Prompt: A reporter comes into town and starts asking the townsfolk odd questions. What is she asking questions about and why?
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Another for sale sign is pounded into the front lawn of 17 Wicker Street as Joe Harris walked into town, using the sidewalk on the other side of the street, of course. When it sells, its new proud owners will be the ninth family that Joe has been obliged to welcome to Cape May. He can picture their bright faces, and their excitement over their lovely white bungalow, so close to town, with a beautiful covered porch, mature trees... and not to mention the rememdously low price! Joe writes a script for the event silently in his head as he finishes his walk to the market. The bell rings as he enters and old Mr. Dosey looks up from his newspaper.
"You see the red house is up fer sale again?" Mr. Dosey starts.
Joe shakes his head. He is continuously amazing at how fast news travels in this small town.
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Dosey," Joe quips back.
"It's a shame, I tell ya. Good lookin' house, but yer better off burnin' it to the ground."
Joe smiles and nods, and Mr. Dosey's jabber gets faint as he makes his way to the back, looking for the vegetables that he came in for.
As he perused the produce section, Joe couldn't stop thinking about how Mr. Dosey referred to the newly listed house as "the red house". The house was clearly white. Perhaps Mr. Dosey is not seeing colors correctly in his old age? Or perhaps it was just a simple mistake.
Joe is relieved to see Ruby walk in as he approached the register, hoping she would occupy Mr. Dosey so he could pay for his items in a timely manner.
"You see the red house is up fer sale again?" Mr. Dosey says to Ruby.
"Again?! Bless the poor souls who buy it next..."
"It's a shame, I tell ya. Good lookin' house, but yer better off burnin' it to the ground."
Joe smiles politely and pays Mr. Dosey, wondering how many more times he'll repeat those two lines before the day is over.
As Joe leaves the market, a woman in a retro green wool coat and black beret is standing outside. He knows most everyone in this town, but he's never seen her.
"You missed the snow by a few months," he says to her playfully.
"Pardon me?" she says, confused.
"Oh, nothing. It just... seems a little warm for such a heavy coat."
The woman looks down at her coat, then up towards the cloudless, sunny sky.
"Hm. Guess I didn't notice."
Joe stood in front of her in awkward silence, wondering how she didn't notice that it's been a steady 70 degrees for the past few weeks. The only explaination is that she not been in Cape May very long.
"So, you're not from around here, I take it?"
"No, not really."
"Not really? So you're sort of from around here?"
"I used to live here when I was little."
"Oh, well, welcome back," Joe said, beginning to make his way back home.
"Have you lived here long?" the woman asks before he gets too far.
"Three years."
"Oh," the woman replied, with an obvious tone of disappointment.
"Uh...any particualr reason you're asking?"
"I'm just looking for someone to...interview," she says, "I'm a reporter."
"Interview about what?" Joe asks, "I can't think of anything newsworthy in Cape May."
"About 17 Wicker Street."
Joe chuckled quietly. He supposed that if there was anything newsworthy in Cape May, it would be that.
"Most everything I know about 17 Wicker have been rumors," Joe tells the woman, "hard telling how much the story changed by the time I heard it."
Joe could see the disappointment in the woman's face, and felt obligated to find an appropriate and reliable source for her to interview. "I'm sure Mr. Dosey would be happy to talk with you, he's lived here all his life," he said, pointing towards the old man, still behind the counter talking with Ruby. "Just a warning though, he might not stop talking." Joe laughed but the woman didn't seems amused.
"Thanks anyways," she said politely, and walked away.
Joe headed back home feeling as though he had done something to offend the woman. He certainly hadn't intended to. Her curiosity in 17 Wicker Street piqued his own interest, and he realized that he had never really taken the time to find the facts himself. He was never one for gossip, and took most of what was said about the house with a grain of salt. But the fact that the house had a hard time retaining occupants must mean something. He himself nearly bought the house when he moved to Cape May, but something didn't feel right about it. Not to mention that he would have had to paint over the dreadful red walls.
Joe spent some time that afternoon scouring the internet for what he hoped was reliable information. Nearly all of the articles and blogs he searched came back with information about ghosts, sances, quiji board stories, recipes for releasing spirits, and other ridiculous nonsense. All he could conclude was that someone died in the house sometime in the 1970's.
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The next morning Joe walked into town for a coffee at the only diner in Cape May. He sat at a seat by the window to sip his coffee and do his Sunday crossword puzzle. At the park across the street sat the woman he met yesterday, in the same heavy green coat and black beret. She seemed nervous, he thought, raising out of her seat slightly after every passer by, as if she wanted to approach everyone she saw. She watched everyone intently, finally getting up after a young couple walked past. Joe could tell that she began to speak, but the young couple kept walking, not wanting to be bothered by whatever they thought she was soliciting. Joe finished his coffee and his crossword as usual, and headed to the bench she was sitting on.
"Any luck with your interview?" he asked sitting down next to her.
"Not yet," she said, "But thank you for asking."
Joe held his hand out to her. "I'm Joe, by the way. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name yesterday."
"You can call me...Rachel," she said shyly.
"Okay, Rachel. So, what is it that you need to know about 17 Wicker Street?"
Her face lit up, and he noticed that she had a pad of paper and a pen in her hand, ready to take notes.
"Anything!" she said excitedly, "Who lives there, are they nice folks? Is the swingset still there? Do the owners have--"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Joe interjected. "I thought you wanted to know about what happened at 17 Wicker Street, not--"
"Oh, I know what happened, I just --" Rachel started, and it was obvious to Joe that she had no idea that the house was supposedly haunted for the past 40 years and that no family had managed to live there longer than 3 months ever since. "I just hoped, you know, that people were able to move on. And... if they ever caught who did it."
"I did a little research yesterday," Joe started, "and all I could find out was that there was a death in that house around 1974. There really aren't many records from that time, especially online. You might want to check the local library. And honestly, I know Mr. Dosey likes to gab, but he was around when it happened. I'm sure he knows more."
Rachel looked down at her blank notepad, disappointed.
"Is there anyone else you remember that lived here when you did, someone you could ask? And if you don't mind me asking, why the sudden interest? You've lived in this town before, you probably know more than I do," Joe joked.
"I -- I didn't live here long, and I told you I was young," Rachel quipped. "And it was years ago."
Joe sat on the bench completely confounded as Rachel walked away. Years ago. Her words echoed in his mind. Joe wouldn't place Rachel a day over 25. Years ago to her would still be well after whatever happened at 17 Wicker Street. Joe looked to his left and noticed that Rachel had left her pen and notepad. He picked them up and headed to Mr. Dosey's Market. If Rachel wasn't going to ask the most reliable source, he would.
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"You see the red house is up fer sale again?" Mr. Dosey says as Joe walks in, his face still behind the newspaper.
"Sure did, Mr. Dosey. Actually I'd like to ask you about it."
Mr. Dosey put his newspaper down. "It's a shame, I tell ya. Good lookin' house, but yer better off burnin' it to the ground."
"Why do you say that, Mr. Dosey?" Joe asked, readying his pen and notepad.
"They're still livin' there, ya know, the Courters."
"The Courters?" Joe asked, prodding for more information.
"That's right, James and Diane and their two girls. Still there, I tell ya."
"What do you mean?"
"You know damn well what I mean! Why do you think nobody's stuck around? You wouldn't wanna call that place home, would ya? Knowin' that nice family was murdered in there?"
"No, of course not... Do -- Do you know anything else about it? -- about what happened?"
"What more is there to know? They died 40 damn years ago!"
Joe could tell Mr. Dosey was growing uncomfortable with the topic, but that just intrigued Joe more.
"Well, do they know who did it?"
"Never caught the bastard, if that's what ya mean. But the whole damn town knows who did it."
Joe's eyes widened. For being one not for gossip, even Joe was surprised in his interest.
"Well, who did it?"
"Tommy Cain, that's who," Mr. Dosey said, not an ounce of doubt in his voice. "Used to follow that Courter girl home every day, the oldest one. She wasn't havin' it, but was too nice to tell him so. She went on a couple-a dates with him, pitty dates, really -- but to him it was a big deal. And an even bigger deal when she finally told him she wasn't interested! He kept comin' around, beggin' for another chance, showing up at her classes at the Junior College and whatnot. Finally Mr. Courter got involved; went straight to Tommy's house and talked to him and his parents."
"And it didn't help, I assume?" Joe said.
"Well what do you think? It put Tommy right over the edge. He went from bein' obsessed and in love to bein' obsessed and angry. Bad combination, I tell ya. He thought she owed him somethin', and if he couldn't have her then no one could."
Joe shook the mental image from his mind and tried to think of what else he wanted to know, what he could relay to Rachel.
"But why are you so sure Tommy did it?" he asked.
"Cause of the reasons I just told ya! Tommy's behavior wasn't normal. James Courter was a good man and tried to do what was right for his wife and daughters. He bought that firearm to protect 'em, not kill 'em! But that's not how it looked when the police got there. And they never did find the gun." Mr. Dosey's voice was shakey and his eyes glossed.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Dosey," Joe said, "We don't have to talk about it anymore."
"It's alright, son. For the past 40 years I got so used to it bein' what it is, but the truth is they never got justice. The pain was still there, it was just buried I guess." Mr. Dosey put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "Good to see someone still cares."
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On Joe's way home, he approached 17 Wicker Street with an eerie feeling. He almost wished he hadn't investigated, because he would rather not know about the awful things that happened there; especially since he walked past the house everyday.
As he got closer, he saw Rachel sitting on the front steps of the empty house.
"They kept the tire swing," she said, "Probably a new tire, though."
Joe smiled and nodded. He pulled her notebook out of his pocket and handed it to her.
"I got some information you might find useful," he said.
She flipped the top back and began reading. She nodded and her chin trembled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Joe said, "But I really do want to know what your interest is, if you don't mind me asking."
Rachel stood up but did not answer his question. She held her hand out to him. "Walk with me?"
Joe furrowed his brow and hesitated. But Rachel seemed harmless, so he obliged. With Joe's hand in hers, Rachel turned around and opened the unlocked front door. Joe had been in this home before, but it was before he know the whole of what happened. He saw the house differently now.
Rachel walked into the foyer slowly, her eyes bouncing off the walls and floors as if she was remembering what it used to be.
"Did you live here, Rachel?" Joe asked, but she didn't answer.
Joe followed her into every room. Rachel ran her hands across red walls of the bedrooms shaking her head subtly. She looked in the empty closets, stared out the windows and smiled. In the largest of the three bedrooms, Rachel slowly pulled out the drawers of the built-in dresser and set them on the ground. She looked inside the frame of the dresser, and naturally Joe moved closer to take a look himself.
"What are you looking for?" he asked her, but again she didn't answer.
She placed the drawers back into the frame of the dresser. Joe glanced out the window quickly, and when he turned back Rachel was gone.
"Rachel? Rachel, where'd you go?"
He made his way downstairs, calling for her repeatedly. Her notebook was on the floor at the front door, but she was gone.
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The next morning Joe awoke to the sound of slamming car doors. Out his bedroom window he saw a team of police cars in front of 17 Wicker Street, and yellow police tape surrounding the property. Terrible thoughts ran through his mind, and he wondered if this had anything to do with Rachel. He dressed quickly made his way outside to find out. He approached the first officer he saw.
"Is everything okay?"
"Sure is," the officer replied, throwing Joe off guard. "More than okay."
"So no one is hurt?" Joe pryed, thinking of Rachel.
"Not yet," the officer chuckled, confusing Joe. "We got a tip this morning about an old case. Let's just say that if we find something, someone's going to be having a bad day. I'm sure you'll hear about it on the news later." His voice trailed off as he walked away, but his words rung in Joe's ears.
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BREAKING NEWS: 40-year Old Murder Case Reopened
Officers and Forensic Detectives in Cape May have spent their morning at 17 Wicker Street, based on a tip recieved early this morning. The residence was the center of attention in 1974 when a family of four was found murdered inside their home. At the time of the murders, police conducted several interviews, but no arrests were ever made and no weapon was discovered. The anonymous tip this morning led investigators to search the walls inside one of the bedrooms that the murders occurred, specifically inside a built-in dresser original to the home built in 1948. A pistol was discovered as the tip stated, and the investigators are hoping that new data will be found upon analysis, and that an arrest will finally be made.
Cape May is hoping for long awaited justice for James and Diane Courter, along with their two daughters, Elise and Rachel.
Photographs flashed on the screen of the murdered family. The last picture they showed was of their oldest daughter, Rachel, taken a few months before she died. She was wearing a green wool coat and a black beret.