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“Okay,” Allie said, capering about between the pavement and the dirt footpath beside the road. She said, “I won’t say nothing if you don’t tell mom and dad about my boyfriend. Deal?” Carrie and Brooke looked at Allie with their brows furrowed, as if to say: what the hell did you just say, kid? They huddled together and giggled. Brooke said, “Allie, come on. There’s no way you have a boyfriend. You’re in, like, the second grade.” “I’m in the third grade,” Allie said, holding three fingers up to the older girls. “And I do have a boyfriend.” “Oh, really? So, who are you dating, Little Allie?
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Carrie loved her little sister, but she believed in boundaries—‘me time’ not ‘her time.’
understandable
A white windowless van cruised past them. The van rolled to a stop about a quarter mile ahead of the girls. They didn’t notice it.
One minute and twenty-five seconds. The van reached them and parked beside them in exactly one minute and twenty-five seconds.
The driver wore a silicone werewolf mask with a gray face and a head of beautiful, voluminous dark brown hair. The hair stuck out from the top, the sides, and the jaw of the mask. His beady blue eyes could be seen through the eye holes, along with parts of his crows’ feet.
The passenger wore a silicone pig mask. The mask appeared lifelike, its pale pink color blending with his neck. This mask had painted eyes that looked human. The eye holes were puny, barely revealing the man’s dark brown irises. Like the driver, he wore navy coveralls. They didn’t wear nametags, though, and they didn’t look like plumbers or janitors.
Carrie and Brooke weren’t gullible kids, though. The men rolled their windows down, the glass rattling and the crank handles squeaking.
“Well, well, well. Look what we’ve got here: three little pigs. You must be running away from the barn, right?”
ew.
“Look, it’s a pervert!” She giggled, then she said, “We’re going ho–” Ow!—she yelped as Carrie pinched her arm. “What did you do that for?” she asked, frowning. “Shut up, brat,” Carrie said. “You remember what mom said.”
She listened to everything her mother said. She already knew the lesson her sister referenced: Don’t. Talk. To. Strangers.
The passenger leaned forward in his seat. He waved at the girls and oinked like a pig, emitting one deep, nasally grunt after another. Allie giggled and hopped in place. Brooke huffed and rolled her eyes. Carrie stepped in front of her sister, ready to protect her. The older girls were not amused by the strange men.
The van rolled beside them and matched their pace. The Wolf and Uncle Oinks leered at the girls, disrobing them—molesting them—with their eyes.
ew
Yet again, the van accelerated to match the girls’ speed. The driver said, “Piglets, don’t you run away from us. Mr. Wolf and Uncle Oinks, we’re close friends. We work at the barn together and we want to take you back home with us. We want to take care of you. I certainly don’t want to eat you, you hear me? Hmm? Okay, okay… maybe we want a little taste. Just one bite for me, one bite for Uncle Oinks. How’s that sound?” He howled like a wolf while Uncle Oinks continued to oink. He said, “Come on, let’s have some fun.” Brooke yelled, “Stay away from us, you freaks!”
The van cruised down the road with the men leering at their prey from afar.
They ran for a quarter mile until the road was no longer visible, until the trees looked the same from every angle. They weren’t lost, but they were in danger. In the woods, no one could hear them scream.
Brooke didn’t know how to explain the situation to an eight-year-old. Serial killers, pedophiles, rapists—those words weren’t common to children.
Yet, they felt someone watching them, eyes glued to their young, unblemished bodies.
The girls could have ran into the woods. The woods were vast, after all, and the girls outnumbered the men. They could have split up while screaming at the top of their lungs. They were young, though, and they weren’t prepared for such a dark and disturbing situation. Their parents lectured them about dangerous perverts, but they didn’t teach them how to fight—how to survive. Carrie pushed Allie behind her, using her own body as a shield.
He said, “Daddy’s a cop, is he? Well, little piglet, I’ve got some news for you: I’m a cop, too.”
Mr. Wolf chuckled, then he said, “Well, I’m a part-time cop, part-time wolf.” Brooke asked, “What the hell do you want from us?” “Straight to the point. I like that about you. You’re young but fierce. I think you’re going to be a problem for us, so I’ll–” “Just tell us what you want and leave!”
Brooke’s defiance—her insolence—infuriated Mr. Wolf.
He patted her head. Brooke shook her head and swiped at his arm. With the soft slap, she felt his firm, muscular forearm. He wasn’t the creepy, old, out-of-shape child predator her mother had warned her about. And that terrified her.
Aiming loaded weapons at children was second nature to him.
Brooke smiled, frowned, and smiled again. She laughed and shook her head, trying to play it cool, although tears gushed from her eyes and rolled down her rosy cheeks.
Mid-sentence, just as she took a step towards her friends, Mr. Wolf shot Brooke in the stomach.
Allie looked at Brooke and then at Carrie. Death and violence weren’t part of her world yet. She was innocent.
Carrie’s fight-or-flight response took control of her body. Before she knew it, she found herself running away from the group.
Guilt was a powerful weapon.
Without looking at her, Mr. Wolf pulled the trigger and shot Brooke in the head.
Her eyes hemorrhaged and blood rolled out of her ears. She twitched for twenty seconds after her death, saliva foaming out of her mouth.
Keith smirked and said, “And just like your mama, you’re not a very good liar.” He placed his hand on the roof of the car and bent over, nearly matching the teenager’s eye level. He said, “Be careful with that girl, Andrew. I’ll be blunt with you, kid: her father is an asshole, and he’s been to jail before. He will kick your ass. Get on his good side before his bad side gets on you. Alright?”
It was a regular day on the beat.
Usually, her eyes were bright—almost blue. In the kitchen, on that grim day, her eyes were hollow and dim. Keith didn’t notice the concern in her eyes or the fear in her voice.
She stared at it for a few seconds, then she looked at her husband. Devastation—it was written on her eyes.
Her mother’s intuition told her something had gone terribly wrong.
Five, four, three, two, one. The clock struck eight.
Truth be told, he was terrified. He tried his best to bury his emotions to protect his wife.
“Well, that’s what I was calling about. I haven’t heard from Brooke and I’m getting a little concerned. She hasn’t shown up at your house, has she? I know she loves going over there unannounced. Your daughters, they’re like sisters to her.”
:(
Brooke’s nude corpse lay face down on the basement’s concrete ground.
:( poor Brooke
Dale Hill stood in the basement, only wearing a pair of boxer briefs, gloves, and chukka boots. His fat, pale body was exposed for the world to see, but he was covered in blood. Some of the blood even landed on his beach blonde hair. His face was covered by a gas mask, something soldiers would use to protect themselves against chemical and biological agents. But his deep brown eyes were visible. Dale was Uncle Oinks.
Despite the young age of the victim, the blood and gore couldn’t rattle him. With two decades in the business, he grew accustomed to the violence. He understood that the victims of senseless crimes came from all backgrounds: young and old, black and white, male and female, and everything in between. When he wasn’t capturing vulnerable people through extravagant and even theatrical chases, he was a stern, disciplined, and pragmatic man.
ew
As Allen turned to leave, Dale asked, “How are the girls doing?” Allen stopped, his back to Dale. He stood in silence for a few seconds, then he blew out a loud exhale. He glanced over at his partner, emotionless. He said, “Stay away from them.” “What? Hey, brother, I was just asking. If no one takes them, maybe I can–” “You can’t. You won’t. You remember what I told you a few years ago? I said we’d run this like the gangs run their businesses. We don’t get high on our supply. Those girls, they’re for customers. You want one? Hmm? Then you pay for her like everyone else.
ew
“This boy, he’s going to bring us a lot of money. He comes from a rich family—filthy rich. Who knows? He might buy those sisters as a set.
Dead body disposal was his specialty.
“Well, I did see an ice cream truck out west.” “Okay, so? Why is that suspicious?” “I’m talking west, kid. You know Green Street, don’t you? Every house on that street has been abandoned and condemned and beat-up and fucked up for years. I heard they were supposed to be tearing ‘em down and building new, fancy apartment buildings out there. Hell, why not a homeless shelter, huh? I could use a place to sleep.”
He refused to believe his daughters were killed. He didn’t find anything suspicious.
Lisa was right, he thought, every second mattered, and I threw time away.
These other guys… they’re violent. I’m talking real fuckin’ violent. I don’t run into those guys often around these parts, but one of them picked me up this week. Picked up some of my friends, too. He fucked us up. He’s a monster. He pays well, but he’s a real monster, Keith.” “Did you get a name?” “No.” “What did he look like? Where’d he pick you up?” “He was a white guy. Tall. Strong. Black and gray hair. Mostly gray. Green eyes. Kinda handsome. He picked me up a few blocks that way, near those abandoned houses. Fucked me in his van. Raped me in his van. The guy loves anal and he doesn’t
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He was a handsome young man—twenty-six years old, to be exact.
he's also (probably) a monster.
Allen sat down in the recliner across from him. He said, “Your father is a high-paying customer. He asked me to wear this during our introduction so you’d know who I am—so you’d know this isn’t daycare. You’re here to have some fun because your causing too much trouble for your dad. He wants you to get it out of your system. That’s where I come in. Me and all of my wonderful resources. You know who I am, right?” Riley smirked and said, “Of course. You’re the big bad Wolf. Mr. Wolf, right? And this…” He looked around the living room again. He said, “This is the Wolves’ Den.”
