12
Jul
Bear with me here. This is where it gets confusing.
I immediately went to investigate the human cargo crates. I was aghast to find two young men, boys really.
“Hello?” I ventured.
A mousy voice replied.
“What are you going to do with us?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean. I am a police officer. I assume you are here against your will?”
“WHAT?!! YES!! PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!!” The mousy voice was now replaced by a terrified and desperate youngster.
I was immediately consumed with panic. His voice must have been heard.
“DAMMIT! Keep your voice down. I am alone and don’t know what dangers lurk deeper in this cave system.”
Then another voice from the second crate.
“Please help me. I wanna go home.” The voice sobbed.
“Ok listen. What are your names?” I tried to sound calm.
“Johnny. I’m Johnny. Help me please. My leg hurts.” He began to cry.
“Walter. I’m Walter.” The other voice said.
“I’m Roger. I will do what I can to get you out but you must remain calm and quiet.”
I made a quick assessment of the crates. They were wooden and well built. Then I saw something that made my skin crawl. Each box had a stamp. Shipping stamps emblazoned on the side of each that said ‘Singapore. One Way. Via Freighter.’
“They are being Shanghaied.” I said to myself.
-MRC
28
Jun
The dripping water was just a small leak from somewhere above. It created dankness in the already still darkness. As my eyes adjusted I could see a faint light source further ahead. I am not sure how far I had traveled but it was lass than a mile.
Then, suddenly, I heard voices. Mixed voices calling out to each other; some loud and hurried. Now, I am not stupid. I didn’t race towards the sounds. This tunnel system could not be known above ground. I would know about it. I slowed my already slow pace and crept ahead.
The light source grew brighter but never too bright that it hurt my eyes. It could only be a few candles. It was barely enough to inform my direction. Fortunately there was a corner before what I assumed was a larger room. I could pause long enough to build courage. There were some voices still coming from there but these voices were quite subdued and quiet.
I paused before daring a peek. When I did venture a look, I could not believe what I was seeing.
There, in a lowly lit room were 4 crates; large enough to fit a human if he was crouched. And coming from those crates were the voices. To my horror I realized a terrible truth. There were people in them.
-MRC
21
Jun
Johnny’s ears perked up. After all the silence, his ears were now well trained to even the smallest noise. These new noises were not small, however. The voices nearly exploded in his head.
“What? NO!! I didn’t send anyone down there! Why?” Someone was shouting to someone else, somewhere else.
“Huh? Hang on, let me check.” The disembodied voice ran in a distant direction.
Another voice, almost a whisper.
“Is someone else here?”
Johnny had not heard this voice before. It sounded frightened and young. He ventured a sound of his own.
“Yes, who are you? Do you know where we are?”
“I’m Tom. I don’t know where I am. Who are you?”
“I’m Johnny. I don’t know where we are either. I do know we had better not get caught talking. He might be back any second.”
The voice whimpered. “I wanna go home. . . .”
“Me too Tom, me too.”
-MRC
14
Jun
I should explain that while I was well aware that I could be walking into danger, this was before the advent of certain police procedures such as calling for backup. As a night spy I had a certain amount of autonomy in my investigations. That being said, I would have preferred another body between me and the intense blackness that lay ahead of me.
My candle torch was nearly useless as only a few feet in front of me were illuminated. I looked at the walls of the narrow passageway. Tool marks were clearly visible. This was not a naturally occurring cave.
“Someone dug this out.” I said aloud.
It was also clear that the work had been done rather recently. Not in the last few days or anything, but it wasn’t years old. This was done for some purpose. Some nefarious purpose.
“But to what end, and by whom?”
-MRC
7
Jun
I could hear the sound of water dripping. It was coming from further back, into the blackness under the house. That didn’t make any sense. There is no house further back that way. Furthermore, there should be no water.
“Hello?” I tested.
My voice didn’t seem to die as quickly as it should. I raised the small candle torch and pointed the light towards the sounds. There was a hole where there should only be dirt.
“What is taking so long, Dearest?” Cora called out.
“Stay up there darling. I may be a while.” I assumed she knew nothing about this.
I headed towards the hole. There, before me was a tunnel of unknown length.
“Incredible.” I disappeared in to the black unknown.
-MRC
24
May
I wanted to repair the damage I caused to Cora’s downstairs window. She told me not to worry about it. That it could wait until morning. But I felt bad and insisted.
I approached the lower half of the house as I would any part of a house; without worry. It’s just a house. The moment I opened the door at the base of the stairs, I got that creepy feeling. You know the one that runs right up your back and down your arms? I got that in spades.
The first thing I noticed was how dark it was. Even with my candle torch it was difficult to see any details. So, when I opened a second door imagine my surprise when I saw small streams of light coming from the ceiling.
“What the hell is that?”
I brought my candle torch up to shine a light on my discovery. There was a long handle dangling from what appeared to be a trap door. I looked directly below the trap; a series of pillows lined the floor to muffle anything that might fall on them. Anything or anyone, that is.
“What the hell?” I reiterated to myself.
-MRC
17
May
When I arrived at Cora’s front door, the smell of Jasmine indicated that she was with a customer. It infuriated me.
I showed my displeasure by kicking a small stone. It ricocheted off a larger stone and crashed into the glass of a basement window. A figure passed by Cora’s bedroom window upon the breaking of the glass.
I depressed a desire to cower behind a nearby bush and held my ground. It didn’t bother me in the slightest to interrupt Cora’s business.
To my surprise, Cora herself appeared at the front door.
“What on earth is going on? Roger? Is that you? What are you doing?”
I suppressed a lie.
“In my haste, I seem to have damaged a window. I am terribly sorry. Did I disturb you?”
Ok, so it was a little lie.
“Not really. I was heading to bed to sleep. Why are you here? Are you making a call on me?” She smiled.
“That had been my intent. Yes. But, the jasmine. . .” I looked away, in shame.
“The jasmine? That was for me you silly man. Come inside, it is dreadfully cold.”
“I really should see to your damaged window.” I agreed.
She took my hand.
“It can wait until morning.”
She shut the door behind us.
-MRC
10
May
After checking with several fishermen at the wharf the next morning, it seems no one was missing any sharp items and no one reported anything with additional blood or flesh. That could easily be explained by simply washing a murder weapon. But I had no proof to advance any theories I might have.
The crime scene itself yielded no clues either. Just a big wet blood stain and a dirty old blanket remained. I had no choice but to report the death as a mysterious and bloody demise of a transient. My boss would not like such a simple answer but, for now, that was all I had to offer.
Now I was free to make time with my favorite gal.
Unfortunately my favorite gal wasn’t free to see me.
-MRC
3
May
Johnny had not heard anything in a while. He had no idea how much time had gone by. How long had he been there?
His leg was numb now. Should he tell anyone? Who would he tell? All he ever heard were heavy footfalls and strong voices.
At least the sobbing stopped.
He was no longer worried about what might happen to him. Death might be a relief. If it came.
What was his purpose now?
-MRC
26
Apr
After a careful, albeit hasty examination of the body, I concluded that it indeed was a human corpse; male and in his mid thirties. Probably homeless, by the condition of his clothing. The crowd had dispersed due to boredom and probably the horrendous fumes coming from the body. I didn’t blame them. Cora would INSIST that I bathe before she would as much as look at me.
“Dammit.” I needed to focus and all I could think about was my sweet Cora.
I was nearly done with my external exam of this unfortunate soul when something caught my eye. The wound to his neck was gaping and awful, but what had made such a fragmented cut? How could someone cause all of the facial tissues to recede in such a way? This could not have been the work of an instrument as I had presumed. The wharf was home to many fishing and logging businesses. All of which had sharp and pointy instruments of commerce to their disposal. But this was not the work of such implements. Who, or what, could have caused this?
-MRC