The breeze from the air conditioner makes the hairs on my neck stand up. The cold metal chair doesn’t help either, but I have the leather jacket Chris gave me. It isn’t warming me, but at least it’s keeping me from freezing.
Looking around the interrogation room, I get a strange gut feeling. It’s odd being the one interrogated instead of the watcher behind the glass. At least the watcher knows everything is fiction—unless it’s a documentary.
My mind snaps back when I hear the door open. Two investigators walk in, the same ones I saw at the crime scene—one young, one old.
“Hello, Marie Bell. I’m Detective James, and this is Detective Harvey.”
I lift my hand slightly in greeting. I’m not interested in meeting new people, but I can’t control that right now. I just have to play the kind-hearted person.
“I know you’re still recovering from what happened that night,” James says, “but if you need more time, we can schedule another day to ask you questions.”
I immediately shake my head. “No, no, I’m fine. I’m ready to answer.”
James nods and takes a seat in front of me. Harvey stands behind him, arms crossed.
“Okay, to start things off, tell me about yourself.” James clicks his pen, ready to write.
I take a deep breath. “My name is Marie Bell. I’m a freshman at Rockmore University. I major in marine biology, and I used to work as a pickup driver for Cube to make some extra cash.”
James nods as he writes. “Tell me everything that led up to the attack.”
Before I can answer, Harvey cuts in. “And don’t leave anything out. We need as much info as we can get.”
I nod, letting my mind drift back to that day.
“It was my first day on the job. My first client was rough. I think his name was Andrew or Charlie, but let’s just say he had a lot to say about women’s rights. It was uncomfortable, so I turned on the radio to cut him off. That’s when the station started reporting on the murders—an unknown serial killer targeting women and convicted assailants charged with sexual child abuse. The word women gave the man even more to say. He joked, ‘Oh, women have these tasers and pepper spray, but I guess that ain’t doing nothing.’” I mock his voice, deep and groaning.
“After I dropped him off, my next rider was just a block away. The door opened, and I saw—” I pause, carefully choosing my words.
“What did you see, Marie?” James stops writing, watching me.
I sigh, knowing how crazy it will sound. “I looked in my rearview mirror, and there were three witches in the back seat. Pointy hats, long black dresses with ripped sleeves, and crystals for jewelry.”
James glances at Harvey, both wide-eyed. “Um, Marie. You do know those could have been goth people or costumes,” he says, clearly concerned.
I shake my head. “I knew they were witches. They talked about herbs, spells, and cauldrons. I even remember their names. Two were called Sarah, but one was Sarah O and the other Sarah G—they had letter necklaces to tell them apart. The third one must have been the leader. She was named Titi, though in the app she appeared as Tituba. She stared at me the whole ride.”
“I’m sorry, one moment—” Harvey interrupts, leaning into James’s ear. “James, are you sure we should keep questioning her? I think she might have hit her head during the attack.”
Offended, I snap back. “I’m being real. I saw witches. Titi even said, ‘I can see a bad future for you, like an evil spirit.’ Then she gave me a small black obsidian crystal and said it would protect me from evil. But when they got out of my car, I blinked, and they turned into normal girls—old, classy, preppy clothes. The crystal had become a small black whistle.”
James tries to stay neutral, but Harvey’s disgust is obvious.
“Look, if you think the witches are crazy, you won’t believe the rest of my riders,” I continue. “One of them was an alien with green skin and antennas named Marcelo Gomes. I drove him to the hospital—the same one I’d end up in after the attack. In a blink, he was just a teenager who immigrated to the United States as a child from Brazil, interning to become a nurse. He was good at comforting people, and he kept me sane while I was stuck in a hospital bed.
“My next rider was a porcelain doll. White cracked skin, glassy eyes—her name was Brianna Ghey. I dropped her off at a club where she DJs. Then, in a blink, she was a transgender woman and a music artist. One of my saviors.
“My last rider was—”
I pause.
“Who was the last rider, Marie?” James asks.
I fidget, hiding the truth: Chris was a masked killer, part of the murders. But he’d told me he was a hunter, different from the serial killer. I find the pigs of the earth and make them squeal. And I take my time with the butchering too.
In a blink, he was just an African American guy, my age, leather jacket, short dark locs covering his eyes.
Before I can explain, Harvey explodes. “Are you kidding, James? You’re buying this? Monsters and ghouls? She’s not in the right mental state—probably schizophrenic.”
I slam my hands on the table, standing up. “I’m not mentally ill, and they’re not monsters! If we’re talking monsters, let’s talk about the riders with their hate—calling Marcelo an illegal criminal, Brianna a pervert who assaults women in bathrooms. Or the real monster—the one who should be paying for my damn therapy!”
Silence. My breathing is the only sound, ragged and loud.
James clears his throat. “Yes, Marie. Let’s talk about the criminal, Ted Wade. What happened that night?”
I sit back down, coughing. “It was the end of my shift. I was clocking out, and my roommate asked me to grab Chinese takeout. As I headed back to my car, a man with crutches asked for help. He’d dropped a bag. I put the food in my car and jogged over.
“As I bent down, he wrapped his arm around my neck and covered my mouth. He whispered, ‘You scream, I spill your blood on this sidewalk.’ He dragged me toward his trunk.
“I bit his arm, broke free, and sprinted down the street. I ran until I reached a club, begged the bouncer for help, but he thought I was lying to get inside. The killer caught up. I shoved past the bouncer and ran inside.
“I found Brianna in the bathroom. She hugged me while I sobbed, called the police, then tried to get me out the back of the alleys. But the killer followed us. He raised a knife—Brianna stepped in front of me and took the blow. She told me to run.”
I swallow hard, reliving it.
“I ran. The killer chased me through the alley. When he caught up to me he slammed me against a wall. Mocked my cries and taunted me with his knife. I was ready to die. Then I remembered the whistle. I blew it—ear-splitting, like a dog whistle. It stunned him, but I couldn’t move from the pain.
“He recovered, raised the knife. But before he struck, someone attacked him. Fists, scratches—then a hunting knife. He fought until Ted Wade stopped breathing.”
James lowers his pen. “Who was the man?”
“Christopher Scarver,” I whisper.
James nods. “And after that?”
“Chris took me to the police waiting outside. I told them what happened. Then I was sent to the hospital.”
James thanks me and apologizes for Harvey. But Harvey interrupts again, furious. “Apologize? She admitted she saw monsters! What if she killed them herself?”
James orders him out. Harvey storms off like a child.
“Sorry about him,” James says. “You’re free to leave.”
I shake his hand, then head outside. Chris is leaning against my car. Mask, machete, apron—then in a blink, just Chris.
“So, how’d it go?” he asks.
“Well, besides getting called mental, it was fine.” I hand him back his jacket.
He laughs. “Jeez, rough day.”
“Yeah. I’m starving.”
He pulls out his knife, joking. “I could eat a pig.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m vegan. We’re getting salad.”
“Boo. Boring.”
We drive off into the city.
Author’s Note:
I was inspired by discrimination and how people use terms that you hear in horror films. Most ever monster character is based off of someone in real life and I wanted them to be based off of real people because I want to bring light to people who have been a victim of discrimination. Especially the doll character.
Avery Rayne Strickland | 15 | Sacramento, CA | @averycosplay101 on TikTok
