The Internship

Prologue: 1978

July 16, 1978

Someone is in the room.

The crawl space is dark, save for the shy peeks of light from the tiny holes in the walls. The ever-present feeling of the person staring at him makes his nerves quiver.

I am scared.

The sound of ragged breathing, the loud thumps of his heart beating against his rib cage, seems to fill the air. The boy wonders if the person can hear the beating of his heart. Is the person enjoying his fear? Enjoying the precipitation of fear slide down his temple in globs?

He doesn't know, but he hopes his fear reaches the person. To let them know he is scared to his wits and wants to leave this dark, empty space.

The looped, melodious tune of the vinyl record player playing resonates through the wall. The boy hasn't heard this melody before, but he wonders what his own fate has planned for him. To suffocate, it seems.

The person is moving into the room. The boy dares to peek through the holes to see what the person is going to do. His breath hitches as the person now stands in front of the wall he is in. His heart threatens to jump out.

I am scared.

July 17, 1978

Sheriff Harrington didn't expect the day to start like this.

They found a body. Two bodies, to be exact.
As soon as Sheriff Harrington stepped into the room, the smell of rotten blood nearly knocked him out. In the middle of the grand room lay the first body.

Sheriff Harrington pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and holds it to his nose. The body was naked and seemed to be floating on a pool of its own blood. The face scratched as if a hungry wolf prowled on it.

Apart from the bloodied mess, the room itself showed no signs of being touched. The dark, deep-seated sofas tucked against the wall were full of a plethora of family portraits. The half-empty cup of tea is still in its place on the table. Looking around the room, the sheriff remembered how his wife wanted a place like this.

Loud, hurried footsteps round the corner as the sheriff turns towards the living room door. There seems to be a commotion outside. Sparing a last glance at the room, he turned on his heel and walked into the hallway.

-it seems like yesterday

A mid-70s song playing on the record player seems to seep throughout the house.

you and I first loved this way.

Sheriff Harrington recognized the song. It was laughable how the soft romantic song played with no bounds in a home with two murders. The song followed Sheriff Harrington as he walked down the hallway towards the staircase. The murmurs grew clearer as he reached the last step, the record player visible from where he was standing, perched on top of a -made just for the player- small, rounded table.

"Over here, sheriff!" called out a young man in a cop uniform. Sheriff Harrington was startled at the sudden voice, striding towards the room it came from.
The first thing he noticed was the second body, a female, stabbed right in between the junction of her jawline and collarbone. His eyes trailed the blood seeping from the body's neck towards her face. She was a beautiful, porcelain face void of the scratches the first body suffered. Though the eyes were bloodshot, staring into nothingness.

"There's something in the walls." The young cop stammered, leaning his ear against the wall.
"It's an old house, it must be mice." Scoffed the sheriff while contradicting his statement as he walked towards the wall. He knocked on the wall.

I am scared. A faint voice was heard.

Both the men started at the faint voice. The young cop backed away and yelled for assistance.

————

Sheriff Harrington definitely didn't expect the day to end up like this.

"The heck, you mean you found a boy," started Harrington, "in the wall?" He turned to the cops, a bushing brow arched.
"Yes." Answered the cops, pointing towards a blanketed child sitting in the middle of the foyer.
The child held the blanket close to him as he hummed the song to himself. The record player was long turned off.

"He's..." Harrington looked at the child, then at the cop, "What was he even doing in the walls?"
"The only thing he says is 'I am scared' and hums the song." The cop replied, running a hand through his hair. "Pretty traumatized, I must say, for a child his age."

Harrington hums in agreement as he continues staring at the young child. His expression turns sour as he thinks about the child having to witness both his parents die in front of him.

"What a rough day." muttered the sheriff. He turned on his heels towards the blanket-wrapped child.

————

Sheriff Harrington won't remember this day, the poor child he sympathized with. He won't see what's to come thirty-six years later — long after he's retired and buried six feet under, leaving behind a wife and a son.