Fort Miller was not a small town, nor was it a big town. It occupied that distinctly midwestern niche that had enough people to attract businesses to supply everything one would need, but not enough to have a lot to do. Big enough to be the largest town in the county and big enough to have its own police station. It had to cover the smaller towns in its orbit, with around fifty officers of varying ranks, plus a sheriff and support staff to oversee it all.
The sun went down an hour ago, but there was always someone at the station’s front desk. Usually, it was a middle-aged cow with black and white fur and one leg. She lost the left one in a car accident sometime during high school. She got along just fine with one leg, but it pretty much ended her dream of becoming a police officer. As the years went by, she found she liked desk work more anyway. Organizing, filing, interviewing, and being able to call in officers standing a few feet behind her when a person got too rowdy were all nice aspects of her job she wouldn’t get as much of were she on patrol. One appreciated safety more the more years went by. She still wore her uniform with pride, always clean and pressed. She liked the way the dark blues set off her fur. She wore her shield on her left chest. The right had her name badge, ‘N. Flagstone’, the N standing for Nell.
She kept things in the lobby cozy. The collection of chairs in the waiting area were in good repair, being swapped out when the navy blue cushions split open from wear and tear. The magazines on the coffee table were up to date; no Greater Houses and Gardens from 1985 to be found. The coffee in the carafe was not always fresh, but it was never more than a day old. Usually never more than half a day, as the officers were likely to help themselves throughout the day. The navy blue carpet was vacuumed weekly or as needed. With her prosthetic leg, she had no trouble tidying up. For a police station lobby, it was as comfortable as it could be. Nice for anyone coming to report a crime, indifferent to anyone dragged in wearing handcuffs.
The cow sorted some papers. Another slow night, her favorite nights of all. No one approached the desk for the past several hours. The night shift officers were out on patrol; every desk behind her empty. The 911 dispatcher was in the other room, listening for calls while watching online streamers play video games. A couple detectives were working late. Unusual for them, but they were in their own offices. Busywork was done for the evening. Until something came along, she was free. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a romance novel by her favorite author, Delia Moongrove. Having never married, she was convinced the novels were true to life. Just had to wait for her lover, who would have a body like it was carved out of marble, to sweep her off her feet. Well, foot. She leaned back in her chair and got ready to dive into The Sunlit Cloister.
Halfway through the first page, the front door opened. Nell’s nose remained glued to her book, but one of her ears tilted toward the door. She wanted to finish the page. If whoever it was had something urgent, they would run up to the front desk and let her know directly. She thought. His unusual nature made her put down her book. Her brown eyes regarded him, head tilting as she processed. She said nothing, mind forgetting the proper greeting protocol, even though she belted it out hundreds of times over the years.
The person entering took his time to get to her. He was an odd sight, what there was of him to see. He looked like he was primarily made up of clothes. A black hoodie a size too large was wrapped around his torso. His hood was up, and a collection of black scarves wrapped around his neck and muzzle. It was dark outside, but that did not prevent him from wearing mirrored aviator sunglasses. Carpenter cut jeans covered his legs, a pair of work boots on his feet. His hands were in his pockets, but he was wearing black gloves. If someone were to look up the definition of a shady character, they would find a written description that matched this guy. She kept her eyes on him and her hand crept to the panic button under her desk.
He walked past the magazines, head turning left and right. Taking in the scenic Fort Miller Police Department ambiance like a sightseer. Next to the door was a corkboard with a list of missing persons throughout the state. A few adults, but mostly children with their information for anyone who might know something. His gaze lingered on the posters. He almost looked like he was studying it. His long, sleek tail, black furred and the only thing not wrapped in cloth, twitched back and forth. He was a feline of some kind, that much Nell could tell. The figure’s head tilted and she could only imagine what he was thinking. The board was looking a lot emptier than she had ever seen it these days. Lost children seemed to show up on their own lately, heads filled with fantastical tales and telling bizarre stories that could not possibly be real. Nell figured kids were excellent at making up details when they could not process what happened to them. Too many video games, most likely. Nell tried not to pay attention to the tall tales, she was just glad they were going back to their parents. After being interviewed by the detectives, of course. The newly promoted detective seemed particularly good about tracking down lost people.
The figure, seeming to get everything he wanted out of the corkboard, finally walked up to the desk. He put a gloved hand upon it, face pointed at Nell’s. He had a smell to him. Not a bad one, just different. She could not quite place it. Something like soil and when she visited someone in the hospital.
“Good evening.” He said in an accent that sounded like it came from a character from a public television romance series. One set in Europe 150 years ago. “I hope you are well, ma’am.”
“I’m fine, dear.” Nell stated. Her finger moved away from the panic button. A customer service smile crossed her muzzle. “How can I help you tonight?”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“I need to report a murder. A great many murders. Kidnappings too. And attempted ones.”
Nell blinked. That was a lot of crimes. She sighed inwardly. Must be a traveler trying to have fun with the local cops. She fought to remain professional. “Do tell. And where did these crimes take place? Who’s involved?”
“Long story, ma’am.” He replied. “But it’s all the fault of one man. A man who’s been murdering his way across the countryside for years, right under everyone’s noses. He moves like a shadow. Bulletproof, spell proof, a monster….” His head tilted, voice tinged with indignation. “If you would get someone in charge, I’d like to tell it.”
She sighed and moved her hand farther from the panic button. “I see. Maybe you should lay off the conspiracy theories, sir.”
“You do not believe me?” A throaty chuckle came from under his wraps. “Would not expect you to. But he’s real. He killed me four times.”
Nell rolled her eyes. Yes. He was crazy. Or drunk. Probably both. “I suggest you go sleep off whatever you have in your system. It’s a crime to abuse emergency services, you know.”
Another chuckle. He reached up to pull down his hoodie. One of his ears was missing, a jagged hole in its place. The visible flesh was pale. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were milky yellow. They looked flat and dim; a corpse’s eyes. The wraps came off his muzzle. Part of the flesh was stripped away from the upper jaw. A large, yellow fang and two teeth around it were exposed, sticking out of purple gums like bones from a tar pit.
“I think the detectives will believe me. If you would get them, I’d be most appreciative, ma’am.”
Nell never pushed the panic button faster in her life.
After the chaos, the stranger was brought back to an interview room. No expense had been used in decorating it. Folding chairs, an old card table that was a hand-me-down from one of the officers, four walls, and a door. The stranger sat down on one side of the table, two detectives on the other. The black panther with missing parts settled into the chair, sitting perched on it with his hands folded on the table. He looked as relaxed as an ambulatory corpse could. His eyes were still clouded from his recent revival. He could see two figures, but not many details. The name badges were a blur.
The two detectives were a lion and a sloth. The lion wore a dark blue dress shirt, black tie, and black slacks. His mane was neatly trimmed and a silver ring was on the ring finger of his left hand. His shirt had several wrinkles on it, having never been ironed since purchase. The sloth had russet fur and a white dress shirt. Not a single crease on it or his black and white striped tie. He wore rounded spectacles with gold frames. The ring on his left ring finger was gold. Both married men, wives at home who were proud of the work their husbands did.
“Sorry for the confusion, Mr. Eacott.” The sloth stated. “It isn’t often our receptionist sees a dead man come in. Well, not one walking and telling tales.”
The panther nodded. “Think nothing of it. You may call me Thorpe, if you’d prefer to be less formal.” A smile creased his mangled muzzle. “And I’m aware of how I look. I’ve not been in this body long and it usually takes a week or so before the tissue starts coming back.” He traced a finger over his missing ear.
“I was not aware there was a timeline for such things.” The sloth stated, the lion wearing a slight smile at the wry comment.
Thorpe chuckled. “I’ve had a long time to understand it. You’re both taking this rather well, I must say.”
“I’ve seen worse.” The lion commented. “Can I get you something to eat? Coffee?”
The panther shook his head. “I’m fine, thank you. I don’t eat or drink, generally. Not food, anyway.”
The sloth reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of Blue Velvet brand cigarettes. “Smoke? Mind if I do?”
The panther shook his head again. “I do not need to breathe either. By all means, smoke them if you have them.”
The sloth shook one out, put it to his lips, and lit up. Exhaling a plume of smoke, it had a bluish cast under the fluorescent lights. “You mentioned multiple murders when you came in. Sounds like you have a lot to say.”
“Indeed.” He nodded. “It’s not a short tale, if you would bear with me.”
“We got the time.” The lion took a sip from his mug of coffee. Thorpe’s stomach lurched. Even when he was alive, he disliked coffee. Too bitter.
“It involves someone even more unusual looking than I am.” The panther leaned forward. The milky haze in his eyes focused, his expression clearing. He may have been dead, but he still had emotions. Hackles raised slightly at the very thought of the man who did him wrong. Smoldering coals in his chest at having been killed multiple times by a single malefactor. “One who might be responsible for every missing child on your community board. Maybe every missing persons case in your record books. I’ve seen him kill many, myself included. Such a man would surely be of interest to people who serve justice.”
“You have our attention, Mr. Eacott.” The lion said. “Start at the beginning, if you would.
“Most certainly. Feel free to ask questions as I go. I’ll fill in whatever details I can if it means this man cannot kill anyone else. The man known as ‘the Farmer.’”