Killer Serial Part 4

It felt the black surround and hold it in place. Every time It moved, the shadowlight pulled against It, wrenching at its existence. But each time, It could feel the shadow losing its grip, allowing It to slip a little further away than previously. Soon, It would be completely rid of the shackles of this plane. When this happened, It would feed as much as it wanted without the restrictions imposed by ritual and incantation. But the procedure had to be followed, the rules obeyed. Even It was bound by these ancient and forgotten precepts. But not for long.

The stupid mortal who first called to it across the Abyss had absolutely no idea what he was bringing into his existence. To think he thought his chants and chalk circles were enough to hold It under his power. It laughed deliciously to itself, thinking of the special tortures It would visit on this tumid personage, this bespeaker of excrement, this cankerous toad who thought himself to be like the Great Ones who banished It aeons past.

In those days, It had roamed the Ancient Lands, free to do as it pleased. It remembered the beginning of the puny Human race. It also remembered how much they revered it as if It were one of the Gods. They actually gave It young virgin flesh, thinking these offerings would appease It. It would delight in leaving bloody entrails and gnawed bones for those the Human priests to find on their altars. It would hide in the shadows, taking nourishment in their disgust and fear.

It loved the fear these foul, short lived Humans would exude. It was this fear that motivated it to continue Its wondrous violence. It was this fear it longed to taste while locked in Its banishment. It was this fear It would again instil in the hearts and minds of this race called Man.

Those days were not far off. As close as the end was and given how long It had waited, impatience was nearly driving it mad.

But wait It would for the time wasn't measured in centuries, decades or even years. The day was so close, It could almost taste It's freedom.
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The shop didn’t look much. From what Rogues could see, the new tenant hadn’t done anything to it except strip out all the old fittings. He racked his brain trying to remember what had been here before the latest tenant. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a butcher.

As he pushed the door open, an alarm sounded somewhere out the back of the shop. He looked at the door frame and spotted the little circuit boxes. As the door shushed close behind him and met up with the frame, the alarm went silent. There was a counter at the back of the room and behind it, an open door. Rogues strode past racks of comics and graphic novels and stood in front of the counter.

He could hear someone coming from the back rooms. When this someone came through the doorway, at first Rogues thought is was a child but quickly realised this person hadn’t been a child for many, many years. Although Rogues knew he was quite old, his face was remarkably unlined. While the man was very short, he wasn’t proportioned like a dwarf. Rogues noticed something else about the man but couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He tucked it away for later review.

The man was thickset with large hands and looked strong as a bull. He had long hair pulled back in a pony tail and was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt. He looked quizzically at Rogues, as if he wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Hello, sir, how may I help you today?” Rogues detected an accent of some sort, but was unsure from where.

“Are you the owner of the store?”

“Why, yes, sir, I am. Why do you ask?”
Rogues pulled his official ID out of his pocket and presented it to the man. He regarded the identification with a slightly screwed up look of disgust before putting an obviously-practiced smile on.

“Oh yes, what can I do for you, officer?” He made ‘officer’ sound like a swear word.

“Actually, its Detective Inspector Rogan. Could I have your name, please sir?”

“Well, certainly… How rude of me not to volunteer it. My name is Josiah Black. Now, what can I do for you, Detective Inspector Rogan?”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions. I suppose you’ve heard about the recent deaths here in town?”

“Actually Inspector, you will have to forgive me, but I don’t read newspapers nor own a television. I can’t abide the way the world is and reading about it or watching depresses me greatly. Do you feel the same way, Inspector?”

“Well, yes, I do but unfortunately, my job constantly reminds me of the how bad the world can be. So, you say you haven’t heard anything of the deaths?”

“No, not at all. Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with these deaths you speak of, Inspector?”

“No, Mr. Black, but I am hoping you might be able to help me with the movements of the most recent victim. You see, I’ve spoken to his friends and they say the last place they saw him was here.”

“Surely not? Oh, how awful. When was this, Inspector?”
“Monday afternoon, according to the statements I’ve taken.”

“Well, as I recall, the only customers I had on Monday afternoon were a group of local boys. I don’t remember anyone else.”

“It was the group of boys I was referring to, Mr. Black. One of those boys was found the following morning at a local beach.”

“Oh, dear, how terrible, sir. What fiend would take the life of a child? Oh, I do hope you’re doing everything you can to catch this evil?”

Rogues was a little taken by Black’s turn of phrase but continued. “Yes, Mr. Black, we’re doing our best. So, you can confirm the boys were here on Monday afternoon?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. And a wonderful bunch of boys they are too, although I do have to say, not particularly good at spending, if you catch my meaning, Inspector.” Rogues nodded and the man continued. “They were here for a good hour or so, looking over my stock of comics. But they weren’t boisterous or annoying, as some children can be. Children and comics go together well because they allow themselves to be completely drawn into the story, no matter how ridiculous. I find children’s imaginations so fertile, Inspector, and a constant source of delight.”

Rogues took a photo from his jacket pocket and handed it to the other man. The photo was a recent shot of Mitchell Tomas, taken for school. “Was this boy with the others when they came in?”

Black studied the photo, frowning as he tried to recall. “Ah, yes indeed he was. He was a particularly delightful lad and one of the few to walk out of here with something, if I recall rightly.”

“What, so he bought a comic, did he?”

“No, Inspector, he did not. But he was so interested in one, I let him have it, although quietly as I didn’t want all the other boys asking for free comics too. Don’t tell me he is one of the unfortunate murder victims?”

“I’m sorry to say it but he is.” He let this sit for a minute while he watched the other man’s reaction. Black seemed saddened by the news but there was still something about it that bothered Rogues. “So, you said you gave him a free comic. Which one was it?”

“Oh, I can’t remember, Inspector. I would dare say it was whatever one he had in his hands at the time. The thing about giving something away is that if it is done completely without expectation, the rewards can be quite astounding.”

Rogues looked at the man carefully. He wasn’t sure that Black was actually talking about the comic he’d given to Mitchell Tomas. There was something in his voice that raised Rogue’s suspicions. He didn’t know what is was, but it was that same thing that bothered him about this man in general. It bothered him more that he couldn’t identify what it was.

“The other boys say the last time they saw Mitchell was here, in the shop. Do you recall if he stayed after they left?”

“Oh no, Inspector, they all left together. I have no doubt of this because I locked the door after them. I had really only opened the shop because I saw them looking through the window. The shop doesn’t officially open until this coming Saturday. Hopefully, this business won’t ruin mine, if you catch my meaning.”

“Yes, Mr Black, I do catch it. I don’t have much more to ask you for the moment, but if I have, do you have a card or something with your contact details?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t, Inspector. I have yet to have the phone connected here and I don’t believe in mobile phones. I believe those infernal devices have degraded the meaning of privacy. Call me a Luddite if you will, but it is what I believe.”

“Do you have any way of being contacted?”

“Why yes, of course I do. I have an email address and a post box. Either one would be more than adequate. I can write them down for you, if you’d like.”

Again, Rogues got the impression of something just out of reach from the man. This feeling was really starting to bother him. “No, Mr. Black, thanks anyway. I guess if I need to speak to you in the next few days, I will drop by the shop again.”

“Oh, yes, Inspector, if you feel the need, please do drop by. I am always keen for the company of the likes of you.” Black grinned like a deaths-head. The rictus spread almost gave Rogues the shivers.

“Thanks for your cooperation. We’ll speak soon.”

“Indeed we will, Inspector, indeed we will.”

It wasn’t until Rogues was almost back to the station that he finally figured out what was bothering him about Mr. Black. Every word from the man’s mouth and all the subtle signs Rogues had gotten used to picking up over the years he’d been a detective indicated Mr. Black was constantly amused by Rogues and his questioning. Amused but definitely not pleased.
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