The Window Seat where Charlie McGavin sat

For the movella mystery 'what's hidden on your street' competition!
Not like your ordinary movella- written with a twist sure to chill you to the bone! (sure did with my family!)
Please read and comment your thoughts- quite a unique way of writing!

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3. Charlie- Hazelnut Eyes

 

Name: Vicky Rose Gibson

Age: 45

Date of Death: 12th December 2012

Cause: Supposed suicide with 7mm kitchen knife

Funeral- 15th December 2012

‘A much loved member of the community whose friendly smile made anyone feel welcome in the pub she called home. Will be greatly missed. Requiescat in pace ’

 

I reclined back into the comforting burgundy window seat as I gazed into the snow-covered street beyond. A half empty beer glass and a folded copy of the obituary section of the Maisngthorpe News sat before me, along with a velvet pouch which one of my fingers rested in, carefully stroking its contents; a lock of blonde freshly washed hair; a small, trophy if you like, of my recent achievement. No children played in the snow today. Their parents had deemed the village to unsafe, after the seventh death this week. Only one child sat alone on a frosted bench, body buttoned completely up in a grey duffle coat and hat, only her pale forehead and hazelnut eyes visible through the endless amounts of wool and cotton. She stared directly at me, and I returned her stare, before turning my attention back to the pub. Custom had dropped since Vicky’s death; only a few lonesome villagers remained, sipping their ales half-heartedly and the new bartender, despite being overly friendly and flirty couldn’t quite match Vicky’s ways. It seemed that I was the only content one in the village these days; everyone else seemed to have this sort of discomfort about them and rarely stopped for chats. Children were ushered in to their homes before dark, and police patrolled the streets, making my job of prowling the roads a lot easier; I was no longer the one solely in charge of the safety of my victims. Saying that, I don’t think there’s going to be another kill soon. Not for a while anyway, not until the spark and vigor of the village has reignited. For now, I’m lying low. Keeping myself to myself and letting life pass me by in the comfort of the burgundy window seat, the thread now so unraveled it trails dusty wooden floor of the pub. And even when the solace of my own thoughts and opinions did get a bit much, it wasn’t as if I was completely lonely; a pair of hazelnut eyes did always make for good company.

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