But It Was A Most Terrible Crime!

It was all spotless- that was the first thing you’d notice. Nothing was ever out of place in this house, nothing. The furniture was perpetually clean and stationery. Never did I witness even the slightest rearrangement of furniture, never mind a wholesale redecoration. The walls were all painted a uniform grey, and the windows were tinted just enough to let a moderate amount of sunshine in.

My uncle’s home was quite an odd place, though I did not know it at the time. See, it was the only place I knew well- I had lived there my entire life. It was a shoebox of a house, the ceilings hanging low and the air permanently stuffy. I lived in the loft, and that had a large square window overlooking a neatly-trimmed backyard, so the stuffiness was not much of a nuisance for me.

Neither was my uncle, who was pretty much a non-entity in the house. Every morning at the crack of dawn, I’d hear the slam of a car door and the crunch of gravel as he drove off to work. He would come home late every night, and deposit his haul off in the basement. He’d call me down for dinner, usually when I was cuddling with my dolls. Bu he never came up to the loft. I’d descend the stairs and acknowledge him with a curt nod of the head.

There’d be the gruff hello in reply- maybe. Then, we’d sit at the table and have dinner, the atmosphere amiable yet quiet. There was an unspoken agreement between us that dinner would always be a drab affair. My uncle would ask me to pass the salt or something and that was as talkative as he got. Days and months and years rolled by, this our routine.

*

Once, I snuck down into the basement. I wasn’t explicitly forbidden from doing so, but it was always understood that I would go only where my uncle told me to go, when he told me to.

It was pure human curiosity that drove me down there, curiosity that had been sparked when I heard an odd, muffled crying sound emanating from the basement late one night. The next night I heard it again- hazy as it reverberated around the sparsely-furnished house.


I resolved to go check it out. Still, my uncle always locked the basement door when he was done working there. So, for the next two weeks, I watched him surreptitiously. It was a herculean effort, for it seemed that my uncle was permanently edgy. I thought that he must be wary of being surveilled. Still, I persisted, liking the thrill that my covert efforts brought.

One day, I observed that he kept a chain of five or six keys under a loose floorboard behind his bedpost. There was a chance, I figured, that there was a key to the basement in the bunch.

When next my uncle declared that he was going into town, I retrieved the keychain from his bedroom, and slithered downstairs. I tried the keys one by one. It was a somewhat rusty lock, but the fourth key worked after I coaxed and jimmied a little.

There was a set of light switches to my left and I flicked them all on. They were yellow and flickering, the lights, and cast a eerie atmosphere on the room.

I stepped inside, and the noxious stench of antiseptic hit my nostrils hard. It was nauseating and I couldn’t stand it, so I went out briefly and rummaged in the medicine cabinet for a face mask. I donned one hastily, then returned to the basement.

I investigated the room methodically. First, there was a little square entrance area. Glass shelves lined the wall to the left. These were stacked with vials and flasks full of esoteric chemicals, all a dizzying array of colour.

Proceeding further, I noted that the little room connected to a larger expanse to the right.

Therein I stepped, and the stench progressively worsened until my face-mask couldn’t keep it out. I willed myself to look up and did so with much effort.

What I saw revolted me.

There were cages everywhere, extending down both side walls and snaking around the back. There was a table in the middle, with straps and other restraining apparatus. The floor was dusted with feline hair. I forced myself to investigate further, the nausea notwithstanding.

Now, the cages were all neatly labeled, big sheets of paper detailing their contents. All different animal species, as it seemed. Most appeared to be in some sort of starvation, their bones jutting out and spines visible. Some lay inert on the paved floor, comatose or dead.

It was a sorry sight and I had seen enough. I bolted back upstairs, locking the door and replacing the key back under the creaking floorboard.


****


I was in my loft cuddling with my dolls when they came.

They were all boots and shine and huff and puff. I came halfway down the stairs to observe the unfolding drama. There was my uncle, gesticulating wildly, but the men were unrepentant. The burly one at their forefront was wielding a sheet of paper, and pointed to it silently, as if it held the answer to all of my uncle’s protestations.

They searched the place thoroughly, sending two wiry, nervous gentlemen up to the loft and three other ones down to the basement.

The search in the basement was brief and precise, it seemed to me, as the men emerged about half an hour later. My uncle was handcuffed.

Just then the two meek men they’d sent to check upstairs came back down. To me they looked utterly distraught, faces pale, eyes slightly unfocused.

One of them went up to the burly man, who it occurred to me must be their leader, and whispered in his ear. The leader’s eyes went wide momentarily, then he motioned for the men to lead the way upstairs.

One of the men who’d been in the basement was instructed to stay with me.

It wasn’t until the early evening that the men emerged again. Their burly leader immediately leaned down to address me, forcing a warm expression on his face, and holding my shoulders gently. It took him some time to speak, and I could see he was having some difficulty formulating his words.

“Listen, I know this is hard, to see your uncle arrested,” he began finally. “But, is that loft your room?”

I nodded in affirmation.

“And this man,” he continued, “I mean your uncle, did he... did he store things up there as he did in the basement?” He enunciated the word “things” carefully, and I thought that that was peculiar.

I said “no”, because it was the truth. My uncle never came up to the loft, and everything up there was mine.

Just then a thought occurred to me- A terrible, horrifying thought that made me sick to the stomach. They must have done something to my dolls. Oh no! It had taken me years of painstaking effort to get my collection together. Oh! Were they going to take them away?

I was agitated now, and, seeing as the man’s grip on my shoulder was still relaxed, slipped through and up the little flight of stairs to my loft.

What I saw appalled me. The burly man came rushing in behind me, but I had already seen what the ogres had done to my dolls. Deeply unsettled, I ran to comfort them.

“You broke it!” I shrieked. It was Larry, my newest and favourite- with the odd, manicured eyebrows and tense facial expression.

I caressed its cheek and placed my hand on its pinkish, recently broken nose, trying to fix it, and frowning at the crimson liquid that gushed from the crevice.

The End.