"It doesn't really matter who killed him, it's the point that he's dead, although I do recall saying Terry held the axe in his hand. You aren't doubting me are you? Does my story need solid proof to be legit within your mind?" Mark snarled in his raspy voice, raising his head up a bit. For an instant Detective Ramsy had a wave of uneasiness wash over him, but as quickly as he felt the uneasiness, he felt comfort, for his mind came back to the reality of the bindings on Mark's ankles. He was safe. Ramsy was sure of it.

"I apologize. I only asked because I wasn't sure who actually was the one who did what," Ramsy said casually as he placed several folder's and such into his leather suitcase.

"No. I apologize...," Mark Withershire said lowly.

Detective Ramsy gave Mark a weak smile and then got up from the seat, sliding the metal chair against the concrete floor with a loud screech. "Well, our time is up. You'll tell me the rest of the story tomorrow?" Ramsy asked as he prepared himself to leave.

Mark lifted his dirty blond hair covered head and nodded slowly. With that the detective left, glancing back at the prisoner. For some odd reason the detective felt sorry for him...so sorry that he even began to ponder on ways the Withershire brother could get out of prison. Ramsy knew better however. The best lawyer in the world couldn't save Mr. Withershire. He was damned and he would die in the electric chair or would spend the rest of his existence in prison.


I peered through the trapdoor. There I saw the purest form of pitch black I had ever seen. I could see nothing; only the rusty old latter that would aid one into getting in and from the laboratory below. The police claimed that they found everything they needed from down there, but, I couldn't push the feeling that much more was down there. My gut told me that Molly was somewhere in this house, alive or dead, didn't really matter. I needed to find out if they had indeed reanimated her. I needed to know where she was. Especially after getting the full details on how the two Withershire brothers had actually carried out their experiments...


Mark twisted the chain that bound his hand to the table idly as he waited for Ramsy to make the necessary preparations.

After a moment or two, Detective Ramsy finally said, "Alright, I'm ready. Before start though, I won't be staying as long as I usually do; I promised my daughter Abigail that I would come to her school play tonight." Mark nodded and motioned a boney finger toward the detective's left hand ring finger. On that finger was a wedding band.

"I...see that you're married...with children," Mark whispered so low that Ramsy had to strain his ears to decipher what the prisoner had said.

"Oh yes. Yeah, my wife Heather and daughter Abigail. Two most important people in my life," The young detective said with much pride in his voice as he looked at his wedding band, realizing how little he had looked at it.

"Hmm. Must be amazing...to have a family. How old is the daughter?"

"She's eight going on twenty," Ramsy said jokingly as he set up the tape recorder. "But yeah, she's a feisty eight year older, always wants to do things on her own. It's a good thing I guess."

Mr. Withershire smiled broadly, and the words, "The same age as Molly...when she passed away..." slipped off of his tongue with sinister ease. The smile that Detective Ramsy once had on his face from the thoughts of his family quickly faded into a stern gaze as he stared at the dirty blond hair that hang over Mark Withershire's face.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Detective Ramsy said lowly, struggling to keep his anger at bay. This task became increasingly difficult as Mark lifted his head and a wide toothy smile covered his face.

"I'm sure you know what that means," Mark said, chuckling a bit.

"No. I don't. Would you be so kind as to enlighten me?" Ramsy said, standing up. The guard at the door laid his hand on his pistol.

"Heh. Well, of course, if my brother were still alive and if we both weren't in this shit hole, we'd take that little family of yours and...well, you know."

"No! I don't know. What would you do, you sick bastard?" Ramsy screamed across the table, pounding his fists in rage.

Mark laughed deep in his throat and leaned forward, whispering, "First I'd fuck her. Then, I'd take those pretty little legs of hers and break them clean off her undoubtfully small and petite body of hers," Ramsy couldn't take another word and grasped hold of Mark's neck and held on as Mark continued, "Or, should I wait until she's filled out? Wait until that fruit has ripened?"

"You fucker! I'll fucking kill you!"

"This place already has," Mark struggled to say as he had limited air supply.

"That's enough!" The guard behind them said as he plied Detective Ramsy's fingers from around the other man's neck. When he left go, Mark's head flew back and for the first time the young man had seen the man's face. It was barely describable. His face was no longer a face. It had eyes and a mouth, but, nothing else seemed visible. His skin, so it seemed, was burnt to crisp. Of course most of the dead skin had peeled away, but there still was some left that clung to the bright pink skin that was left. It was so disgusting that Ramsy had to look away.

Mark was laughing hysterically, still shouting out things he'd love to do to the detective's little girl and wife; still being that sick minded man that Ramsy hoped he'd never see in that room. He knew Mark had it in him, but, for the most part of his series of interviews with the man, he had be well behaved. With that, the detective grabbed his belongings and his leather suitcase, and made his way out of the cold room, shaking his head as he did so. He briefly glanced back at a still laughing Mark, and then gave the guard a nod before walking down the hallway to the exit.


"I remember waking up from a dream one night and feeling as if someone was watching me. In the dream someone had kidnaped Abigail and killed my husband, so I reached over and combed my fingers through my husband hair and then I checked up on Abigail. Even though doing those things calmed me, I still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was in the house, so, I took at trip down to the kitchen where I had found the back door open. I happened to look outside the door to see someone running from our driveway, over to that empty field that leads to the highway," Heather said as she munched on popcorn with her friends. Every weekend her friends Clare, Courtney and Gwendoline came over and they just chatted it up on any subject at all. Tonight was the supernatural. Each one had apparently experienced a haunting and each have had "feelings" as if they were physic or something. In Heather's case, she thought she could see things through her dreams.

"Wow! Did you ever find out who it was? Did they ever come back?...Was he cute?" Gwendoline asked quickly, stuffing a fistful of popcorn in her mouth. Gwendoline was particular the most nosy one out of the bunch, which made her particular unpopular with the rest of the neighborhood women. Always in other people's business. She also was a redhead with pale skin. A lot of the men in the neighborhood were attracted to redheads...a lot of married men. This definitely made her particular unpopular.

"No. No and...I couldn't see him in the dark," Heather said, quickly answering Gwendoline's questions in one breath.

"Why in the hell would you ask her a question like that?" Courtney asked, crossing her legs and sipping at her fruity alcoholic drink. Courtney was probably the most outspoken of the group. She was Heather's only African-American friend and Courtney didn't seem to take that fact lightly. She always seemed to want to show Heather that she was a strong black woman and would have her back no matter what. From the four years that they've known each other, Courtney definitely was the only one Heather could fully trust.

"Exactly, I mean, that's scary having a dream like that and then you see someone running from inside your house," Clare said as she helped herself to the popcorn. Clare was what you'd call the ugly one. She had short black hair and she had pretty chocolate eyes, but everything else just didn't fall into place as well as it did for the three other women.

The three women continued their chatter, only stopping for a moment to pop another bag of popcorn or to refill their glasses with their choice of beverage. They continued this even as Detective Ramsy walked through the front door, giving them a friendly wave.

"Hi Detective!" All of Heather's friends said in unison, sounding like a bunch of dreamy eyed teenage girls. They all had a crush on the young detective. And it wasn't just because of his handsome looks, it was because he was also family man who definitely took care of his wife and child.

He waved once again and gave his wive a loving gaze before asking her, "Where's Abigale?"

"Oh, she's next door over Courtney's house with Lizzie," Heather replied.

Ramsy nodded and finally said, 'Well, you ladies continue enjoying yourself. I'm just going to go take a shower honey."

All of the women growled and began to pretend as if they were going to barge in on him while he showered, but, of course he knew better. The dark haired detective smiled brightly and made his way upstairs.

"MmmHM. Now that's a man!" Courtney said, leaning back and forth in her seat. "Girl, if you weren't my friend, I'd take that catch from you!" They all chuckled and Heather once again felt that warmth of pride as she listened to her friends compliment her man. But she also had that cold feeling as she briefly thought about how distant he had become recently. Ever since he took up that Withershire case he had become so wrapped up in it that he now had little time for his family. But, she knew that after the case was done and over with they'd have their Ramsy back.

Ramsy turned the knob toward the left to get the water a bit hotter. He sighed as the jets from the showerhead pound the water against his back, washing away the sweat and stress from off of him. It was all so confusing, this whole thing. Molly was suddenly the most important thing to him right now. He was so interested and strangely he had stopped caring about the girls that got murdered by Mark and his brother Terry. Suddenly it was all about Molly. Ramsy wanted...no, needed to know if they were indeed able to more or less reanimate her. It was human nature to become intrigued.
I closed the trapdoor, fear quickly outweighing my interests in the case. A cool breeze suddenly brushed across my face, causing me to stand up quickly, only to find that it had came from the open window next to me. I walked slowly to the window and gazed out of it. I could see my house from here...which was sort of strange, but, I thought nothing of it. I happened to be looking downward when I saw someone on the corner of my eye peeking from behind the side of the house. I didn't catch enough of them to decipher what they looked like, but, I did come to conclusion that they were small and were on the porch, which made me extremely uncomfortable seeing as I had left the front door open.

Could it be Molly?

I swiftly turned around and made a start down the hallway. As I did so, a loud thump sounded from down in the lab, like a wooden door slamming. My blood quickened and my already labored breathing became even more difficult. Suddenly that thick air became even more thick as I struggled to inhale and exhale. I pulled out my gun from my holster and pointed it at the trapdoor. I heard the thump again, which made me jump and for a second paralyzed me in terror. I couldn't fathom this fear. As a detective I am trained to deal with compromising situations, but for some reason, in this situation, I couldn't control my fear. From afar, sounding as if it came from the porch, I heard a little girl giggling and stomping her feet on the ground. This discovery was enough to cause me to have a heart attack, but, for some odd reason my body willed itself away from the trap door, down the hallway toward the front door.

Thump!

Again my body acted on its own, turning toward the noise which undoubtfully came from down in the lab. The giggling began again and then another thump, but, instead, this thump was followed by the creaking sound of the trapdoor opening and then slamming down on the hardwood floor. My legs collapsed when the fear of what was coming from that lab wash over me. My gun fell out of my hand and my vision went into a spinning blur. I almost fainted when I suddenly heard the voice of a little girl saying, "Daddy! Are you here?"

This was too much. My own fear and confusion mixed together in the pit of my stomach and before I knew it I was vomiting all over the floor. Footsteps sounded from around the corner, coming from the trapdoor. Finally coming to the realization that my life was in danger and that I had the power to protect it, I picked up my gun and aimed it at the walkway. The footsteps came to a halt. Then, they sounded again, except louder and quicker. But, this time they ran back to the trapdoor, which was followed by a loud slam sound as the wooden door fell to a close.

I grabbed my heart and panted as best as I could. This was all so overwhelming. It had all seemed under control, but now I was vomiting, and shaking my pistol like a scared woman. Why was I feeling this fear? What was it about this place that scared me so. I was instantly catapulted from my short pondering when I heard the giggling again...

Was it Molly on that porch? But if that is Molly, then who is in the lab?