Each piece of art will be paired with a short story of 200-1000 words. The art will be at the bottom of the chapter.
The prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CUSzT18LbFp/?utm_medium=share_sheet
I duck under the police tape, and enter into the empty house. An officer nods at me, and joins me as I walk towards the crime scene, the victim's living room. "So this is where he was found?" I ask, but the bloodstain on the carpet makes my question irrelevant. The officer nods anyway.
"Yessir. No signs of the body being moved post attack." I nod, circling the large pool of blood in the floor, making sure not to step in it. There's a lot of back spray on the walls and furniture as well. It seemed like more blood ended up outside the body than was left in it.
There's an outline in tape, but no body anymore. The coroners had taken it away hours ago, but I'd seen the pictures. The poor guy had been savaged, probably even continuing after he was actually dead. The only reason we could I.D. him was the neighbor's testimony of him being the only one that lived in the house. I have a bad feeling about this one.
"Do they think it's the slasher again?" Severe knife attacks certainly pointed towards them, a serial killer recent enough to not have a proper name yet. I prefer the slasher personally, it's descriptive enough without being glorifying.
The officer next to me nods, and I notice that his skin is getting a little pale. Poor guy probably wasn't used to the scent of so much blood. I take another look around, but can't go rooting around just yet. Forensics hasn't combed the scene yet. I nod to myself, more for the officer's sake than mine, and move back to the porch.
Another person greets me as I get out. A woman I recognize as the precinct's tech whiz. "Detective," she greets. I nod.
"That's me. What do ya need me for?" She shuffles the papers I've just noticed she's holding, and then shoves them into my hands.
"Thought you might be interested in these. They're the text records from the victim's phone." She taps the top page. "This might be of particular interest."
I look down at the paper, depicting a conversation between the victim and a person simply referred to as 'Dave'. The first text is from around midnight.
"I think I saw a woman outside my house, what do I do?" There's no response from Dave, probably asleep.
"She's right outside my living room." And finally:
"She's smiling at me."
That's the last text from the victim. 'Dave' responds hours later, but the victim doesn't answer. It was already too late.
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