Strange stories

The detective

The rain beats hard on the walls of the quiet apartment complex. In front of me stands door 106 on the third floor, the room of the suspect I have narrowed down. I knock on the door and wait. This man, if he is the killer, will be charged with the murder and torture of at least 20 different people across the countryside and a sentence so long you couldn't see the whole of it from space. The cheery voice of an old man calls from inside.

"who is it?"

"I'm here from the police station down the road, just here to ask a few questions"

Silence before muffled footsteps sound towards the door. They stop on the other side. Almost imperceptibly a slurping noise sounds off behind the door. Must have just finished a meal. The door swings open as if the man on the inside is excited to see me, yet we have never met before. I am greeted by a short, smiling man about 50 to 60 years old and dressed like it. Graying hair and a mustache your grandfather would have. He looks up and invites me in. I step in and he closes the door behind me. He steps over to a kitchen setup next to the entrance. I notice a bald spot on the back of his head.

A small apartment, one large room with a kitchen and and living room with a view of the street and other houses below and a hallway where you can see the bathroom from the entrance. The bedroom is probably after the turn in the hallway. Thick beige blinds cover the windows and everything is a faded shade of green save for the wooden floor.

 Cozy.

 I step over to the armchairs in the living room and carefully sit down. I feel the reassuring weight of my small snub nose revolver tucked into my sleeve press against my arm and I lay my steel briefcase on the coffee table in front of me. There is a tv placed on a cabinet in the living room tuned to the news. Recaps of reports on the killers latest victim. I've heard this one. The words 'killers latest victim' bounce around the room before I mute the TV. 

"Ah, sorry. you must have heard all about her by now detective. Can't believe they do reruns of cases like these. Poor girl."

This was the first news coverage of her. She was only 16. She was strung up on a street light and had all of her blood drained out of her mouth on her way back from school. The same happened to the victim before her, a middle aged man taking a walk alone was hung upside down from an electricity pole and sucked dry. None of the blood was ever found. Taken like sick souvenirs. At the station, we internally nicknamed him 'dracula' or 'the impaler'. The news reporter is standing in the rain and babbling on silently. A loud hiss comes from the kitchen and I turn to see the old man pouring something into a pan on the stove. He must still be hungry then. After frying whatever he is for a couple of seconds he pours it into a teapot and brings it over to the living room. He places two teacups and the teapot on a tray on the coffee table and sits opposite me. Strangest way to make tea i've ever seen. The rain sounds distant because of the closed windows.

I open up my briefcase and pull out some photos of the previous victims before they were hung up as the old man starts pouring himself some of the stuff from the teapot. 

I smell blood. 

These sinus infections are really a pain in my ass. The medicine I have been taking must be losing its effectiveness. I sniff and hold up a photo of the most recent victim.

"Let's start. Do you recognize this person?"

The old man squints at the photo, cup raised to his lips.