The Lament of the Tortured Soul
Authors Note: This story is completely fiction. It is not based in anyway on actual events. Any resemblence the characters have to any living person is completely accidential. Saying that though many of the characters share traits with one person (it was completely unintentional) who unfortunately left us at the end of January 2002. Shadow as he was known to the people he called friend, the people who loved him and the people he left behind miss him greatly.
This story is dedicated to him. Rest easy my love we’ll be together again soon.
Lt Noel Armstrong entered the Harvey house still fuming over the fact the search warrant took so long to come through. “Frigging lawyers.” He muttered to his partner not for the first time that morning.
The first thing that stuck him was how ordered the house was. Everything had its place and everything was in it place. He checked his reports looking for a house keeper but found none. He wandered through the house while the other officers performed the search. He checked out the boy’s bedroom and found his suspicions were correct; not even a dirty sock under the bed.
Walking back though the house he confirmed with the officers that nothing was being found but this case was personal. He was there when the attack happened. He saw the look on that bastard’s face when he was hurting that boy. It wasn’t someone off random act of violence it was something he’d seen before. Something he had even experienced himself, just one more beating in a long line of beatings. He gently urged the officers to keep looking by yelling at them as loud as he could. He decided to check out the basement, a nice cool basement might just be what his hot temper needed.
The basement was pretty much a typical basement/laundry with a washing machine, drier and a pile of clothes yet to be laundered. There were shelves containing cleaners, paints and other household chemicals and boxes no doubt containing things no longer need by the residents of the house. There were other officers in the basement searching through the boxes and he told them not to forget to collect the clothing for the forensics lab.
Noel made his way slowly around the room trying to get a feel for it and for the people who lived there when he came across a door. It was about half the width of a normal door and about a third the height.
“Anyone been in here?” He asked with his hand hovering over the door handle.
“It’s just an empty closet Sir.” One of the officers called out.
He withdrew his hand not wanting to bother with an empty room then it stuck him as odd that there be an empty closet in a basement. He opened the door which opened inwards. Another odd thing he thought since doors to storage areas usually open outwards so that more stuff could be put inside. He squeezed through the door into the room closing the door behind him. It was about 4ft square and only about 6ft high, since he was about 6” 1 the room as uncomfortable to be in. There was something else about the room that made him feel uncomfortable though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was more than just the dimensions or the smooth black walls or the fact that the only light in the room came from the flashlight he was holding. He didn’t believe in all that ‘superstitions mumbo jumbo’ but if he had to say anything he would have said that the room definitely had the feeling that something bad had happened there. He carefully searched the room with his flashlight and it was then that he noticed that there wasn’t a door handle on the inside of the room.
“Shit!” He said loudly. “Hey let me out of here.” He yelled to the people outside but no one answered and no one opened the door. “Damn soundproofedf.” He said to himself since no on else could hear him.
“Jim this is Noel you there.” He said picking up his radio.
“Yeah I’m in the kitchen.”
“Well get your nose out of the fridge, get down here to the basement and let me out of the freaky little room.” Jim laughed over the radio
“Have you gotten yourself stuck Lieutenant?”
“Just get down here and let me out. There no handle on the inside.” There was a pause on the radio then Jim heard “Fuck”
“What’s the matter Noel?” Jim said moving faster through the house towards the basement stairs.
“There are scratch marks on the back of the door and a long the skirting board behind the door. Kid’s drawings carved into the wood. A sailboat, a family holding hands and others.” There was another pause.
“Jim the bastard
kept his kid in here.”
Big thanks to Oldie for proof reading this story.
Any comments welcome though if you have a flame please keep it to youself as this story is of a personel nature email@example.com