It was a bright autumn day as a black pulled up outside the small brick house and the agent inside it checked the file. The man read over it quickly to confirm he had arrived at the right location, and headed up to the door. After a brisk knock he waited until Mr. Quincey Addams' caretaker answered. He explained that he was with the police and that they wanted to ask some questions, and that there was nothing to worry about. After many reassurances and promises of safety he left with Mr. Quincey Addams and headed down to the police department and brought the child inside. The agent sat him in Detective Colm Davies' office and told him that the detective would see him soon. With that the agent left Mr. Quincey Addams alone.



@Polyphemus@ADParis



The large two-story house loomed ahead surrounded by police tape, its windows darkened and void of life. Most people steered clear of the now infamous house as the couple that lived there had recently become deceased under some rather strange circumstances... Even though the windows were curtained it seemed that something had moved away from a window as it was gazed upon. Perhaps the perpetrator had returned?



@SmileyJaws

Colm was not comfortable with this arrangement.

There were many reasons for that. One, this was his first case with Homicide. It had ended up in his lap precisely because he was a rookie- no veteran detective wanted anything to do with this one. An unreliable child witness, a never-before-seen MO, political pressure from up top. The veterans weren't wrong to assume this one wasn't solvable. So they dump it on the new guy with excuses about "fresh eyes" and "youthful energy" and wait for the press and the bigwigs to lose interest so they could quietly pretend none of this ever happened. Colm might be new, but he was far from naive. He had seen this kind of thing plenty of times as a uniform, no reason to think things would change as a detective.

Two, the kid. Of course, the kid. The only eyewitness just had to be some six-year-old. He wasn't really good at dealing with kids in the first place. He didn't have any children himself, but he had enough nieces and nephews to know that his default response to talking to kids was a lot of stammering and awkward shuffling. He just didn't know how to speak to them.

Still, someone needed to do something. People were dying. Including the poor kid's parents. Sure, Colm didn't really like kids but come on, no one deserved that.

He poured himself a cup of coffee, the dropped a few chocolate chip cookies on a plate. Maybe a snack would put the child at ease. When the Social Services people brought Quincey in, he smiled, pointed at the cookies. "You must be Quincey. Have some cookies."

Colm spoke calmly and clearly, trying to sound nice and comforting. The last thing he needed to deal with was his witness turning into a crying mess. "My name is Detective Davies, but you can call me Colm. I'm a policeman, and I'm going to catch the bad man who did this to your parents. You've been a really brave boy, Quincey, but I need you to be a brave boy just a little longer and tell me exactly what happened." He got out his notebook expectantly, ready to take some notes.

Q scooted himself deeper into the smooth leather chair, not really wanting to talk about what's still haunting him whenever he closes his eyes for even a moment. The boy could feel himself already starting to get worked up - how could he not be right now? He kept asking himself if he could really even tell the truth. They wouldn't believe that he saw a stick-thin man with gross hand-fingers and a smile that was just way too big and happy to be a real, genuine smile. He took off his gray beanie, toying with it in his hands, trying to figure out how he's going to say what needs to get said.

"I-it was really late and I shoulda been asleep, but I-I woke up when, um.. I-I heard Mom and Dad.. Laughing but.. Screaming," his voice wavered slightly as he tried to remember it as accurately as he could - he knew he could trust the police, his auntie had said it at least four times before the agent had taken him here. He let himself take a breath so he didn't get winded speaking, then continued, "It was a really weird noise that didn't sound normal.. I didn't wanna look and get in trouble cause they were, I dunno, uh.. T-t-tickle-," Q shuddered, not wanting to even finish his sentence. That stupid word used to just be that - a word. It didn't mean anything, and it hasn't since a year ago. He was too old for... that. But with everything that's happened, and the fact the monster even exists..

"Play-fighting," Q continued, adjusting his wording so he wouldn't have to say that horrible word again. "But then it started to sound more serious and bad, so I got up to make sure everything was ok, a-and.. and then.. I.. The.. I-it wasn't a man - it looked like a man but it wasn't a man.. A-and, he.. He was over m-my m-mom, a-and dad, a-and.." Q's voice was a squeak, and when he tried to continue, he couldn't keep himself from sobbing.

Colm fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat. He really didn't feel right talking to this kid, and he felt worse at having dredged up obviously painful memories. Pity welled up in Colm- he was a decent enough man, he didn't like to see a little kid bawling. He had confronted his share of crying people in his time as a police officer, but it was much easier with adults.

Colm did the only thing he could, grabbing a wad of tissues and holding them out to the little boy, while trying to offer a comforting smile. The poor kid needed an adult to make things right, and it was looking like him. Colm's determination to find this mystery killer got a small boost from that sobering thought.

"You're doing great, Quincey," he said softly and- he hoped- soothingly. "This is going to be a lot of help in catching this bad guy." He waited until the sobs subsided a little before plowing on. "Now, tell me a little more about this guy. You said it wasn't a man, was it a woman? What kind of clothes were they wearing? And what col-" Colm stopped short, unsure how to broach the subject of race with this kid. "Uh, was their skin, uh, like mine?" he said, gesturing at his own Afro-American features. "Or like the nice man who brought you here?" he said with a point to the white Social Services agent, watching carefully through the office window. With any luck, Colm could at least coax a useful description out of the poor kid.

Q had taken the tissues to blow his nose and dry his face (not in that order, of course) as Malcolm tried to soothe him. If he was honest, he wasn't really good at it and Q couldn't help but laugh a little.

When the officer had brought up more questions, Q didn't answer right away. Again, the doubt in his mind was telling him that the officer wouldn't believe what he saw with his own two eyes, especially since Malcolm had asked about skin color and if it was a girl or a boy, like the thing that killed his parents was even human. He briefly thought about lying so he wouldn't look like an idiot or a, ironically enough, a liar, but his father told him to always tell the truth, no matter what, much like his aunt had that day.

He looked up to the expectant detective, still fighting with himself on what to say. Maybe he could just play it like it was "too hard to go on," even if it wasn't to that point.. yet.

No, no, no.. I can't do that. It's wrong.

On top of it being wrong, he wasn't a baby. He was confident he could keep going without sobbing like that again. He's tough. His mom always told him he was a tough kid, and he was gonna be tough now. For her. For both of his parents. He inhaled deeply again.

"I-it wasn't a person," Q stated, hoping he didn't sound dumb saying it. "It.. It was a thing. It looked like a p-person, but it wasn't. I-it just wasn't. It was real tall - way taller than my dad is-! Um.. w-was," the child hesitated for a short moment, trying to judge if he was about to start crying again. When he found that he wasn't, he continued, "He was in a kinda, uh.. r-r-robe thing, and it didn't look like he had eyes at all. I didn't see a shine or anything. I can't really tell you the rest of the face, cause it was pretty dark.. I think he was smiling at me? Not a really nice smile, though. A scary one."

There was a sudden commotion outside the office as people began shouting and grabbing coats. It wasn't long before most of the police had taken off, and another detective burst in. "Sir, we've had another indecent." The detective looked over and saw the child, choosing his next words carefully. "It's happened again, same MO, same appearance. Chief wants you to go ASAP. He also take the kid if you have to." with that the detective took off to his own tasks.

@Polyphemus@ADParis

Colm looked up and grimaced at the eerie description, then grimaced harder when he got the summons from his coworker, then grimaced even more when he saw that the Social Services guy had vanished. Where could he have gone? Wandered off for coffee, maybe? At any rate, Colm couldn't leave Q unattended. He had to get the kid back to his aunt.

He looked around irritably as he pulled his department-issued SIG P226 from the drawer he kept it locked in. Nowhere in sight. He'd have to watch the kid, but it's not like a detective could just stay at the office when there was a fresh crime scene to check out.

Colm came to a snap decision, one he hoped he wouldn't regret. "Okay, Quincey, you've done great. Now, I'm gonna give you a ride back to your aunt, but I'm going to have to make a stop first, alright. Now, you have to promise me you won't touch anything and stay in the car." He looked around for some way to distract the youngster. Colm's eyes lit on a superhero comic that had somehow gotten mixed in with his mail, then gently set it in Q's hands. "There you go, pal," he said as he escorted the young man out to his car. "Why don't you read that, then you can tell me all about it."

Placing Q in the backseat of his departmental Crown Vic and making sure the boy was safely buckled up, he started the lights and sirens and sped towards the scene of the crime.

On a bright autumn day, Jack found himself outside the house of the most recent victims to the so named "Tickle Monster", a probable serial killer that has drawn a lot of attention in the online community quickly getting many "creepypastas" written inspired by the story and even being named in one local newspaper under the headline "Real Life 'Creepy Pasta' Hits Home". Checking his camera and taking a look around to make sure no nosy neighbors were about to spot him trespassing on a crime scene, Jack Fincher, photojournalist approached the front door and police tape. While he was examining the house he couldn't help but think he'd seen something in the window that then scurried away. Perhaps the perpetrator has returned! He thought, mocking his own paranoia, probably a byproduct of all the reading on the case and associated stories. Jack knew this would be a big one, get it out there first more about the killer or whatever it was and in the meantime document about the scenes and culture growing around the Tickle Monster.

He tried the handle of the front door, although he knew it was locked anyway and didn't disturb the police tape. Jack took another cautious look over his shoulder, making sure no one had spotted him, he made his way around the side of the house, trying the windows he could reach and fit into. It seemed like the house was pretty well locked up, all the doors were locked, including the garage, and all the windows seemed to be too. Jack was about to give up hope and just snap a couple of shots of the house from different angles and write up about something to do with it, A bullshit article showing one of the scenes inspiring the tale... He was disheartened by that thought and then saw a basement window. Smaller than most and probably locked he got down on all fours and tried it. Locked. Something in him told him to try again and when he did with a little more force the window opened. The house had been very secure but whoever locked the place up didn't observe the broken latch in the basement window. He slid in and closed the window as it was behind him, hopping off a box piled under the window onto the basement floor, he was in! Jack took some shots of the basement, there wasn't anything too strange but this could have been the way the perpetrator got through.

After a while of snooping around he found himself on the ground floor, exiting the basement close to the locked front door. Through the tempered glass he could make out the strips of tape going across the door. Turning further into the house he felt drawn to go upstairs before anywhere else.