Blogtober 2023
Carl had settled down considerably once he was deposited in the back of the police cruiser, a ride he was quite familiar with. He had soaked Clarkton’s handkerchief scarlet, but the cut on his head appeared to have stopped bleeding.
“You boys arresting me?” Carl asked.
“No, Carl, I’m not wasting a day’s worth of paperwork on you,” Clarkton said. “Tell us what else you know about Virgil, and we’ll take you home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” Carl insisted. “I live in the woods, and it’s not safe there.”
“Because of the flying monster.”
“Look, detective, I know I’m a drunk,” he said. “Been that way since high school. Me and Virgil used to drink together until he got too mean. But he came to me after he saw that thing, dead sober, and we went looking for it. We saw it, and then it saw us. It came for Virgil, and now I’m next.”
“Are you saying you want us to put you into lockup?” Murphy asked.
“Call it protective custody,” Carl said. “I’ll help you find this thing.”
“Best we can do is a holding cell,” Clarkton said, “and I wouldn’t be jealous of any man willing to sleep in a concrete box.”
“I wouldn’t be jealous of anyone in the woods tonight,” Carl said. “Once that creature finds you, you’re a goner for sure.”
“You might have to stay there a night or two,” Clarkton said.
“At least I’ll stay alive,” Carl replied.
Photo credit Adobe Stock #356506316
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