When Walls Confess

Hmm... 6 pm on a Sunday and someone is knocking? Who in the god-loving hell-

I quickly turn off the burner on the stove, so my dinner of Spanish porkchops and mash won't scorch unattended. The aroma clearly creates anticipation, coaxing my mouth to salivate way before it is ready to indulge.

I pause the soccer game on the small screen in the kitchen that lives on the wall where a cabinet used to be. I had it custom built there because of my unreasonable need to have a tv in every main room of the house. Slightly annoyed, I set down the remote and frown my way to the front door.

Peering out the gold, see-through curtains beforehand, I cannot see a car in the driveway. My first thought is of a solicitor going door-to-door. God forbid it's a street evangelist looking to recruit, or should I say, brainwash me into joining their clan.

It is neither...

I open the door as wide as the chain lock would allow to gaze upon a woman similar to my age. Mid, to late forties. She's wearing a spiffy pair of jeans with butterfly-embroidered pockets. I have no idea what the style of shirt she wears is called. It's dark green and has a low neckline with long sleeves that end with ruffles at the cuff. Cute and flashy; women's fashion is way beyond my grade level. Her red hair is cut short, curly and rests above her ears with stylish class, like she just left the salon...

"Can I help you?" I politely ask.

"I'm so sorry to bother you. If I caught you at a bad time, I could come back another day. I just have a few questions... That's all."

The smell of unctuousness in the background is all I want to deal with, but I am now wondering what kind of questions she has...

"You're not a bill collector making house calls, are you?" I say with a suspicious smirk.

"Oh, no no no! It's nothing like that." she says, sprouting a smile. "If you're in the middle of something, you can give me a better time to come back. I'm just glad someone answered the door."

"You seem nice and sincere. What kind of questions can I help you with?"

"Well, my mother grew up in this house. She passed away a year ago. It's alright, it was expected. She had a long battle with Parkinsons... I was going through her stuff a couple months ago and came across a diary she kept. She started it when she was twelve and it ends the day after her 17th birthday."

"Okay?" I say, not knowing where this is leading.

"I read the whole thing in a matter of days. My mother had a strange upbringing I knew nothing about. I won't bore you with too many details... May I come inside, though? It's a little bright out here and I forgot my sunglasses.

Her abrupt request catches me off-guard. I should have delayed this when I had the chance. I think it might be too late for that. Hope the amazing smell doesn't bother her...

"Um... Sure, come on in." I say, closing the door enough to unlatch the lock to let her in. "My name is Wesley, and you are?..."

"Oh, sorry. I'm Cassandra. Cassandra Martin-Mckinnon."

"Hi, Cassandra. Nice to meet you." we cordially shake hands. "You can have a seat at the dining room table over to your left. We can talk there. Would you like a bottled water?"

"Yes. That would be nice."

As I'm leaving to retrieve the water, my mind tells me this is not going to be a short enough visit.

Walking back toward the dining room, I can't see Cassandra. It gives me a slight burst of panic. She is no longer sitting where I last saw her. When I get a full view of the room, though, she is simply admiring the woodwork on the other side.

"Impressive! It's exactly like my mother described in the diary. In it, she wrote that her father, my grandfather, crafted this archway with his own hands. He passed away when I was five... According to what I read, it took him four months to complete."

"Wow! That is impressive. His hands were definitely talented. It was one of the selling points that led me to become interested in buying the house."

"May I take a picture?" she asks.

"Sure. Why not?" I say, joining her in admiring the stunning detail of wave patterns he made in the wood.

Cassandra takes a few pictures and sits back down. Donning a half smile, she pulls from her purse what looks like the diary and sets it on the table. I take a seat across from her still wondering what happens next...

"May I read something to you from her journal?" she says, pointing to the diary.

I have to keep my sarcasm in check. I just met the woman and have no reason to act like a child who doesn't want to play.

"Yes. Go right ahead, Cassandra."

"Thank you. It may be a little disturbing but I'm only going to read a few passages that bothers me. They lead to the reason I'm here..."

Cassandra clears her throat and begins. I'm all ears.

"Entry for April 9th, 1966. My mom was 15 at the time."

—I caught him in my room today. "Him, as in her father." He said he was thinking about adding new screens to the windows and had to measure them but there was a ladder in there he was folding down when I walked in. When he left, I stared at the heating vent at the top of the wall, wondering if he did something to it. Oh well, I have to finish my homework. I'll come back and write more later.

"April 22nd, 1966."

—Dad was digging a hole in the basement wall today. He said we were having some type of electric problems down there and was looking for the source. He told me and my brother to stay out the basement for two weeks until he was done so we didn't get shocked to death. I don't believe he was doing what he said he was. He seemed nervous or something. Not himself.

"May 30th 1966"

—The police came to talk to dad today. I tried to listen to what they were saying but mom made me go back upstairs. I wonder if dad is in trouble for staying out late again.

"September 29th, 1966."

—Mom and dad got into a huge argument while I was at school today. I don't know what it was about, but she told him to leave. I'm scared.

"October 11th 1966"

—Dad came back. I think they made up. He bought us all presents and then went straight to the basement. He said he needed to check the electricity he worked on. I'm glad he's back.

"October 20th 1966"

—I saw dad's headlights pull in the driveway from my bedroom window around 2 am last night. After he got out the car, he started changing clothes from the trunk and put the ones he was wearing in a plastic bag. I asked him the next day about what he was doing. He said he had been helping a friend paint a couple rooms at his new house. I should have asked him what friend.

"I'll stop there, but later on, my mom describes something new my grandfather built in the basement that she noticed was never there before. Do you mind if we go down there? Just for a minute, so I can see if anything matches what she described. I have a feeling my grandfather was not who we thought he was."

"Yeah... I guess that's okay. I'll show you the way."

Finally! I think once she gets to see the basement it will solve whatever mystery is swirling in her mind and I can resume with dinner. As a divorced dad, I enjoy my romps around the kitchen... I do have to agree, though that her grandpa seemed strange but that doesn't mean his cryptic behavior wasn't a legitimate quirk.

As we walk around the basement full of my stuff, Cassandra sees something that immediately gives her chills...

"There! Right there! It's still there... Mom described a corner that had a wooden worktable built into the wall, but he never used it for anything. She would sometimes stand at the top of the basement stairs to listen while he was down here. She thought he was hiding something from all of them but could never find anything when she came down here after he left."

Cassandra goes over to the worktable that has a few small boxes on it and begins feeling around. She gets on her knees and uses her phone's flashlight to look closely underneath but sees nothing out of the norm. Above the table where the wood attaches to the wall she begins tapping it with her fist to test if there is any hollowness. Her efforts seem pointless since the walls are concrete.

Both our eyes light up when a few spots actually make a different sound than the surrounding surface. It's an area of drywall made to look like concrete. We look at each other wondering what it means. A foot above the table, a small shelf for putting things on is attached to the wall. She feels all around it until her hands find something underneath in the middle. She again fires up the flashlight. I waste no time looking too. All we see is a big, rusted, spring hinge attached.

"May I?" she says, asking if she can try to bend the shelf down.

"Go for it.", I say.

With added strength, she pushes down. The shelf resists but the brief noise it makes means it moved. She pushes a little harder. The hinge creaks more. I help her. Suddenly, it gives way from the pounds of pressure we apply and slaps against the wall, causing a quick spurt of forward momentum, propelling our heads awfully close to colliding.

The plank of wood, now dangling flush with the wall, concealed more space than you would think. She shines her light inside the dark crevice. We can both clearly see a twist lock inside the 2-inch gap where the shelf was. I twist it from left to right until it clicks, causing the table to move a touch. We step back and look at each other again with confused surprise.

"I think there's something here. Let's pull the table forward." I say, now fully intrigued.

As we start to pull, an entire 3ft section of the wall becomes detached from the right side and opens. I'm amazed yet shocked at how no one would have never known...

We shine the light into the dark room and illuminate the stuff in there. Our jaws drop at the sight...

***

Cassandra had been right in her suspicions. Her grandfather, Charlie Mckinnon lived a double life as the infamous, 'Roadside killer'. He alluded capture, turning the case ice-cold for decades.

The small room he hid inside their basement was a jackpot of evidence. In there, he saved many curious souvenirs from the victims. The walls were covered in newspaper clippings of his crimes and cutouts of possible suspects, including his photo.

Inside various vents throughout the house, they found more evidence. It was surmised that Charlie needed to build a larger place for his growing collection.

Cassandra's grandfather terrorized the area for nearly 3 years, killing 11 people. No one knows why he decided to stop.

***

After the grim discovery, I spent the next couple of days at a hotel so the investigation could take place. After that, I quickly put the house up for sale. I couldn't live in a place that was known to harbor such evils...

Cassandra Martin-Mckinnon solved one of the coldest cases in Arizona's history. I'm glad things turned out the way they did. I just felt bad for her that someone in her family was responsible.

In the end, I wish I never bought that house...