A Short Story or Titled, "The Pitch."

This is amateur writing at the least. Very lame plot, poor idea, but came from being bored one day and after watching a bunch of horror crime films. Here it is, an old short story that for whatever reason I call "The Pitch."



The pitch-black room was filled with a decaying smell of death. The officers walked in, one of them turned away and puked on the already desecrated floor boards of the old decrepit apartment room of West 4th. There was a murder here and not just you’re normal horror story either. Every limb had been nailed to the wall; each arm and leg had been severed from the torso. The cuts were so fine it looked as if a professional butcher had just prepared a cow for a feast. The appendages were placed in a Picasso style fashion. The arm was where the leg should be and well you get the picture. The most gruesome thing any of the policeman had ever laid their already pained eyes.
Randy Webster, the head detective of the Mansfield Police Department had never seen anything like he had seen during the past weekend. Studying the gruesome pictures he slowly realizes there is something more to this than just revenge or some sick killing. He recalls the movie Se7en and thinks to himself “maybe this has something to do with that movie.” The strange thing is know one could put there finger on why or who would have performed such an act. Mansfield, OH was a small city. There were murders and normal crimes that occur in a city but nothing like this. This entire thing shook everyone and anything in that town.
Tuesday hits and in the Mansfield News Journal there is a code. Detective Webster is in shock, Webster thinks, “Now he is copying the Zodiac? What the fuck is going on?” His thoughts were exactly right, a killing that may resemble something out of the movie Se7en and then now a code from what was the real Zodiac killer. The code appeared to be in something that looked like a mixture of Roman, Russian, German, Chinese and Japanese. Each letter was alternated, flipped upside down, or skewed to make it harder to decode. This killer was not original in anyway but it was frightening for everyone that this was happening in such a small town.
A week later, another gruesome murder occurs. This time an eighteen-year-old girl named Sabrina Whitcalf. Her head was carved perfectly off her perfect little body. Her fingers and toes were snipped off with what appeared to be a pair of fresh scissors. The scissors now had dried blood encrusted around their sharp edges. The blood of the snipped off phalanges were used to write, “I am here, I am your best friend.” Webster busts through the door and suddenly gasps; he yells “Get out!” to the investigation team. The detective slowly walks into the room. Again, the room is dark and smells of death, a chill creeps up the spine of Detective Webster, he shakes hard and steadies his fast paced breathing. He thinks, “Why must this be happening to me? I’ve seen this sort of thing in make believe case files, I’ve been a part of the Force for ages now and never have seen anything like this. Why now?”
John Romero, Webster’s apprentice, comes into the room and asks, “What the fuck is this Randy?” The detective is speechless, he has no answers, and he only has his thoughts.
Weeks and months fly by and killings happen all over the city of Mansfield. There are three more codes printed. Many more messages from the killer and no leads. No one has any clue what or how this is all happening. In this day and age there should be leads with in the first couple of crime scenes. No finger prints, no shoe marks, no traces of any sort of DNA is found. How does a single person perform such acts as carefully and precise as they are?
The twentieth murder occurs and an old tape player is found at the scene. Detective Webster pushes play; it is the voice of his wife Dianne. The message says, “Randy, I am tired of running and I am tired of killing. Please help me! I’ve lost all connection with life. I’m dying. I’m dying! I AM DYING! Webster drops the tape and begins to shed tears of pain and sorrow for what he has just heard. He rushes home and finds his wife strapped down to a chair, her tongue has been ripped out. It is not finely sliced off as with every other killing. It was literally ripped out. Her muffled screams fill the room. He runs to her and screams, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE DIANNE!?” She cannot respond. She only cries and struggles to break the bonds that have her tied to the chair. He pulls out his gun, he shoots her point blank in the head. Detective Webster falls to the ground and sobs uncontrollably.
A few minutes later the detective regains himself and searches his own home. He goes to the basement to find what are pictures, grotesque pictures. He hears a crack in the floorboards above. Someone else is in the house. He pulls his gun and slowly walks up the stairs, the door is opened, like a flash of lightning he goes spiraling back down the stairs and cracks his skull on an old wooden workbench.
Days go by, even weeks. No one can find Detective Randy Webster anywhere. Searches are conducted everyday.
Detective Webster awakens in a pitch-black room, a small window shines the warm sun onto his face. He is tied to the same chair is deceased wife was tied to. The door flies open and there is a dark figure standing in front of the window blocking out the warm sun. Webster tries to yell, but like his wife, his tongue has been ripped out. His fingers and toes have been severed off. His intestines are lying in a pile next to him. The dark figure speaks, “I am here again, your best friend. Have you missed me? Finally you get to lay your eyes upon my masterpiece.” The lights are flipped on and the man standing in front of the detective is dressed in a red outfit. It is not just the color red but it is the blood of his victims. His gloves, shirt, pants, boots and mask are all made of human skin turned inside out to reveal the veins and blood. The psychotic figure removes the mask and underneath this horrific display is John Romero, Detective Webster’s apprentice. Webster begins to go into a fit of rage and struggles to the point where he cannot move anymore. Romero grabs a knife slashes at Webster. Brutal screams erupt; the painkillers are starting to wear off. The killer slowly begins to finish off the detective. Hours later a final gunshot is heard.
Romero was never caught, nor seen again in Mansfield. The remains of Detective Randy Webster were never found and the case is still open even after ten years. Romero still remains at large but has committed no crimes since. Detective Webster was the only one to have seen him in his gruesome skin suit.