The Crooked Man

'Homicidal Maniac Kills Family Of Three In Cigarette Lit House Fire.'

"Atlas? I know that name." Elizabeth said, following me into the kitchen.

"Really? Where from?" I asked, handing her a cup of coffee, as I leaned back against the counter. 

"Well, I believe the name was of a old town murderer. Serial killer, if you will. It rang in my head day after day the name, Atlas. Mark Atlas. The man who killed my parents. I remember it as if it were yesterday. The eery sound of our front door creaking open. A man standing in the doorway, a cigarette and a can of lighter fluid in his hands. A fiery glow emitting from the kitchen downstairs. The overpowering heat and black smoke rising. My lungs hurt. Mother holding me tight and carrying me to the upstairs attic, where Father tried breaking open the roof panels, we had no windows up there. I remember the burning heat and Mother telling me how much she loved me...then, everything went cold. I screamed as I stood seeing my parents lie there, dead. The firefighters had come earlier that night, but it was already too late. They ignored me and tended to my parents' bodies and battling the rest of the flames. I've lived on my own ever since. Hearing Mark Atlas's name on the news every other day of my life. I had never felt so much hatred before." She stood there, silent as she sipped her coffee. She looked up at me, "It's scary at night, knowing that man is still in this world. Can't you feel it, Ryan?"

"All the time..." I whispered, staring into my nearly empty cup.

Elizabeth came over everyday all that following week. We talked about our past and our future, our dreams and our faults. We watched scary movies and ate popcorn, yelling "Don't go in there!" at the same time. We slowly became friends and I felt her opening up more and more as we talked. We found out we had similar pasts. Both losing our parents in different ways, getting kicked out, moving into old abandoned houses. It was nice having someone who understood the hardships you went through, someone who didn't think you were crazy. It was nice just having someone to talk to.

"Would you like to stay over tonight, Elizabeth?" I asked her as we watched the old Evil Dead. "You said it was scary at night, over in that house. And it is getting pretty late." We looked up at the clock. It read 11:47. "I have a spare room upstairs."

"Well alright." She said, a small smile forming across her face. We finished watching the movie and we went upstairs.

12:35.

"Goodnight, Elizabeth." I said as I walked her to the spare bedroom.

"'Night Ryan. Thank you for letting me stay." She said softly.

"Anytime. I'll be right here if you need anything." I pointed to the room across the hall and smiled.

"Okay, thank you." She blushed and shut the door softly. I walked across the hall to my room, and flopped down in my bed.

"Ahh man. So tired." I rolled around in the sheets but I couldn't find my comfy spot. My body was tired, but my mind was more awake than ever. I crawled out of my bed and rested my feet on the floor for a bit. I let out a deep sigh and dropped my head down into my hands. I looked down and noticed a small shoe box jutting out from under my bed. It was dusty and looked like it had been there for ages, never touched.

"What's this?" I picked it up and set it on my bed, blowing the dust off of it. I traced my fingers around the old floral printing on the small box. I opened it and noticed a bunch of envelopes bound together by a single rubber band. I picked up the bundle and removed the rubber band. I opened the top envelope and noticed it wasn't sealed, nor did it have a return address on the back. Inside were, "News articles?" I read through the first one. Undoubtedly it was of Mark Atlas's doings. So was the second, third and fourth article. The fifth caught my attention. The head line read, 'Homicidal Maniac Kills Family Of Three In Cigarette Lit House Fire.'

"Elizabeth's parents were killed in a cigarette lit house fire...but only two were killed." I said softly as I read further into the article.

"The bodies of Ellen A. King (29), James L. King (34), and Elizabeth C. King (19) were found in the burned down home on Crusaders Farm in Lancaster, PA. Firefighters battled the last remaining flames as the bodies were transported to a medical center in Hanover. The burial will be on December 21st in St. Matthews Cemetery. The suspected murderer is Mark Atlas, small town serial killer. Police have ruled the man has gone into hiding some where in Cincinnati, Ohio. Police Officer Alec Bell of Lancaster, PA knew the King family personally. He says, 'the family was quiet but social and they never deserved something as morbid as such'. He adds 'The young woman, Elizabeth, will never rest knowing her parents' killer is still out there. I plan to avenge the poor girl so her soul may rest in peace...'

I ran my fingers over the piece of paper as the rest of the printing was smudged from water damage. I stared at it in disbelief. I closed my eyes tight and put the articles back into the box, shoving it back under my bed. I jumped out of my bed and ran to my bathroom. I held my head over the sink as I splashed water on my face, keeping myself from getting sick. I looked up into the mirror, and surprisingly, my face was still my own. I shook my head and stood straight, regaining my balance. I went out of the bathroom and back into my room, pacing.

"No,no,no..." I kept saying under my breath, not wanting to except the truth. "Maybe...I am crazy. Maybe, Mother was right." I said to myself. I put my right hand in my pocket, and my left rubbing the back of my neck. I walked out of my room and went downstairs. It was cold that night, colder than normal. I looked at the clock on the wall, 2:28 a.m. I stepped into the kitchen and took a gallon of water out of the fridge and drank about half. I set it on the counter to take a breath as I heard a eery singing voice floating downstairs. Looking towards the steps I saw Elizabeth dressed in a white, lace night gown.

"There was a Crooked Man, who walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence, against a crooked stile,

He bought a crooked cat, who caught a crooked mouse," She sang in a sweet voice.

"And they all lived together, in a little crooked house...." I finished.

"You know the story, Ryan?"

"Like no other." I said placing my hands against the rim of the sink, feeling sick again. I felt soft arms travel around my waist as Elizabeth placed her head on my shoulder.

"He is not here, Ryan. Yet, here is where you'll find him..." She whispered.

"Who?" I asked her, confused. "What does that mean?"

"In due time, Ryan, but you should already know...The real question is 'where?'" 

"You said here..." But not here...The Crooked Man. I thought as she removed her hands and kissed my cheek, heading back upstairs.

"Wait, Elizabeth?"

"Yes?" She said turning back to me. "What is it?"

"Can you tell me your last name?"

"King." I blanked as she said it. King. It was her. Elizabeth King did die in the fire, yet here she was, standing before me.

"Elizabeth, can I take you somewhere? I need to show you something..." I said, staring at the floor.

"Alright." She said taking my hands. We looked at each other, curiosity in her enigmatic eyes, and sorrow in mine. I grabbed my car keys and led her out the door. We got in my car and she hummed the poem as we drove.

She can help me, I thought. But maybe I need to help her first...