest children, whose heads were bent together in respite. Some of the mess was matted into Parker’s wild hair and there was evidence of chocolate on both little faces. He had to turn away again, had to steady himself.
“They look peaceful,” said Catherine, trying to be helpful, hiding her face behind her hand.
“Are you laughing?” asked Nick in disgust.
“No?” she replied, but then her face opened up and she did laugh, her blue eyes twinkling.
“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed, his voice muffled by his hands.
Catherine settled a little, but disagreed. “It is funny, Nicky,” she said. “You’ve been a CSI for what, fifteen years? And you can’t handle this?” She walked over to the table and picked up some of the spilled entrails, letting them sloop through her fingers.
“Aw, stop that Catherine! Don’t you have any respect?”
“Hey, at least I’m not shoving it in your face or making you eat it, like Grissom would,” she replied.
Nick could take no more and slumped on the floor. “Call the coroner,” he said weakly, dramatically. “Take them away.”
Just then, Elizabeth walked into the dining room, followed closely by Cassie. Catherine greeted them, thanking Elizabeth for her invitation.
“Do you like our pumpkins?” asked Cassie brightly, gesturing to the table where the carnage lay.
“I do,” said Catherine with a smile. “I don’t think Nick’s as impressed.”
Elizabeth gestured to her husband. “What’s his problem?”
“Your husband finds the smell of raw pumpkin guts nauseating,” explained Catherine.
Quirking an eyebrow, Elizabeth turned to him, looking down with amusement. “So . . . feces, trash, male cat urine, vomit, spit . . . decomposing bodies . . . those are all OK, but vegetable remains make you sick?”
“Shut up,” he whined, knowing he was being teased.
Meanwhile the chattering had woken the twins, and they toddled over to where their father lay on the dining room floor. “Daddy, wake up!” shouted Parker. “We made punkins!”
“I see the pumpkins, baby girl,” replied Nick. “Give Daddy a minute.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned to Cassie. “Your gut-pumpkin will have to go outside,” she said. “In the front, or Ginger will eat it.”
“Can I put Nick outside instead?” she asked. “I worked hard on that!”
“I know how you feel,” said Elizabeth with empathy. “I’m the one who spent an hour trying to figure out how to make one pumpkin look like it’s eating another pumpkin.”
Catherine chuckled and crouched down by her co-worker. “Do you need the smelling salts, Nicky?” she asked, her tone all innocence.
In response, Nick lifted his head enough to glare at her, and when she laughed at him, he rose on all fours to crawl away from the smell that made his stomach churn. Ricky, ever the opportunist, grinned and jumped on his father’s back.
“Giddy up!” he cried, and slapped Nick between the shoulder blades. Parker joined him gleefully. Miserably, Nick continued on his way out of the dining room.
Elizabeth shook her head as she watched him. Catherine continued to giggle next to her.
“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” asked Cassie, who was grinning despite her concern.
“He’ll be fine, princess,” replied Elizabeth, turning to clean up the pumpkin mess. “He’s been through worse.”
(c) 2009 J. H. Thompson
* * *
Nick could smell the slaughter the moment he entered the house on Walnut Street and his heart hit his shoes.
Cautiously, he moved into the house. He didn’t want to disturb anything. He wished he’d thought to grab a pair of booties from his kit, but this was, after all, his own house. Things were eerily in order in the entryway – Cassie’s backpack was hanging on the hook on the wall and her tennis shoes were lined up tidily beneath it. The twins’ shoes, one pair with Thomas the Tank Engine and one pair with Tinker Bell, were a tad less tidy, but there they were in their usual heap along with Elizabeth ’s pink walking shoes.
Four pairs of shoes . . . that meant that they were all home. All of them. . . .
His knees wobbled slightly as he walked further into the house, looking for his family. In the play room he could see a confusion of books and toys, but those were usually there. He had often thought that it was best that he and Elizabeth had had twins, rather than one child – for starters, as healthy as she was, Elizabeth was no spring chicken and if a second pregnancy hadn’t killed her, she would’ve killed him. Another reason was that twins kept both of them, even with Cassie’s help, very busy, and this proved to be a distraction from the fact that they frequently considered their house a disaster area.
The twins were just three. Ricky’s eyes were shaped like Nick’s but colored like Elizabeth’s and he charmed everyone. Parker was wild and full of life and her mother, in between cursing her for pulling out her pigtails and drawing on her shoes with chalk or crayons, encouraged her toward the mischievous. Both children had thick, dark hair and though Ricky’s features were a little more angled, like his father’s, their beautiful faces were almost identical.
Cassie was sixteen, and Nick could not have been more proud of her. She was a diligent student and often worried too much about homework, but that was balanced by her taking every opportunity to help others, try new things, and enjoy herself – in short, to live her life to its fullest extent, because she understood that it was why her mother died and why Nick stopped at nothing to find her. Although she and Nick were more often than not at odds about her friends who were boys they remained as close as could be, and she adored Elizabeth and the twins to no end.
Nick walked further into the house, knowing what he’d find when he reached the dining room and trying to prepare himself mentally for it. In the kitchen he observed some of the evidence of the crime – knives of varying shape and size, covered in the sticky goo, along with scissors, forks, and spoons. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him and covered his mouth, proceeding further.
In the dining room the four victims were laid on newspaper on the table. Two were crudely carved, as though butchered by an inexperienced hand. Guts spilled out of the mouth of another. And on the end, the biggest one sat with a grim smile, teeth bared, eating a tiny pumpkin whole.
Nick’s head started to spin and he had to crouch so as not to fall over.
“I’m sorry, Nicky,” came Catherine’s voice. He had forgotten she’d followed him into the house; forgotten how he had invited her over for supper to soothe her aching heart. Lindsey had gone away to college and she was still having a hard time adjusting.
He nodded. “I’ll be OK. Give me a minute.” He took a few steadying breaths and then stood. His eyes then alit on his youngest children, whose heads were bent together in respite. Some of the mess was matted into Parker’s wild hair and there was evidence of chocolate on both little faces. He had to turn away again, had to steady himself.
“They look peaceful,” said Catherine, trying to be helpful, hiding her face behind her hand.
“Are you laughing?” asked Nick in disgust.
“No?” she replied, but then her face opened up and she did laugh, her blue eyes twinkling.
“It’s not funny!” he exclaimed, his voice muffled by his hands.
Catherine settled a little, but disagreed. “It is funny, Nicky,” she said. “You’ve been a CSI for what, fifteen years? And you can’t handle this?” She walked over to the table and picked up some of the spilled entrails, letting them sloop through her fingers.
“Aw, stop that Catherine! Don’t you have any respect?”
“Hey, at least I’m not shoving it in your face or making you eat it, like Grissom would,” she replied.
Nick could take no more and slumped on the floor. “Call the coroner,” he said weakly, dramatically. “Take them away.”
Just then, Elizabeth walked into the dining room, followed closely by Cassie. Catherine greeted them, thanking Elizabeth for her invitation.
“Do you like our pumpkins?” asked Cassie brightly, gesturing to the table where the carnage lay.
“I do,” said Catherine with a smile. “I don’t think Nick’s as impressed.”
Elizabeth gestured to her husband. “What’s his problem?”
“Your husband finds the smell of raw pumpkin guts nauseating,” explained Catherine.
Quirking an eyebrow, Elizabeth turned to him, looking down with amusement. “So . . . feces, trash, male cat urine, vomit, spit . . . decomposing bodies . . . those are all OK, but vegetable remains make you sick?”
“Shut up,” he whined, knowing he was being teased.
Meanwhile the chattering had woken the twins, and they toddled over to where their father lay on the dining room floor. “Daddy, wake up!” shouted Parker. “We made punkins!”
“I see the pumpkins, baby girl,” replied Nick. “Give Daddy a minute.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned to Cassie. “Your gut-pumpkin will have to go outside,” she said. “In the front, or Ginger will eat it.”
“Can I put Nick outside instead?” she asked. “I worked hard on that!”
“I know how you feel,” said Elizabeth with empathy. “I’m the one who spent an hour trying to figure out how to make one pumpkin look like it’s eating another pumpkin.”
Catherine chuckled and crouched down by her co-worker. “Do you need the smelling salts, Nicky?” she asked, her tone all innocence.
In response, Nick lifted his head enough to glare at her, and when she laughed at him, he rose on all fours to crawl away from the smell that made his stomach churn. Ricky, ever the opportunist, grinned and jumped on his father’s back.
“Giddy up!” he cried, and slapped Nick between the shoulder blades. Parker joined him gleefully. Miserably, Nick continued on his way out of the dining room.
Elizabeth shook her head as she watched him. Catherine continued to giggle next to her.
“He’ll be all right, won’t he?” asked Cassie, who was grinning despite her concern.
“He’ll be fine, princess,” replied Elizabeth, turning to clean up the pumpkin mess. “He’s been through worse.”
(c) 2009 J. H. Thompson
