The Bodies Of Missing Girls Have Been Showing Up In Our Small Town, And The Locals Are Starting To Fear A ‘Time Traveling Serial Killer’

I collected my senses in the dark. My eyes had already adjusted to the shallow light which only came from the moonlight which snuck through the canopies above and from some outdoor lighting on the nearby buildings.

Ready to move, I felt like a cop in a movie for the first time in my career. Maybe this thought should have told me I was in over my head. Especially considering I had no real plan once I got through the Carter perimeter.

My only real internal direction was that I should poke around the warehouse down at the bottom of property. I started walking the leafy perimeter of the fence, crouched and ready to strike like a scorpion should anyone approach me.

A buzz from my phone interrupted my operation.

Fucking Bruce.

I stopped and slipped my phone out of my pocket. My suspicions were correct, I had a text from Bruce:

I flew the drone around inside the house with the open window. You’re gonna want to check that building out.

I didn’t have the time or cover to start a back and forth with Bruce. I couldn’t believe it, but I was going to blindly follow the directions of Bruce Fox.

Another text from Bruce:

I bet the front door of the place is unlocked. Just head in. See for yourself.

I backtracked along the fence until I was right back behind the first house I came upon. I slipped around the side of the house and found the front door. Tried the handle. Bruce was right. It was unlocked.

I was shocked there was some light inside the house when I stepped in. A classic, standard, rural two-bedroom, the place had the decorative touch of a 60s housewife with doilies, mahogany furniture, pink wallpaper, fine china and family portraits providing the scenery. I couldn’t help but think the place looked how my mom decorated her houses in the brief periods when she had them.

Once a little bit into the room, I saw the source of the lighting was coming from a lit chandelier in the dining room which was adjacent to the living room I was still combing through. It wasn’t much, but the light gave me just enough illumination to take in the portraits stuck all over the wall.

Looking at the framed portraits made the already chilly room grow even a little bit colder. All of the photos were of the same thing – a pale, gaunt man dressed in a fine suit, sitting in a regal chair next to a stiff woman in a white dress stuck into a chair next to him. I pushed my face as close to one of the portraits as I could and lit the fire of familiarity in my mind. I knew the woman; I had seen her before. It was Georgia Marie August.