The Terrible Tale of Mr. 13
–Day 1 of My Investigation–
There's been another odd murder today. It was…It was grizzly. The victims' bodies were completely picked clean of anything on them. Nothing but bone and blood splattered about the house.
Their clothes were missing and only family portraits to distinguish each skeleton. On the floor were two children, a boy and a girl. Next to them were their parents, and one of them had a handgun. There were bloody hand-prints almost everywhere in the house, mostly on broken mirror shards.
Black cat fur and many raven feathers scattered all over. The only thing to hint us on the killer… was a number. The number 13 was written on the kitchen floor.
No shoe prints around belonging to the killer. A diary was on the table. I flipped through the pages and was shocked to find what was written inside. Something about a “Mr. 13.”
As I read on, he seems like a boogieman…but perhaps worse. There were clues as to how to tell he’s in the area, or when he’s found himself victims, or just one. They knew something was happening.
He seems to kill people where there's a significant amount of bad luck. I don't believe in such a thing, but the people in the neighborhood begged to differ. They wouldn't tell who, other than, “Beware of bad luck. He shows when there's enough of it.”
I shrugged off the superstitions, but something in my gut told me…I was wrong.
–Day 3 of My Investigation–
I’ve read up more on this “Mr. 13” and I’m more horrified than astounded. Apparently, it’s not just him that did the killing. Somehow, the nearby cats and flocks of crows and ravens gathered after they were slaughtered…and the victims…were devoured by the animals.
Words on this page here saying “Beware of black cats. Do not let them cross your path.” The page had a page of a poorly drawn cat with blood in its mouth. What was going on? I turned the page and it said, “Beware of Crows and Ravens. They are very intelligent.”
Again, the page had a picture. This time it was of a blackbird with blood on its beak. Then I flipped the pages and read them. Warnings and pictures of things I should look out for.
I recall crossing under ladders, using an open umbrella inside a building, and breaking a mirror causing bad-luck. I didn’t believe in such things. Then the last page…it was of a shadowy figure with a large grin. I saw white teeth with blood dripping from his mouth. More so, blood dripping from what looked like his hair. Somehow my heart sank when I gazed upon this supposed monster. I-I’ll try finding out what I can about this guy.
–Day 5 of Investigation —
I looked at what this “Mr. 13″ is, and I wasn't disappointed with the results. It seems there was someone fitting the description. Robert Thrumminger. Age 23, missing.
From childhood to early adolescence, Robert Thrumminger, an odd last name for a sweet and kind child, always was the face of an angel. He always strived to make himself happy, as well as make others happy in dark times. He offered a shoulder to cry on, moral support, and help for someone get through a bad day.
He drew a lot of attention to him, both good and bad. He had a record of causing himself and others misfortune. He was always being teased for it, being called ‘Thrumming Thirteen.” Sure the boy was bullied quite a lot, even threatened to be killed a few times by his oppressors in each school he was transferred to.
Of course, despite his generosity and gentleness on the outside…. one could almost tell there something to fear within him. It… It's hard to explain. I've been reading documented files on this boy of his past many years.
Somehow the doctors and psychiatrists refused to mention a whole lot about him, other than Robert was such a ‘nice boy’. The keyword being WAS. I looked at a few more pages of his records. All that was left in there was his abrupt disappearance and the death of his father after a blackout in his house. Something didn't add up.
-Day 7 of my investigation-
It has come to my attention that the people who knew the missing boy… say it started with a blood feud. Both families despised each other to the point of wanting to kill each other. One person in particular, a Ms. Rosalind Dane, the great-granddaughter of Elias Dane, told me that it all started during the misuse in hazardous chemicals in the early 1900s.
She forgot the exact location. A few of their family members were already fighting it out the day the feud began. She said that it was after the illegal dumping of the waste products of the factories near their location…the fumes began to get so thick that it reached their houses and the people’s minds were chipped away.
Ms. Crane said they experienced hallucinations, dementia, mood swings, even escalated to acts of savagery. Only a few people in those families knew better to move from that horrible place. But their minds were still withered away from prolonged exposure to those toxic vapors.
Throughout the decades, in 1990, Robert Thrumminger was brought into the world. His mother was happy. His father, however, became a drug addict and a fiend. He drank very little, but he did a lot of illegal drugs.
She said over the years, from what she’s been keeping track of, his mind too began to crumble under the weight of so much stress and druggy father. Then one day, Ms. Rosalind said, he disappeared without a trace after a one hour power outage.
As for his father, there was no noise, no screams, nothing. He died in silence. She wouldn’t tell me anything other than that.
Her hands were shaking violently. Her face…had the look of dread. What made this guy that terrifying? I was afraid myself but… I had to remain vigilant. I’ll admit it right now… deep down… I too was scared. I still am.
–Day 11 of my Investigation–
I forgot to update my logs but, there have been reports of 9 more murders in the last week. I've been going over evidence of this criminal and…. it makes my stomach churn to say… he's been killing innocent and people guilty of crimes.
Last night, I couldn't sleep over the thought of this thing… somehow finding me. I hope it never comes to that. I want to be the one that takes this guy out! How would I go about finding him?
Over the last week, I've experienced an unusual amount of questionable events. Similar to the causes of bad luck, I ended up going under ladders, cats crossed my path, and I also bumped into and broke a mirror.
Terrible things began to happen to me soon after. My wife began to become violent, my two kids distant from me, and my boss even considered firing me if I didn't solve this case. Is… Is this his doing? Mr. 13? Or should I say….Robert Thrumminger?
I need to try and get some sleep…but how can I when the thoughts of him and those pictures keep flashing before me? My mind… it's fading away. I need to stop him before I completely lose it all.
–Day 13 of My Investigation–
My mind it…My brain hurts to think about complex things now. I've decided to go out at night on Friday the 13th and hunt down Mr 13. He couldn't have gone far.
There were crows and ravens perched on mailboxes and phone lines. Black cats followed my every step. If I didn't move, they would circle around me…staring at me with those glowing eyes of theirs. Wait…they were glowing? Oh, oh my goodness…even the birds they…their eyes were glowing too. All of them were glowing red. I was surrounded.
I tried to continue on my way through the dense night on my search. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn't even answer that myself at this point. It hurt to think then.
Before I could venture over to the next block…a cold shiver ran up and down my spine. The air got colder. I experienced a cold sweat. My body was shaking as my eyes beheld a thick fog rolling in from the darkness.
It was him….Mr. 13 himself. Dressed exactly as the witness reports say. Ravens perched on his shoulders and head, cats clinging to his pants and surrounding him like his obedient servants waiting for a command.
Were those even his? It hit me… Those missing clothing… He was wearing them. He was wearing them like damn trophies!! All dressed in black and menacing to boot. He looked at me and grinned. Blood dripped from his mouth. It was fresh blood.
“Why are you doing this?” I shouted at him. I had to say something. My mouth wouldn't say the words I wanted to say. I was replied with a deep, monstrous laugh.
“Why? I'll tell you why…Herman.” he answered.
“H-how do you know my name?” I stuttered, slowly backing away but was stopped when I felt the gentle rubbing of the cats.
“One thing at a time.” He says, stopping right in front of me with a metal cane in hand. Those eyes… piercing through the glasses he wore… the same red glow. It was like looking into the eyes of a demon or a monster. I couldn’t move and felt short on breath.
“I am doing this, because it makes me so…so very happy to see people suffer. Myself included.” His answer made my skin crawl.
“It pleases me more when people are deserving of my special gift. The gift is of pain and misery. As for the question on how I know you?” He then slowly walked towards me…laughing at the same time. “I know because as of now, your family is no longer among the living.”
I heard those words, and I immediately jumped over the small group of cats and headed back to my house. I grabbed the doorknob only to find…it was unlocked. But how could that be? I locked it when I left!
I slowly opened the door…..and my whole family…. fell down onto the stoop. They were dead and covered in blood and fresh wounds.
“Enjoy explaining this to the police, Mr. Hathaway. As much as I'll enjoy taking your life, it'll be much more fun to watch you squirm and squeal like a pig,” Mr. 13 said as he turned around and stepped back into the fog from which he stepped from. The cats and birds followed him and disappeared. The cats on the ground around me followed suit. What they revealed made my heart almost jump right of my body.
It was more terrifying than the encounter with Mr. 13. On the ground next to me was… a bloody knife. It was then after my eyes met the weapon that the police arrived to the scene.
I now am in an asylum…far away from it all. My only hope is that no one… and I mean NO ONE…ever end up meeting, or going after Mr. 13. My mind is gone, and my soul stained. At least in this cell…I can find peace.
Wait…Oh God! Was that a blood covered raven just now by my window?
Credit To – John Kamm
Credit Link – firstname.lastname@example.org
Thanks for stopping by and reading this “Geek Short Stories – CrappyPasta” post.
You can submit your own previously unpublished horror, sci-fi, fantasy or fan-fiction Geek Short Story right here.
Not much is known about Brian Z. Some say it's because he is secretly preparing for the Z poc, others say it's because of the “incident” at Chicago Walker Stalker Con. All that we know for certain is he loves sci-fi, horror, and zombies.