The Matchbox

Chapter 2

An hour later, I was on my way home. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I thought that I smelled smoke. Roxie was acting up again, so I took that as a cue to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible.

The dry leaves and grass crunched under my feet. The sound was a constant reminder of the area’s state of drought. It hadn’t rained in weeks. Another whiff of smoky air reminded me of how quickly the parched woods could become a blazing inferno.

Agitated voices startled me out of my thoughts. I crept closer to the sound. “I thought I told you to be subtle," a harsh voice snarled.

"I tried," quailed another voice.

Roxie, beside me, cowered behind my leg.

"I'll have to do it myself," snapped the first voice.

It might have been my imagination, but I thought the faint scent of smoke grew stronger.

"No, no, please!" the other voice cried.

Then I heard the most disturbing noise I had ever heard. Screams, cries, and a the snapping and squelching of I-didn't-want-to-know-what.

Roxie started yanking on her leash, whimpering. Her tail was between her legs and her ears were back in fear. We backed up, slowly, until the noises faded. Then we turned and ran.

As soon as I made it back home, I raced to the phone. No one else was home to talk to, and I needed some advice. I called Tracy, my best friend. “Hey, Tracy, it’s Lea. I have a bit of a problem… yeah, it’s pretty urgent. Okay, so I was up in the woods this morning…” I told her the whole story.

“Wow!” she exclaimed. “That's amazing!"

"Tracy!" I cried. "How is that amazing? I'll bet someone was getting hurt."

"Well, then, what are you doing calling me? Call the police!" Tracy said.

"What am I supposed to tell them? 'Hey, I heard weird noises, could you guys check it out?'"

"Sure!" Tracy exclaimed. "They probably won't believe you, but then, at least, whenever you're later proven right, you'll have bragging rights and can tell them 'I told you so.'"

“Don’t you think that’s a little far-fetched?”

“No, don’t you see? The matchbox must have been those guys'---the ones who were talking, you know? They dropped it when they were returning from the crime scene. They didn’t dare return to look for it; for fear that the police were already on their trail….” She trailed off for a dramatic effect.

“Tracy, this is serious. Do you think I should I call the police or not?” Tracy was a wonderful person, but pretty overly-imaginative at times.

“Call the police? Of course you should! If you don't, the guilt will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

I sighed and we said our goodbyes. Then I dialed the police number for giving tips, and was put on hold for about an hour. When I finally got to speak to the operator, I went on to describe the conversation and the location where it all had occurred, and I told them I'd drop off the matchbox on my way to school the next day.

“That doesn’t give us much to go on, but it’s the most we’ve had so far. We’ll look into it,” the operator said. I was sure she was just trying to be nice.

When my mother and the rest of the family came home, I told them what happened.

“Yeah, right,” Brittany said.

“Good going,” Dad said.

“Dear, you did the right thing calling the police, but it was very dangerous sneaking up to those people and listening in on their conversation.” Mom said. 

I couldn’t say that their responses surprised me much.