Thirteen

It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Detective Skinner waited on tenterhooks for the news to roll in, as surely it must. Every day, on the stroke of thirteen: another body. Twelve days now. Twelve corpses.

Every kill had been different. Men, women, children. Elderly folks, rich, poor, even a celebrity from (of course) Channel 13 News. One had been a baby. Stabbings, hangings, bludgeonings, poisonings, and drownings. One had been manipulated into taking his own life. Another had been burnt in a house fire and was only recognisable from her dental records. Some had been tortured, others dispatched fast. The bodies were in various states of decomposition, the worst being basically goo, another so fresh, the needle could hardly have left the skin before law enforcement arrived.

There was no consistent M.O for the crimes; only for the tip-off. No discernible pattern, except: woman, man, boy, girl.

Today was #13, so it'd be a woman. But there was no telling whether it would be a woman who had been killed a week ago, or if the killer was, even now, charming her over coffee, or forcing his way into her home.

Why was there no call? Skinner felt wrung out, deflated. Not that I want there to be a body... They'd been so sure that this time they'd be able to finally trace the call, break the case.

Sunlight glinted off the river, as if it were made of metal rather than sludge. Skinner walked faster along the bridge, hands like icicles. Thrusting them deep into cavernous pockets- wait, what's this? I don't keep a journal.

Flipping it open, it looked at first glance like notes on the case. Dates, locations, murder weapons. The handwriting was eerily familiar.

Mine. But I don't remember writing any of this...

day five, stabbed in the back, multi-storey carpark. Fun!

day six, homeless guy, suffocated, too easy.

day ten, poison. big fella

There were photos! That's me with victim #5, I'm holding the bloody knife!

Mind whirling, Skinner climbed over the railing, already speaking into her radio.

"There's a body in the river."

After she gave them the location, she jumped in.

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Author's Note:

Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and authors note.)

Submitted on Wednesday 4th September at 22:34 (eeeeek!)

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This one continues my 248 day streak since 1st January.

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

The story behind the story: this is my paltry submission to Liam Storms unofficial challenge, which you can read about below:

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

My new Dollar Challenge! Please give it a look:

Here's a recent Top Story of mine:

A recent Runner Up placement for one of my Wanky Poems:

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Thank you again!