Headstone House - Chute
By: Rosalyn Price
A grave is where you go to end a story. And the more stories that end, the more headstones you find. I suppose if you build a house atop the headstones, it becomes a place that welcomes those that are already dead. And if you listen closely to the walls, you can hear the cold pulse that still runs through them. And all the stories they carry. I lived in a house like that for 204 years. The Headstone House, I called her. And I know all her stories. This is but one.
“Mr. Lundy, you do understand that Donovan Price was last seen on these premises, correct?” Detective Downs inquired.
The detective took a log drag from his cigarette.
I had poured tea for the inept officers, but they insisted on coffee. And they only waited to make that request until after I had gone to all the trouble.
I suppose when you have dozens of murders that all end at the same house, and no results, you’d like to push the buttons of whomever lay at the center of your most reliable failures.
Truthfully, I didn’t mind.
I felt bad for the poor bastards, because they were questioning a nightwalker, expecting him to crack on the subject of murder.
It simply wasn’t done.
They may as well have been questioning a barrel of poisonous snakes.
“I understand, but I’m not sure you do, detective. Mr. Price has not been here in quite some time. I’d like to see him caught just as badly as you do. If even half of what you told me is true, he would never be welcome in my home.”
“We have reason to believe that anyone he has come into contact with would have been his accomplice in all of the missing children cases around town.”
“He has one child that I’m aware of. Little Franklin is twelve years old, and is a most considerate child. And in all the time that Joyce and her son have been here, Donovan’s presence here has been fleeting at best.”
“Mr. Lundy, are you aware that it’s a crime to lie to a police officer?”
“Oh, yes. And I’m quite aware that accomplice liability is the intentional aiding, counseling, commanding, or encouragement of a crime. All of which would be difficult, considering that I don’t even know where Mr. Price is.”
Detective Downs looked at the floor, and tightened his clasped hands together.
“Mr. Lundy, this is not the first time you’ve fallen under suspicion. And this is certainly not the first time that strange disappearances have happened under this roof. How do you explain that to people?”
“Quite simple really. You’re seeing patterns that are not there.”
“Patterns that aren’t there? Is that your defense?’