Hunting Monsters: Book One by Allen Currier
In a sleepy little town, a seasoned detective and a killer the likes of which no one has ever seen. Detective Steve Belcher has his work cut out for him. But how do you find a killer who leaves no clues. A killer who has the police lost at every turn. How many bodies will stack up until Detective Belcher can find the monster committing these unspeakable crimes? How many monsters will he have to chase down to find the one behind the murders? Where are the monsters and who are the hunters? In whose mind do they live?
Their heads had been severed. The wife's terrified features, pale and ghoulish, taunted him from the body of her husband. The son-of-a-bitch had switched their heads. Detective Steve Belcher leaned in and examined the crude stitching on the couple’s necks. He rubbed his finger across the stitches, and it slid between the dried scabbed skin and tissue. He jerked back in disgust, and the head fell over, restrained only by the stitching stretched over the loose skin. He reached over and pushed the head back in place. Fear ran through him, and a cold sweat covered his forehead as he imagined the horror they’d faced.
Their dried out eyes had already begun to shrivel in their sockets. A pale white glaze was forming over the pupils, nearly obscuring the blue color. The built up gasses in the bloated bodies’ decaying organs permeated the air so thickly the stench filled his nostrils and mouth.
He gagged and almost vomited. He swallowed hard. The skin on the bodies had dried and shriveled to the point of cracking and revealed the tissue underneath.
In his twenty-five years on the force, he hadn’t felt this level of fear mixed with hatred erupting in him. He didn't know what kind of sick bastard had done this, but he would find out.
He left the bodies and continued around the rest of the house. No matter where he looked, no clues seemed to be left behind. Everything was too clean. The pictures on the walls of family, the decorated place mats on the dining room table, showed how the couple cared for the house. The numerous windows wore only top valences, exposing the crime scene to the many on-lookers in the neighborhood.
To have two bodies desexualized in such a manner and have no mess told him it hadn’t happened here. He needed to look elsewhere, but where, he didn't know.
The coroner reached up and closed the eyes of the victims, completing her work. Doctor Fisher, dressed in her blue pants suit and white coat, stood up and removed her gloves. She turned to the detective. “This is a new one for the books,” she said. She had been with the Sheriff’s Department for as long as Steve. Her short brown hair covered by the hairnet she wore, just covered her ears.
“Yeah, just what I needed this morning,” Detective Belcher said. “Do you have any ideas?”
“None at all, and I'm not sure where to start, either,” she said. “Let’s get them back to the lab so I can find some answers,” she told the men waiting to bag the bodies for transport. She picked up her bag, ready to leave the scene.
* * * *
Steve watched the local news reporter, Lacy James. She stood on the street in front of the crime scene, fingers pressed to her ear. Her long blonde hair moved with the breeze. Only five feet tall, she was petite and fit. She got the lead on the best stories to report.
“The police have told us two people were found murdered in the house behind me, a husband and wife of thirty years. At this time, the police will not speculate on any motive or suspects. We will keep you up to date as soon as we know more. This is Lacy James reporting live, back to you in the studio.”
She ended the cutaway. “Load up the van,” she said to the cameraman. “Let’s go.”
The gurneys, with the two body bags to be loaded in the awaiting van, where wheeled out. Lacy stared into the forming crowd and met Steve’s gaze as the detective left the house. Dressed in his oldest suit and nineteen eighties wingtip shoes, he probably looked like something out of an old movie to her. Every day the mirror told him his silver-streaked hair and exhausted face revealed the stress of too many years working long hours. His dark blue piercing eyes looked right through suspects, but they didn’t faze Lacy, and she ran to catch him.
“Detective, is there anything you can tell us? What happened in the house?”
“Not now, Lacy, you’ll have to wait for the press conference like everyone else.”
“Can you at least tell us their names?” she said with contempt in her voice.
He got in his car and drove away.
About the Author
Born and raised in a military family, Allen spent most of his youth traveling from one Air Force Base to another. That allowed a wide-eyed boy to open his imagination to all of the different worlds around him. Having learned from life's experiences showed him how much adventure there is in the world, that along with the old westerns he watched as a child to the science fiction he still enjoys today, his mind was opened up to a wonderful world of endless possibilities. Starting out early writing songs played a big role in creating and singing a song for his daughter's wedding for the father daughter dance. Allen has been married for thirty-seven years to his beautiful wife and has been blessed with three daughters and four granddaughters.
He was once told that "you can't read a book, much less write one." He thought to himself "Challenge accepted." So out of spite, he sat in a dark room letting his mind wander down pathways that had been closed by time and life. This opened up a world long forgotten. Telling no one, he completed his first manuscript and found a publisher. Today he is a published author, a song writer and if flying a model toy helicopter counts, he'd tell you he's a pilot. His only dream is to see his family happy, healthy, loved, and laughing through life. He works very hard at the last one.