As a town, Churchtree has little historical significance. Nevertheless, tourists flock to experience the indelible wildness it exhibits, embedded as it is between moss clad trees. Perhaps they hope to relax by the crystalline lake or seek to view the local wildlife? I consider myself a collector of such experiences. For many years now, I've lived as a nomad, enjoying my freedom and making memories while I can. A girl on the road, that's me.
Yet, that's not the only thing that draws me to the unassuming little town. You've heard of cryptids, right? Bigfoot, Shucks...stuff like that? Well, local lore whispers bone-chilling tales of a creature known as the Hodak. So naturally, I don't think it's real. Every country boasts a mythical beast. Sadly, in my experience, they are often innocuous mascots slapped on gifts or keepsakes.
That's how I ended up on this stuffy coach, looking up images of a hunched creature with the face of a bird, long matted hair and pale green skin. I've always been drawn to monsters. I was drifting off to sleep when the radio crackled to life. "Good evening Churchtree! Your listening to the Nightly Knight Roundup. As always, I'm your host, Josh Knight. This is the late-night show on Buzz 97- 108!" The amiable host was greeted with grunts from the tired passenger's, who, like me, had been utilizing the last hours of the waning day to catch a few hours sleep. The driver dismissed the complaints with a wave of his hand. He never missed a show, he said, but he did have the decency to turn the volume down.
This seemed to suffice, as the sounds of gentle snoring around me could be heard as stillness returned to the coach. Unfortunately for me, I was still within hearing range. Resigned to my fate, I leaned my head against the window, feeling the bus vibrations in my skull, and watched the trees zip past. Somehow, I had fallen asleep. When I woke up, the bus was empty save for the driver and me. I looked for my bag in a panic, and relief flooded over me when it was still on the seat beside me. My life is in that bag.
The host was still babbling through the radio to my dismay. The show seemed to be the kind people called into rather than the music I had hoped for. I had almost tuned it out when the grave voice caught my attention. It belonged to one of the residents of Churchtree. "Hi Josh, first-time caller, long time listener- thanks for taking my call."
"Always happy to speak to a first-time caller! To anyone tuning in, this is Nighty Knight. Our lines are always open for our general discussion on local events. I'm told we have Barry on the line. What's on your mind, pal?"
"Well, everyone's talking about the recent local murders. The press calls the murderer...I think he's called... the calendar killer? Well, it's the first of the month again. Police have said nothing. You have said nothing since your appeal. I doubt I'm alone in wondering if there's been an update?" The question was followed by a pregnant pause, but pause might not be the right word. The radio was dead silent, even lacking the hum of dead air that you would expect. As if the host was so taken aback, he had muted himself entirely. I pictured the host frantically consulting the station manager, but he was a professional, and the silence didn't last long. "You're referring to our interview with Police chief Ashton? To continue to discuss the...ruthless and insidious events of late could harm an ongoing investigation. I understand everyone's concern, but we will not be taking further calls regarding this. The official advice is to remain indoors and avoid the country road. However, I'd like to take the opportunity to remind the public if you have any information to call the tip line." The caller was promptly cut off, and the host hurriedly changed the topic to upcoming seasonal events, his voice shaking.
Both the host and our driver seemed disturbed. The latter clicked off the radio, his face turning red with what I assume was frustration. I stretched out my now aching back and clutched my coat around me to fend off the plummeting temperature. I was so tired it took a while to notice, but the bus slowed down. I tried to check the time on my phone, but it was now dead after hours of scrolling through pictures. It was now so dark outside that it was impossible to judge the time. "Are we slowing?" I muttered, primarily to myself, conscious that I had a tight schedule if I wanted to make the connection to my next destination. "Ice", the driver grumbled, "I'm gonna pull over, check the wheels." I wasn't impressed with the delay, but it made no sense to argue. I remained silent and curled up against the window once more.
I was awoken by a myriad of sounds, a tumultuous cacophony of horror. My brain scrambled to process what my senses presented but failed. As tendrils of panic entwined around me, I reached out for something solid, something real, but then I saw it. A figure splayed across the icy road. The clothing was similar to that of our driver, only coloured differently. My blood turned to ice as I noticed the deep lacerations across the torso and the organs that had spilt out on the floor.
In retrospect, it was a poor choice to get off the bus. The figure was obviously past the point of saving, but instinct had taken control whilst my brain was still reeling. Besides, If I wanted to get to town, I needed the keys. They were not in the ignition. As I approached, I noticed two things. Whoever was responsible for this was...artful. Foremost, the organs had been diligently removed and displayed, like a macabre art installation. Then, when I got closer, I realized this was the remains of a woman. You were expecting the bus driver, huh? That was my first instinct too. It had been too dark to make out much from behind the grimy bus windows.
I'm sure you have many questions, and I did too. Who was this woman? Where was the coach driver? Why was it now so quiet? How long had this woman been dead? There's no nice way to describe how mutilated the body was and no way of knowing if she had been tortured whilst alive. However, I'm confident in the assumption that she had been dead a while. The organs weren't hot. No steam was mixing with the cold air. The blood had congealed, but there was no smell. This body wasn't fresh, but she couldn't have been dead that long. My only clue was a trail of blood leading to the coach compartment, you know- the place where they store suitcases? As far as I'm aware, no passengers today had used it. "So that's where you came from?" I asked the corpse.
There was a theatrical shriek behind me, and I turned to face the coach once again. The compartment door was opening, and the hinges were screaming. The familiar sound was the one that had startled me from my sleep earlier. It wasn't the only noise emanating from the cavernous darkness was a death rattle. Overcome with emotion, I bend to vomit and choke on my own bile when the creature steps out of the depths.
There was no mistaking it, the Hodak. Despite being faced with my own demise, I felt a stab of excitement. It was real. Only, it wasn't. The creature was closer now and was not much taller than me. What I had assumed to be talons were revealed to be blades stitched into green leather gloves. The mangled face I had glimpsed in the darkness was a mask. I glanced at the body behind me. This was a monster, just not the one I had imagined. I remembered the warning I had casually listened to earlier, avoid the country road, and recalled watching the trees zip past. Shit. So this was the murderer? He had been right in front of me the entire time, hiding in plain sight. The shock of the whole night was starting to subside, or maybe it was just the rush of adrenaline as those blades crept closer.
I dived towards the bus, my heart racing, sweat tingling across my skin as it dripped down my spine. My pursuer quickly grabbed my arm, and the backward motion caused me to slip. There was a sickening crack as my nose hit the steps of the coach, and I almost went blind from the pain. Still, I managed to scramble into the aisle and pulled myself on the seat in time to hear a chuckle behind me. I flinch as a blade plunges into the cushion, narrowly missing my throat. It appears to be stuck, but so am I. My assailant, now straddling me, has become a behemoth. I'm pinned in place but manage to dig my knee into a sensitive area. He emits a grunt and bends forward his head above my shoulder.
In the few seconds I have before he recovered, I reach for my bag...and...well, there's something I haven't told you. See, when I said my life was in this bag, I meant it. If someone found this, it would all be over. Weren't you wondering how I could calmly approach a corpse? Why do I have to get to the following location on time? How do I know so much about decomposition? How I could stare down a monster? Well, something you didn't count on and, importantly, this killer didn't count on is that I'm a monster myself. I told you I liked monsters.
My pursuer probably thought he had me cornered, but that was not the case. He didn't even notice when I grabbed the knife or that my collection of ears fell out on the seat beside us. Now, the media haven't given me a name like the calendar killer. I don't hang around long enough to get one. Nor do I pretend to be something I'm not. I don't dress up like zodiac. Pageantry gets you caught. I have no status, yet, it would be silly to underestimate me. Committing murders across multiple, uncollaborative jurisdictions? I'm brilliant, I'm untraceable, I'm the vagrant.
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