Beating Under The Floorboards by Sweeney Ellkin

Beating Under The Floorboards

by Sweeney Ellkin

 

   A scream. One loud wail that has seemed to etch itself in my mind. I cannot remove it from my thoughts, for it has firmly planted itself there. I cast a weary glance up at the small home, and for a moment my stomach seems have floated up into my throat. I almost want to return to the police station, but my duty demands I face this mysterious cry heard by a neighborhood woman. We near the front door, and I can faintly hear breathing on the other side. I nod to Sebastian and Seamus, signaling it is time. Sebastian steps forward and knocks on the door with a large hand. I find myself nervous, me, of all officers. I've never been much of the nervous type, but today is different. This neighborhood hardly ever reports these things, and I fear something truly terrible has occurred tonight.

 

  The door swings open to reveal a man, whom I guess to be around the age of forty. He flashes a smile and welcomes us into the house, although I can't help but feel something is very wrong here. My mind races with possibilities as we are seated at what I can assume is the dining room table. I swallow, taking a moment to survey the room. It's rather dark, for the moonlight that had been cast over the home was now shut out by the closed door.

 

 

  I drift off into my own mind while the man makes idle chit-chat. He speaks of the man's trinkets, and how each is accounted for. I don't listen however, I can concern myself with larger issues. Although, what can I make of this?  A shrill scream in the dead of night. I can tell you now, this doesn't happen often. It's rather unsettling, actually. What I can't place, is when did the elderly man leave? I haven't the slightest idea how this man ties into the story, but it seems he does have some connection to the old man.

 

 

  I almost want to take my leave of this house, but something makes me stay. The sudden chill running down my spine tells me something, whispers in my ear, do not leave, for the story is about to unfold. I obey, keeping myself seated long enough to witness something that sparks curiosity in me. The man has begun to look wildly around him, his chair thudding against the floor with every move he makes. As if every puzzle piece was gathering to place themselves together, the scream's owner would soon be unmasked, and I believed I was sitting just a foot and a half from the man who caused it. 

 

   All of a sudden with pain in his expression, the man confesses. I sit back and smirk as he wildly tries to cover his ears. He shouts, stomping on the floor. My smile is mirrored by my two colleagues, for we all know now what man has committed the horrific act. Under the floorboards, the faint bum-bum.. bum-bum.. was heard by this murderer, and it was the noise that told the story. The beating that helped events unfold. I had found my murderer, and here he was, hollering right before me.

 

the end.