I finished my coffee and tossed the paper cup into the trash. I tugged on the chain around my neck. It had been itching all morning.
“She in there?” I asked the officer.
“Yeah. They just brought her in.”
I opened the door to find the young woman sitting patiently in the chair. I took the seat across from her, tossing my little leather notebook on the table.
“I’m Detective Ford. Miss….er, Simpson right?”
“Yes. Why am I here?” she asked.
“We just have some questions for you. Just routine really.”
“Okay. Did I do something wrong?”
It was a rainy day, the day that I met her.
I remember the raindrops making their way down the shop windows as I walked along the sidewalk. I clutched my collar, holding it close to keep the precipitation out, and to keep the last vestiges of warmth inside my jacket. The jacket was old and worn, and it was already doing an unsatisfactory job keeping the rain at bay; I refused to carry an umbrella. My shoes splashed in the ever-growing menagerie of puddles, and I had to find some respite from the rain. …
John only knew three things.
He lived in the ass end of nowhere.
He was broke.
Both of those things weren’t changing any time soon.
He worked part time as a mechanic and it paid just enough to cover hunting and fishing supplies. He lived in his grandfather’s old cabin. So as long as he could eat that was pretty much the end of his worries.
He was on his way to the river now. He crossed the bridge down by the dam, and checked the little parking lot. …
I found the old home at the outskirts of town. It was harder to find than I thought. All I had was an old business card with an address and a phone number. There wasn’t even anything on the Internet.
The old Victorian home looked right out of a horror movie, which was appropriate given why I was there.
I knocked and the door swung open, with an eerie creak. There was a gentlemen standing in the doorway.
“Are you the one who called earlier?”
“Yes,” I answered, extending my hand.
“Forgive me,” he said retreating, “I’m a bit of…
It was that time of year.
The parties had been raging for weeks.
Each year thousands of college students descended on the beaches to ravage the local ecosystem for a month of debauchery and bad decisions.
Gallons of alcohol guzzled in seconds.
There were parties.
There were keg stands.
There were one night stands.
In fact, there were far too many one night stands.
But the parties went on.
Everywhere you looked it was a VH1 video come to life. The beach was full of beer bottles red solo cups and passed out dudes baking in the sun.
There are exactly two sights more beautiful than the final corner of a horse race where a dozen thoroughbreds come barreling by, and that is the silhouette of a woman in the moonlight and a nice stretch of country road twisting and turning as you leave town behind.
Perhaps, the sunset in the woods if it’s a summer day and the sunlight’s hitting the leaves just right turning everything into a golden kingdom.
But that’s it.
If you haven’t been down by the rack when the mighty animals come charging past bringing the sound of thunder with them as though…
Matthew Donnellon is a writer, artist, and sit down comedian. He is the author of The Curious Case of Emma Lee and Other Stories.