It was a cold and eerie morning, the kind that lingered after a heavy storm. Rain had battered Hillside through the night, leaving the air damp and sharp. Charles pulled his comforter over himself as a chilly gust slipped through the crack in his window. He smiled, he loved the feel of the early morning breeze on his face.
But the smile vanished just as quickly.
He remembered his morning jog.
He cracked one eye open and peeked at his alarm clock.
5:50 a.m.
A smug little smile spread across his face. Extra ten minutes of sleep, he thought, closing his eyes again.
His conscience poked at him immediately.
Get up.
Charles rolled to the other side of the bed and mumbled in his head, Not today, conscience.
He yawned, his eyelids already sinking closed again
Then a scream shattered the quiet morning.
A raw, ear-piercing scream.
Charles shot upright so fast he fell out of bed with a loud thud. He didn't think. He didn't question. He simply ran. Out of his bedroom, out of his house and barreling through the door in nothing but sweatpants. No shoes. No phone. No wallet. Nothing but adrenaline.
He reached the street and bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath as if he had sprinted a marathon. His heart hammered as he scanned his surroundings.
No fires. No smoke. No intruders.
But the screaming continued.
He spun around, following the sound. The entire stretch of Wallace Street seemed to be converging around Paul Katore's house, just two houses away on the opposite side.
Charles jogged toward the growing crowd.
It wasn't a small gathering, children, teenagers, adults, even the elderly. Everyone on Wallace Street was swarming the front yard.
What is going on? A party? Why wasn't I invited? he wondered, bewildered.
As he stepped onto Katore's property, Mrs. Henshaw ,Wallace Street's sweetest grandmother stumbled straight into him. Charles, being solidly built, caught her before she hit the ground.
He steadied her, hands on her shoulders. "Mrs. Henshaw, are you okay? What's wrong?"
She trembled violently, eyes wide, hands shaking. "Paul… Derrick… knife… blood… dead…"
Charles released her as she burst into tears and hurried back toward her home.
Her words didn't make sense not entirely. But one name burned loudly in his head.
Derrick. His best friend.
Charles pushed into the crowd, squeezing past everyone.
"Excuse me,coming through!" he muttered as he slid between neighbors until he reached the doorway.
"Good morning, everyone" he started, still out of breath. "Candice, would you stop your"
He froze.
Paul Katore lay sprawled on the floor in a widening pool of blood.
And two feet away from him… Derrick.
Derrick's hands, shirt, and jeans were drenched in blood. Beside him lay the murder weapon, a kitchen bread knife, smeared and dripping.
Paul had been stabbed over and over.
"Derrick… what's going on?" Charles whispered, horrified.
Derrick looked up, eyes wide, pale as chalk. "Charles I… I swear I didn't kill him. He was already dead when I came in."
Charles opened his mouth, but shock twisted his words. "I… you…"
"Charles, listen... someone..."
He didn't get the chance to finish.
"EVERYBODY FREEZE!"
Officer Jacob Pines' voice thundered as police pushed their way through the crowd.
"What the hell is happening here?" Officer Walter barked, forcing himself inside.
Candice, curled in a corner moments ago, suddenly scrambled up and ran straight to Officer Walter. She clutched his shirt, sobbing hysterically.
"He killed him!" she cried.
Officer Walter held her by the arms. "Who?"
Candice turned and pointed a shaking finger directly at Derrick. "He killed Paul! He killed my boyfriend!"
Walter's gaze shifted to Derrick blood-soaked, kneeling beside the body, the murder weapon near his knee.
Everything pointed to him.
"Arrest him, Pines."
"Yes, sir." Pines stepped forward and pulled Derrick's arms behind his back.
"Derrick Jones, you are under arrest for the murder of Paul Katore."
"No no, Charles, I'm innocent!" Derrick shouted as he was dragged outside.
"Alright, everyone out!" Walter barked, forcing the crowd back toward the street.
Charles pushed forward again. "Derrick! Derrick"
But Derrick was shoved into the police car before he could get close. Through the window, Derrick breathed heavily and began writing with his finger on the fogged glass.
Find Alicia
"Alicia? Who the heck is that?" Charles exclaimed.
"Oh, Alicia," a voice behind him said.
He turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Eggon Hillside's beloved elderly dwarf couple standing right behind him.
"Mrs. Henshaw has a neighbor named Alicia?" Charles asked.
"Yes, dear. The other building beside her house," Mrs. Eggon replied.
"You mean the ghost house? I thought no one lived there." Charles blinked. No one had heard a sound from that house in nearly two years.
"Alicia lives there. She just likes being alone," Mrs. Eggon said softly, glancing toward the dilapidated house.
"I heard she was a detective," Mr. Eggon added. "Quit after three months."
"Why?" Charles asked, staring at the house like it might stare back.
"No one knows," Mr. Eggon said with a shrug.
Mrs. Eggon suddenly checked her watch and gasped. "We have to go, dear. The Chief is coming today."
Charles blinked. "Wait what?"
"Yes," Mr. Eggon said, grinning. "The Chief of Hillside visits our street today."
"But I thought that was on the twenty-fifth."
Mrs. Eggon laughed lightly. "It is the twenty-fifth, Charles. And it's already six-fifteen. He'll be here by nine-thirty sharp."
Charles' stomach dropped.
Oh no.