Tag: murder mystery

The Runner

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Sweat dripping down her chin as her warm breath vaporizes the winter air –

She’s the obnoxious type, insidious gaze and long tightly braided hair.

The smell of her floral deodorant is making me nauseous to the bone

So I watch her pass me from the onyx shadows, I want to get her alone.

She runs up the small hill and disappears for some time, have I lost her?

I’m fidgeting a cigarette bud between my fingers like an inept mobster.

Seven minutes pass and I hear her approaching the park again, I freeze.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. I ready my fists to deal with this tease.

I’ve noticed her running by my windows ever since the last Christmas eve,

With her smouldering looks, with her black shoes, her heart of a thief.

It wasn’t attraction or passion, it was this beastlike, even primal desire

To choke her ashen, making the tip of her tongue burn with an ungodly fire.

So I wait where the streetlights can’t expose my pale complexion,

I shiver with anticipation as her feet cross the nearby intersection.

The closer her rhythmic steps come, the louder my right ear rings.

I even imagine someone finding her body when the first birds sing.

As she steps out of the light and into the poorly lit corner of the park

My arms reach for her shoulders – but there’s nobody in the dark.

Surprised I turn around, I spin like a lost child left alone in the mall.

Then I see it – right where the pathway emerges from the duskiness,

She stands staring, reminding me of a haunted doll.

I scream but no one hears my call.

-JW

Killing Friends

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The leaves were covered in frozen mist during that October sunrise,

Birds chirped their goodbyes through the glistening clouds

And there was this emptiness the beauty couldn’t suffice.

Chilly tombstones surrounded us both as far as the eye could see.

An unspoken promise and mystery arose in the silence

But your glance twitched in horror, not in glee.

“What does it take to kill a friend?” I wondered to myself mischievously

As the city reminded us of its wandering ways with loud honks,

Taking us out of the delirious sleep.

“You told me to take you away but what’s the catch?” I spoke up.

My sweater wasn’t warm enough to keep the breezes away.

I was too focused to feel hopeful.

Internally you pleaded with your own shame, with your own instincts.

“You can’t outrun me now, it’s painfully obvious,

But your body will try once the adrenaline stings.”

We stood wordlessly for a moment more, then you bolted for the street.

I enjoy a good chase, yet – this was a mediocre one at best.

Every lion has to hunt, every hunter has to eat.

The leaves were covered in frozen red droplets during that October sunrise,

Birds fled for cover towards the stormy autumn clouds

And there was beauty to it no emptiness could replace.

-JW

Your Death Wasn’t Televised

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Delivery notes piling up on your doorstep, Christmas lights still in your window.

Will they ever even notice how your worn-out sofa is missing one beige pillow?

The time passes and much to my chagrin nobody seems to care about your absence.

I drown my mind in self-loathing, waste my money on pricy gins and absinths.

But day after day you fail to make the headlines shake with vulgar excitement –

Was your life truly this lonely, were you left to rot in this world’s confinement?

No, I’m not sorry, at least for you, it’s cruel that I had to stay behind to watch,

To witness how your lifeless body wasn’t recovered from the pumpkin patch.

A week has gone by, only now I see the neighbours snooping in your garden,

Knocking without any luck, growing paranoid, offering the Satan a bargain.

Some detectives show up, some prints are taken, some folks are interviewed.

The bloody hammer cemented in my basement wall won’t let them prosecute.

So I observe from a distance, yet I’m never close enough to connect the dots –

Can you really blame them? You were shy, backdropping those who called the shots.

At least it’s what they repeat – but I knew better, I got to see the very worst.

You called my phone and you banged on my doors for weeks, you had the thirst

But you didn’t have the motive which made you the perfect stranger to me.

You peeped through my windows at night, sang about my mezzanine.

I didn’t know your name, couldn’t tell what you looked like, goddamn bastard.

You thought you’re in charge but I used your garage like a splashboard –

Possibly in that lurid moment your vicious brain realized what it’s done,

And when the hammer landed, your hellfire started blazing like the sun.

But it’s all good if I deserve the eternally unforgiving flames too,

I’m not looking for excuses, pardons or second chances.

As long as you’re the first down there, balancing on razors in the sinners’ zoo,

My blissful heart whirls in mysterious dances.

-JW

Thirteen Cold Cases And Other Tales: Prologue

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A rural area in the middle of Who-Gives-A-Damn is shocked

As thirteen people go missing within a bone chilling quarter.

The closet doors are blocked, the guts never seem to rot.

The locals would leave the county if they were any smarter.

The cold cases pile up on the table, almost tipping over.

Everyone puts on a mask of care, everyone knew a goner,

And people are faking sympathy for each unlucky rover…

Funny how only among the hunters they fear so much

There remains some honor.

A rural area in the middle of Nowhere & Never is enraged

After police discovers a mass grave in an abandoned house.

The place belonged to a woman using alias Fiona K. Sage.

In the grave they discovered her missing neighbor’s blouse.

The cold cases come crashing down, only fools keep looking.

Years pass, the locals turn faked grief into greedy ghost stories.

Tourists pour over the area, they fight to make a booking,

While the three hunters carry on snatching visitors

Without any worries.

-JW

#13 The Man In Red

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They keep telling me she’s gone, they keep messing with my head.

They want me to cry but I stay overly rowdy and sinister instead.

The gruesome crew I’ve been hunting with asks for revenge –

We keep discovering clues, we keep losing our leads to the stench.

We hear she’s been seen with a man in red in these streets.

That’s not enough to prosecute but he’ll speak if he bleeds.

Once the clock strikes seven PM we emerge from the masks.

No one in this town crosses our way once it’s finally dusk.

Not many people out at this hour, not many challenge their faith.

The huntress walks the southside alone acting as our bait.

I stay back lying in wait, scanning figures and dancing shadows.

Green-eyes is in her Cadillac, she reads the scene like cheap prose.

The fourth night arrives through coffee, nicotine and energy drinks.

The breezy weather shakes my senses, the hopelessness stings.

Despite the drowsiness, we hear a door swinging open close by.

A muffled sound, a kick, sheen of a car and an audible sigh.

We close in on the target – red coat, a lean figure and slight limp.

Tied up by his side is my sacred lamb, she’s not noticing a thing.

The others beg me to wait but I race forward like a starving beast.

Not a man in red – that goddamn woman I thought was deceased!

Oh Lizzy, Lizzy, how you’ve once again wronged me to death.

You told me I should try harder this time

While losing your breath.

-JW

#11 The Lonely Bones

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Dig, cut, wrap, clean, repeat. Another hole, another dead seed.

We’re hiding truths like normal people do, we plant what we need.

Dig, cut, wrap, clean, repeat. Push harder to cut off the feet.

Bury, smoothen, cover. Another body, another dead lover.

We’re escaping the destiny by hiding all that’s discovered.

Bury, smoothen, cover. We killed you and we killed your brother.

Sharpen, crush, growl some more. Another bruise, some shiny gore.

We’re tied in our count but who’s keeping a score?

Sharpen, crush, growl some more. Go faster to win the war.

Drink, celebrate, rest, cheer. Another pit of lonely bones sealed.

We’re gnarly inside and out, we’re the burnable breed.

Drink, celebrate, rest, cheer. Another pint to the terror we wield.

-JW

#5 The Sacred Lamb

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An expanding knot in my stomach before I even open the front door –

I sense the tension, the held back cries, the hope shattered on our floors.

My weak limbs pull themselves over the doorstep, I’m covered in dirt.

Yesterday three of my closest friends went missing, no one’s yet heard.

I’ve got an alibi three towns south, but did the escapee break the news?

That girl Vicky’s yet to apologize for the friction and pay what’s due.

But the look on my father’s face is more than pity or any other sadness –

Shatters of his very heart lay all over our place, growing in their vastness.

My brother’s there too, he holds me for far too long before I realize

My younger sister’s missing…

No amount of tears can suffice.

Taken, she’s been taken, someone took her. That’s all I really hear.

I hope this someone has the guts to face my painful fury, oh dear.

My feet take me out of the house, all across the putrid hometown.

I’ve heard of this gracious green-eyed beast making her rounds.

The lady’s deadlier than I’ll ever be but what’s the point of my pride?

The plain street I walk down has one eccentric house – I’m down for the ride.

Her seven inch heels click on the surfaces before she lets me in –

Beautiful, eloquent, well-reversed and funny, clearly deadly as sin.

While I don’t mind the corpses in her garden, she doesn’t mind my intrusion.

There’s common sense even between the worst of ghouls with no illusions.

We strike a deal as her fairy-tale clock strikes three in the afternoon.

I promise to give her a hand with her garden,

She promises to become one of my goons.

-JW

#9 The Gathering Of The Ghouls

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My anger pours out of every stitch as I slam my wine glass on the table.

No amount of cursing will scratch the itch firing through my bugged cables.

The wiring’s off, throw out the plans and gather around this failed attempt.

Two people have escaped our rightful anger, nobody else can be exempt.

The huntress puts stainless steel blades in her belt, her caution is paper thin.

The green-eyed bitch of the rural streets perfectly applies her own skin.

I watch in terror as my own image disappears and reappears in reflections.

We’re ready to comb the town and kill everyone daring to walk our direction.

I shrug and rest my palm on the cold gun besides the shattered wine glass.

Can’t hide it as more and more questions near me through the grass.

The bottle’s done and my team of revolting human waste looks right at me.

They know as well as I do – we must kill the witness to finally be happy.

What comes next is pre-written: we slash each other’s throats for hours

Until only one claims this shabby town the three of us have called ours.

As the night swallows our bodies within its charcoal veils, my back straightens.

The one who fled escaped painless grave, but she can’t escape the Satan.

-JW

#3 The Meeting

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She escaped a gruesome death and a poisoning attempt, she escaped.

Somehow despite all the odds and favors I called in, she escaped.

They ushered me away as she jumped right in front of moving cars.

My limp pride carried itself out of the scene under the sparkly stars.

We finished the job but the high of the deed never rushed my system.

She ran away even though she was the least weary and persistent.

The time is not our friend at this point, we cut right through the forest.

Pearly moon is lightning the path, the sight is nothing but modest,

And the peace doesn’t last long, there are steps behind us closing in.

My patience is on the edge, and the edge is far less than paper thin.

I turn and pull out a gun, unable to let another foolish witness slide.

The darkness behind me is blinding, the night tastes like anthracite,

Yet I know a creeper when I hear one so I march towards the sound,

Trigger finger ready to swim in the ecstasy of firing the round.

There’s a blade in my face held by a stranger, my barrel’s aimed at her.

What a standoff – the moon is making the hesitation more severe.

The seconds tick away but we don’t move a muscle in our faces.

How do I tell her “we have a common goal, let’s slow our paces”?

Somehow she reads my distasteful thoughts, the knife is removed.

As she offers me her palm saying:

“No need to harm a fellow hunter, my name’s Ramone.”

-JW

#10 The Witness

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Vicky’s not sure what she heard that foggy autumn evening.

Perhaps it was some ungodly beast howling at the moon,

Perhaps it was her neighbor screaming.

She’s been hyperaware and anxious these past few gloomy days.

Maybe she should just take a pill and drift off to sleep,

But maybe she’s stalling while murder pays?

Vicky’s too insecure to call the police, the cops scare her.

If only she could recall her neighbor’s voice when they met,

If only she could swallow the terror.

She bites her lip as lately no one enters the house next door.

When she gets the time next morning, she’s gonna look for help.

When she gets the time, she’s gonna do more.

Her frail figure turns to switch off the lights but something’s off.

Perhaps there are two glowing eyes peeking in the dark.

Perhaps her brain’s just being odd.

She takes a second before turning off the vintage chandelier.

Once it’s dark, she’ll lock the door and rush to her bed,

Once she’s in bed, there’s nothing to fear.

But Vicky sees the creature approaching the lonely house.

Tragically she’s too frozen to move a single inch,

Tragically it’s a game of cat and mouse.

Vicky’s now sure what she heard that late autumn evening.

Clearly there’s someone peeking in through the window,

Clearly it’s her the creature’s been seeking.

-JW