The Spirit of Man

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐀𝐍

THE SPIRIT OF MAN
criminal minds, jennifer jareau
hoteldenouement
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There was a rumour spreading around the town. A poem the kids recited between swings of the jump rope, a story they told around the campfire to scare the younger ones. Every town needs one, after all — a figure to fear, a ghost story, a monster beneath the bed. A boogeyman. It's harmless. Natural. Normal.

     Nick Dixon should have been a postman. He thought of that often; he was dependable, honest, detail orientated... Everything a postman should be. The families on his route would know him — he'd pet their dogs, make idle chatter with their husbands and wives as he waited for a signature, wish the children happy birthday and merry Christmas when they times came around. Some families might leave bottled water out for him in the hotter months, or offer to refill his flask with coffee when the days grew colder and frost bit at his ears. He wasn't blind to how hard the work would be, but it would be worth it. It was work he could be proud about, work he could complete and then leave at the post office when he came home each night. He'd have been happy.

       Alas, he wasn't a postman. A truly tragic tale. The biggest mistake of his life, some would say. Instead, he'd chosen to spend his days working as a detective in some city hundreds of miles away from where he'd grown up, surrounded by blood and death and other sorrowful things. He didn't mind it, for the most part. Sure, the job was tough, but it was worth it. After a few years, he'd been able to specialise somewhat, and had started investigating missing people. Getting those people home — there was nothing he could do in life that would generate a better feeling.

       But when one of his cases bleeds into something far more sinister, Nick knows he has to seek outside help. The kids in his town are singing songs about a bogeyman that prowls the streets. They count the victims as they play hopscotch. They create a rhyme as they run in circles. They give their bogeyman a name — the Whisper Man. It's harmless. Natural. Normal.

It's also the exact details of the case he's investigating.

       And when those same people singing begin to go missing themselves, Nick starts to believe that it's more than just coincidence. Something dark is living in the streets of his town, pulsating and bleeding and spreading its rot through the pipes and wires and foundations of the place he'd sworn to protect. Something out there is hunting. Listening. Sniffing out the perfect victim, and earning their trust.

       Nick Dixon should have been a postman. If he had, he wouldn't be in this situation. If he had, he wouldn't be spending his days surrounded by death and man-made horrors beyond his own imagination. If he had, he wouldn't be lying half-dead in a hospital bed, the love he never really had a chance to realise crying in the chair beside him.

      If he had, his sister wouldn't be singing songs about the Whisper Man, and how he'd soon be coming to play.

♛

NICK DIXON