8/7/2011

My name is Alex Krailie. I'm a detective here in Roswood Washington. Today is the first day of many where i sit here in my desk and stare at the blank wall until chief brings in some old hag who lost their cat and needs policemen to look for him. It's so dead here, i can't stand it. I didn't spend half of my life sitting in a classroom to throw brooms up tress to get cats to jump down and attack me. God i hate cats. Anyways, i can't stand to be here anymore. I wanna go. New York City, that's my dream. I can do real detective work. I don't even care if i have to be a mall cop, i just want to leave here and go on to better things. All i know is that if something doesn't happen soon, this tiny crowded town will be erased from my memory.

8/8/2011

I finally have some real work to do. Yesterday a woman came in balling, smearing her makeup all over herself. I felt terrible for her. She told me that her name was Sandra Anderson and that she woke up and her son, Max, was gone. Completely disappeared from the home. She went into his bedroom to wake him up for school and it was like he was wiped off the face of the earth. The blankets of his bed were moved in a way hat would have suggested he had gotten up, but he was gone from the premises. As much as i wanted to be sad for her, i was excited. I finally get to get out of the office and do something productive. I mean, practicing for being number one paper airplane builder is pretty productive, but i would much rather be out in the field told her that i would have to investigate Wednesday, since i don't work Tuesdays. I honestly can't wait for this case. It's time to be a real police officer.

8/9/2011

Since I’m not in the office today, i thought i would go over the "evidence" that Ms. Anderson gave me. First, some pictures of her Max's bed room the morning she found he was missing. She said he was seven, so nothing about the room was that surprising. A twin bed, Spiderman stickers on an old tv, Matchbox cars spread out on the ground. Nothing out of he ordinary from first glance. Then i notice his paintings on the walls. They were darker then anything i would expect from a seven year old. It seemed to be himself, holding hands with a suited figure. Anderson told me that after his father had past, he had taken a liking for art therapy. She gave Max washable paints for his room and he's been painting since. She said that this was a drawing of him and his father, but i don't know how true that can really be. This was different than anything I've ever seen. The figure was very stick-like, and had elongated limbs. It didn't have a face either, it was just a blank oval for the head. I know what's being imposed, oh he's just a child, this is his imagination, there is nothing out of the ordinary here. But, a child would never draw something like this. As i look closer, i also see writing. "he iS cOmiNg", right next to the figure. And as i looked, i saw that Max drew himself with a frowning mouth. His eyes were circles as expected, but with Xes drawn through both of them. I don't understand how a mother can let something like that go by without concern. As i start to take more out of this oversized envelope, I start to understand how serious this case really is. The next thing I pull out is a Zip-Lock bag filled with drawings. Anderson told me that he's has been drawing these for a couple weeks. Also, they're all just like his painting, and all just as disturbing. Let me try to explain a couple of them. The first one is a crude house drawn with trees around it. Hidden in the trees is the man again. This time it seems he is directed at the house (I say this for the mere fact that he doesn't have eyes, hence he can't be looking in any certain direction). Above his head it reads, “AlwAYs WATCHING”. Another, Max is looking around in the woods with the man behind him. This one says “hIde and SEEk” There's this one drawing where it looks like Max drew himself as a doll, or some sort of puppet, with the man holding him. It says “juSt A gAMe”. There is this final one that I found different all together. It's the man, holding Max like a baby, and Max is smiling in this one, but the eyes are the same as the wall painting. The man, it seems, has some kind of tendrils coming from his back, spelling out the words “don't RUN”, except, the O is similar to his eyes. That same symbol of the O crossed out with an X. As I stop finding drawings, there is one more paper in the envelope. I take it out, but as I hold it closer to my face my hands start to tremble. It's a picture of one his birthdays. Max and his father are outside on their porch, sitting at a small plastic table. But as you look in the background, you see something. I dropped the picture as I realized what was there. It was him. It was the man. Hidden carefully in the trees, you can see a tall man watching them from a distance. He was very very skinny; slender even, as in the drawings. His arms and legs were longer than any normal human should be. Although his torso looked a normal length, his arms looked like they were the ground, and his legs made him stand at about, eight feet, more or less. I had to pick up the picture, I had to write down the observations. It was hard to look, he, it, it's face was terrifying. A blank face. No eyes, no ears, no hair, the only feature I could see were the cheekbones. I had to look away, I didn't know what to think. Do we have some kind of killer in Roswood? Some masked man who steals kids? I have no idea what to think right now, all I know is that I have to lay down. This case will be the biggest project I have ever worked on. The only fact I know of as in right now, is that I may be in way over my head.