100 Ways to Solve a Murder-Chapter 179: The Monsters II

March 15. Spindlewood, Somerset

"Shhhhh... Back to bed, love. Mum and dad have visitors; we’re having a party. Promise you won’t come out. Promise you won’t make any noise? Promise to be a very good girl and behave? Promise?" Her mum said all too hurriedly than usual, but she did understand, Sam nodded.

"Okay. Back to bed. We might be noisy, but you won’t come out, right? You won’t come out no matter what? And you will sleep, right?" Lilian said, hurriedly pushing her back to the bedroom, checking her back repeatedly. Hearing footsteps approaching, she turned to her three-year-old. Her eyes wide, tears were flowing freely out of her eyes.

"You know what sweetie, why don’t you sleep under the bed? That’ll be fun, right?" She suggested, voice shaking but trying to remain calm in front of her daughter. "Yes?" She insisted, earning a confused nod from the three-year-old. Why not? She thought. She can sleep under the bed. Mum said it’ll be fun. So it must be fun.

"Now, mummy and daddy’s friends might be noisy. But you won’t come out like you promised, okay? And you’ll be very quiet too. You won’t say a word, right? Promise me." Her mum said, wiping the tears soaking her cheeks.

The three-year-old looked at her mother in confusion, but she nodded and said, "Promise."

Her mother looked at her very sternly, and she knew her mom was serious, "I will be cross, very cross, if you don’t keep your promise. Understand?" she stated firmly, lovingly touching her daughter’s cheeks with her shaking hand. She hurriedly urged her three-year-old under the bed. Even handing her favourite brown rabbit stuffed toy.

Lilian gave her one last look under the bed, "Promise?" She repeated firmly, her long finger placed on her lips in a gesture of silence. The three-year-old nodded and promised one more time by copying her mum’s gesture. She closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep after her mother left.

It felt like the young girl slept long already when her slumber was interrupted by the loud noises, banging, and screaming. And she felt a bit frightened. But mum said they’d be noisy and that she was supposed to be quiet and most of all she wasn’t supposed to go out.

Seconds later, she heard her bedroom door open loudly, slamming against the wall in full force. As if threatening to unhinge making Sam jump and she bit the whimper that almost passed her quivering lips.

She shut her eyes close, pretending to be asleep. Mum said that she’d be very cross if she stays awake; she didn’t want her to be cross. She doesn’t let her eat sweets when she is cross with her because she was naughty. And she promised to bake her doughnuts for breakfast.

Footsteps came after, several, echoing here and there. Talking and screaming, but three unfamiliar masculine voices were heard above the rest. Then she heard crying, and suddenly something fell next to her bed. And she saw a hand poking inside the bedcover from outside. She heard grunting, and skin slamming against skin.

Sam crawled to the edge quietly, trying to peak from under the bed, only to see her mum’s face pressed on the floor--three two feet away. Her lips and nose were bleeding, and her eyes were red from crying. Her crimson hair seemed to stick to her sweat-drenched face; another hand was pushing her face against the floor, a man’s hand. It had a gold ring in his middle finger---a ring with jade oval stone. And just for a split second, she saw the man’s face, as he whispers something menacingly to her mum’s ear.

Sam’s eyes widened, she couldn’t understand what was happening. What were the noises, why can she hear her dad’s muffled cries in the background. And she just wanted to cry, she was scared, terrified and her lips started to shake. She opened her mouth to start bawling, but she stopped when she saw her mum look at her, her finger pressed to her lips.

Reminding her of her promise.

Sam shut her eyes close and pressed her finger against her lips as her mum did. She turned the other way, clutching her stuffed toy against her chest, willing herself to fall asleep. Mum said to be quiet. She must do what mum said.

The noises continued when it stopped; Sam didn’t know.

Sam woke up the morning after. Thinking it was all a bad dream, and she excitedly crawled out under her bed, only to halt in place.

Her small frame towered over her mother’s body, on the floor, grey eyes open, clothes were torn apart. Bruised and beaten. Her pretty face was now covered in bruises, and her lips close to blue.

Sam didn’t say a word; she just looked right back at her wide-open eyes. "Mum?" She called, starting to get scared.

Mum wasn’t blinking.

Mum wasn’t smiling.

Mum always smiles when she looks back at her, she thought.

A sob formed in her throat, but she sniffed it down.

Mum says to be quiet.

Mum says, to not say a word.

Sam blinked her tears away, turning to look at her dad. He was at the corner, leaning against her bedroom wall. Hunched over, his hands were tied behind his back, and his shirt was stained in red.

She approached him, his blonde hair covering his face from her angle. She couldn’t see his face, and it bothered her. She crouched down to his level like he usually did with her. But he didn’t make a move to look at her. Instead, he remained utterly still. She could see the markings around his neck; her mum had the same thing, too she noticed. What they were, she didn’t know.

Sam reached for his face; her small hands touched his cheeks. She wanted to look at his eyes; they had the same colour you see. She pushed his face back gently, and his head limped backwards. She could see him now; she could see his green eyes.

But he doesn’t have the same look as before, Sam noted. And she turned to look at her mom. It was more like mum’s now, she thought. Their eyes looked the same, even though they don’t share the same colour.

Her palm remained on his cheek, even though he felt cold under her touch, and the edges of his jaw felt rough.

Sam’s hand grew heavy with the weight of his head, and she finally released it. And it lolled back down.

The three-year-old sat there, in between her parents’ corpses, with sheets of paper and crayons to entertain herself. Till finally, they stop with this game. She thought they’d eventually grow tired of it. Maybe, later that day they can go to the woods---and catch some dragonflies and pick up some flowers.

Thirteen-year-old Sam jerked off the couch, gasping for breath, panting and heaving like she had been underwater for too long. She collapsed on the floor, her mind filled with new---old memories. She could see the hypnotist, looking at her in concern and surprise; sat on her chair as if paralyzed.

She had been screaming, and her throat felt like sandpaper. Yes, she knew exactly why.

Sam pushed herself back up, arms and knees trembling, from exhaustion and terror.

Her face soaked with both sweat and tears, and she ran.

She ran, not knowing where to.

But she continued to run till she couldn’t run anymore.