Has morbid curiosity ever gotten the better of you? Mine has. More than once. But the case that I’m going to tell you is graphic, horrible, and downright somber. This story is not for those who are faint hearted. I won’t say why, but take note of it. Ready? Good.
I’m a reporter for a local news station in the northern part of Missouri. The town has a little under 10,000 people, and most don’t watch the news, anyways. Most of the time, nothing of interest happens. But today was an exception.
See, this guy had a niece. A wonderful little girl named Miriam. Miriam was the life of our town. She could always put a smile on peoples’ faces.Such a lively young girl. About a month ago, her parents went out of town. They asked her uncle to look after her. Well, when he arrived, he took Miriam by the hand to the guest room to have her show him around. You can imagine how that turned out. It became the talk of the town.
Now the police have tracked down a p*******e who r***d and murdered his niece. Over the past month, I was tasked with doing interviews to keep everybody updated about the crime. The tracking led to a house that was previously checked, but not thoroughly searched. This time, it would be fully searched. A SWAT team showed up to assist the search, only because he was said to be armed and dangerous.
After about 5 minutes, we heard some movements above us. I was reporting, so I told everybody in the news staff to be quiet. The attic was opened, and two bullets were fired off. In mere seconds, the man was on the ground and cuffed. He was then taken down from the attic as a suspect. I tried to interview him, but he wouldn’t talk, and the police told me to leave.
I went down to the police station later that day to finish out the segment. I thought that they must have some information. Thankfully, when I arrived, I met up with my friend, a police officer named Tony. Tony was a gentle soul. One who always comforts the living victims of a crime, even if they’re moments away from death. I met him at the beginning of this case.
We walked inside to see into the interrogation room.
“They got some information out of him,” Tony said.
“Like what?” I asked in response.
“For starters: His name is John Tungsten. He’s the brother of Oliver Tungsten, Miriam’s father. John had always shown a desire for her, but it was secret until last month. Finally, he said he doesn’t regret it. What’s weird about all of this is that he was more nervous about the fact that the body couldn’t be recovered than anything else. He says he didn’t dispose of it. He didn’t have the chance, because he left to get a shovel and trash bag, but she disappeared by the time he got back. We’ve been on his tail ever since. As for the girl, she was born with the name Miriam Ann Tungsten. She was 12 at the time of the incident, but would have been 13 a week later. Brown hair, blue eyes. John reportedly gouged one eye out and impaled her with a bladed object.”
“Wow. A lot of info. Well, thank you, Tony.”
I turned back to the camera, saying, “This has been channel 1 news. Thank you for tuning in, and we hope to see you all next time.”
I was congratulated on a fantastic segment by my colleagues, after which they packed up and went out to the van. I was about to do the same, but then I realized: I didn’t get a chance to see the crime scene. I turned to see Tony walking away from me.
“Tony, wait up!” I hollered.
“What is it?” He asked.
“Am I allowed to check out the crime scene?”
“I wouldn’t know. I think it’s off limits to anybody not accompanied by police.”
“Then will you accompany me? I want to see it.”
“Absolutely not. You could contaminate the crime scene.”
“Please? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“What do you want?”
“Then how about a steak?”
“Sure. Tomorrow night for the steak, but I want to check it out today.”
“Alright, but only after my shift. Until then, see you later.”
“Alright then.” I left with the feeling of morbid curiosity. Obviously, the scene would make me feel sick to my stomach, but I wanted to see it for myself.
* * *
After clocking out, I went out to my car to go to the crime scene. It was a few blocks away from where I live. I saw that Tony had already arrived there. I parked my car and made my way over to where Tony was standing.
“You know I could get in trouble for this, right?” Tony asked.
“I’ll take any blame necessary,” I replied. We walked under the tape and into the house. We spent nearly an hour searching. I didn’t see much blood from the crime scene, which was strange, considering that even younger kids bleed a lot with a stab wound in their side. At least, more than what I saw. Aside from that, nothing of value was found, so I hollered to Tony to meet at the front door. I was making my way there when I heard a thud behind me. I turned to see what it was. I saw a book titled “Miriam’s Diary.” I picked it up and tucked it into my coat pocket as I made my way down the stairs to the front door.
“Find anything?” Tony asked.
“Nothing,” I told him. We exited the house.
“Well, I’m going home. Don’t forget that steak dinner tomorrow.”
“Alright. See you tomorrow.” We drove off towards our homes.
When I got home, I took out the journal and began reading. I sat down on my chair and spent hours looking through the entries. I turned on the lamp next to me when it got dark. At first, the entries were normal kids stuff. But near the end of the journal, things got strange. It talked about the crime that took place and the month after, leading up to today when Tony and I were searching the house. The entry written today read this:
Today, I plan to take the life of the man that traumatized me. For the past month, I lived in pure isolation. Since you’re reading this, it means you care enough about my situation that you’d help. So, knowing that:
WILL YOU HELP ME?
The last part seemed to be written in blood. I heard a faint voice coming from the other side of the room I was in that said those same words. I looked up to see a girl with brown hair, one blue eye, one gouged eye, a stitched-up stab wound in her side, blood on her clothing, and she was pale white.
“Miriam…” I muttered to myself.