The Binding of Lizzie Boomjoy
by Cole Davies
This is the story of a strange experience I had once. Let’s just say I met a friend that I haven’t seen in a long time. But she wasn’t happy to see my other friend who came with me. Point was that I learned that some people need to learn to love. More for the people who are hard to understand and can be confusing at times. And boy she is hard to understand but needs the love. This is the time I made friends with someone who both loves me and wants my blood.
This was the Binding of Lizzie Boomjoy.
In the city known as Portcity, in a weird way it had a poor side. Which was called Dustown where a lot of old buildings were never well rebuilt or remodeled. Sure some people refurbish their houses but they still look old in that way. But this was the place I and my best friend lived pretty much for our whole lives. My name is Reese Kyle, not to be confused with Terminator. For most of my life the only thing that’s kept me going is exploring the town and my best friend. I and Ozama had been friends for some time. That’s because we’re the same, not because we're both white. He’s actually black among the few black families that live in town. But he and I are both nobodies at school. Not in the sense no one likes us. Nobody just didn’t want to talk to us.
So like misfits we stuck together and didn’t care about what the world thought. But I’m getting off track, this story is supposed to be about well. The time Ozama and I went exploring and stuck our noses where they shouldn’t be. Throughout all the small wooded areas and the big crack sewers. There just was something unusual about this old house in the open part of town. There weren't any other houses near it and it felt out of place. It stood tall in some open field with a dead garden to the left with a spawn-like tree on the right. As usual I went in the classic red rubber jacket that looked like it had pop culture sticks on it. Not to mention my pair of aviator goggles and shaggy brown hair. Ozama always has his buzz-cut hair style and his sick camo bandana with an average long-sleeved t-shirt.
As we headed up a flight of old stone brick stairs. Ozama pointed out how there were lots of “Private Property” and “No Trespassing” signs. Still walking towards the abandoned house, chains hung from the trees as well giving a creepy vibe. Going further we got a good look at how dry and chipped the house’s paint had become. “You know I heard somewhere that a banshee lives here.” Ozama said. For a moment I pondered what he said to me. “Wait where did you hear that?” I asked. “You know when people talk and you can’t help but hear. That’s where I heard it.” I agreed of course because I often eavesdrop on people. But not on purpose.
Stepping onto the porch, we stopped and hesitated while looking at the door knob. We looked at each other wondering who was going to open the door. After a minute or so I mudieder “I’ll open the door.” Slowly as it opened to much our surprise it was awfully bright. Well not that something blinded us, it was more like there were holes in the roof. Taking a look around we saw the boards of wood which covered the windows. Were on the inside as well implying that once lived in this house. Through a hallway I took the only right and went into the living room which showed a huge hole in the roof from above.
Ozama conutined down the hallway to the only left and turned. Finding out that what was supposed to be the stairs down to the basement. Turnout to be a cobblestone wall down a few steps of stairs making it a weird deadend. Going back down the hallway in a bit of a rush. He found Reese in the living room where he left him. Crouching next to him Ozama saw that Reese was looking at some kind of old kid’s drawing. “Uh whatcha lookin at?” I got startled at my friend’s question and knocked myself into the wall. Near me was a flower pot with a dead plant inside. Standing up and dusting myself off, “I found this drawing in here and I thought it looked familiar.” I explained. “Oh and you almost gave me a heart-attack.” “Sorry.” He told me.
With leaving the faded picture on the floor, we decided to make our descent. Going back through the hallway to the way we came. Ozama and I went up the stairs leading to the second floor. But as I kept going up the stairs, Ozama saw that there was a painting behind them. Hung up on the wall above the staircase, for a moment he thought something wasn’t right. Staring deeply into the painting Ozama couldn’t tell if it binked or not.
As for me I found that the same room which was above the living room had no ceiling. Showing that on the second floor there was no floor with the opening of the roof still being present. With Ozama catching up to me who was at the end of the hall. We found one of the window frames was open with no boards covering it. Crouching into the frame together starred in awe as we had a view of the entire town. Sitting down on the roof of the front porch, we enjoyed the view of home. After a couple of minutes taking in the fresh air and pleasing site. I said that we should call it a day and head home. Coming back through the broken window frame. Walking down stairs to the front doors. I noticed something strange.
From the corner of my eye and for only a moment I saw something or someone. Pondering my thoughts very deeply about what exactly I saw. Ozama waited cursiously for me to open the door. “Are you ok Reese?” I snapped back to reality and answered his question to tell him what I was thinking. “Yeah I’m fine but it’s just. I think I saw someone in the living room. Sitting where the drawing was.” So my friend asked if we should see who it was. Agreeing we made our way to the living room with much to our surprise. There was someone there. Both our eyes wided.
A girl of some sort was sitting looking at the drawing while holding it. All we could tell was that she had pure white hair and extremely pale skin. She wore an oversized sweater that had a fluffy yet scratchy look. Not to mention it was faded white with three black stripes. The outfit showed black jean shorts, white converse with black tips, and a pair of long black socks. Then her head perked up and she turned around to see us. The both of us finally saw that whoever this was. She had a pair of eyes with gray faded irusses. Also she had small, smooth horns on head. The look on her was a blank expression with a bit of a furrow. “Uh hello?” I said to her after receiving no reply. “May I ask who you are?” She put down the piece of paper to stand up. With her finally standing she was just a few centimeters shorter than me. I was only 5 foot 8 with Ozama 5 foot 9. Then slowly opening her mouth leaving it open by a little. She then shouted at us with uproar.
“GET OUT!” In the amissed of her shouting, it was revealed that she had a pair of fangs. Bring her arms and hands up while showing her fangs. Pousing forward Ozama and I got out of the way in time to not be killed. Without thinking we headed up the stairs running only on adrenalin to escape. Little did we know that the stairs were starting to fall apart behind. But lucky we made our way to the second floor to safety. Taking deep breaths for reasurest, we sat down to take a breather. But unfortunately the girl was relentless and started to rip open the floor boards. With the adrenaline kicking in we rush to the other side of the house. The girl’s hands ripped through the floor trying to grab our legs.
Going through the broken window frame that we went through early. The girl's hands grabbed the edge of the porch roof. Pulling herself up she screaming into my face as I stopped myself trying to jump to make a get-a-away. She lost her grip but I had a feeling I should go off the porch roof. Pushing and telling Ozama to get out of the window, we made our way to the only room we didn’t check. On the second floor within the tower part of this Victorian house. Ozama grabbed the door, went inside slamming the door behind. Sitting down quickly and holding our breath in silence. We could still hear the person’s voice from downstairs. “GET OUT, or else I will KILL YOU!” Hearing her psychotic voice didn’t really help us stay calm. On the bright side we got a good look at the room we didn’t check. Hung at the center of the ceiling was a chain lantern. But to our right we saw an old dusted bed with faded white pillow with a brown thin blanket. Placed on the wall above the bed was painting.
The picture didn't do anything special to me. But when Ozama looked at it, something about it looked familiar. He then realized that the person in the painting was the same from the one above the staircase. Also something about it made it seem like it was right behind the other painting as well. Whispering into my ear telling me the good news. I told him that we need to know in the house where the girl was, Ozama nodded. I listen very closely and carefully to the girl’s footsteps. She was lucky somewhere in the living room where the old drawing and flower pot was. So quietly we went to the painting which revealed that it had a space on the inside and peeping holes. Going through it, Ozama opened the other painting while I was behind him.
But we forgot that the stairs broke so we fell. It wasn’t bad of a fall and we didn’t get injured. But our fall made enough noise to alert the blood-thirty girl. We hide behind the wall with the stair torn apart letting us go from what was supposed to the basement stairs. The girl checked the front of the stairs but returned to the living room because she found nothing. Quietly walking to the front door slowly passing the person who wanted our hides. Reach the door we found out the door was locked. “I found you…” Hearing that voice sent a bone-chilling feeling down our spines telling us we’re in deep duke. Turn around we saw she was in mid-pouse with the both of us dodging to get out of the way. Running without thinking we headed to the living room.
We ended up trapping ourselves with seeing that the girl was blocking the only exit in seconds. Pousing forward, Ozama shoved me out of the way taking the hit. As a got knocked to the floor, I saw him pitted against the floor trying to hold back the girl from ripping him. I got up quickly to try and help Ozama but the girl bit my reist ripping off a lot of the skin. Feeling suddenly immense pain from the fresh wound I ended up pushing myself away from the girl. Holding my arm in the intenseness of the pain I noticed something. The girl who was trying to kill Ozama and I stopped. She slowly pulled away from Ozama and quietly came over with a worried look on her face. Sitting up close to me she looked at the wound and then me. Staring into my eyes with her mouth slightly opened. She said in the most softest voice “Are you Reese Kyle?”
“Uh why yes I am. Have we met?” I replied to her. “Why don’t you remember me?” She asked. “It’s me, Lizzie Boomjoy. The flower girl you met when you were a kid?” Then everything made perfect sense. I did know who this girl was. Ozama asked if I did know her and I said yes. With the both of them sitting down in front of me I explained the whole story. “When I was a kid during a Sunday servus, I wandered to this place by accident. I remember that I met this girl who asked to play with me. So I did and we had a wonderful time. I believed we played hide and seek, tic tac toc, and would make stuff out of the flowers.” Lizzie nodded impling that it was true with Ozama understanding that this was before they were friends. “Other than that I remember saying that I needed to go home. But you Lizzie, you said that you wanted to play again.” “That’s right.” She softly spoke. “I waited for you for so long, oh by the way this is your drawing.”
Picking up the faded picture and handing it to me. I saw that I did draw this for Lizzie. And the flower pot with the dead plant must have been a flower we picked. “I guess leaving you for so long. You must have gotten lonely. I’m sorry, I was a kid so I forgot. I also grew so no wonder you thought we’re strangers.” “No need, I will always forgive you.” I then introduced Lizzie to Ozama telling her that he became my friend for most of my life. Lizzie apologized for trying to rip his heart out and make him bleed to death. Ozama laughed in a sarcastic way and thanked her for not killing the both of us. Lizzie's face turned to guilt when she saw the wound that created on my arm. “Oh I’m so sorry.” She wept in a heartbroken voice. “Aann don’t worry about it. I’ve had worser cuts on my body.” “It’s worse not worser.” Ozama correcting my incorrect grammar. “I know that.”
But looking at Lizzie, all of a sudden she bit onto my wound. Reacting in pain with Ozama shouting at her. “Why? What are you doing!?” Then for some reason the pain gradually went away. I got the weird feeling that she was sucking the blood from the wound. After a while she released her mouth and I was surprised to see what happened. Ozama and I widened our eyes to see that my wound was almost completely gone. Except for the cut shape turning into a scar and the bite marks. It somehow got healed. We both looked at Lizzie, seeing a smile on face. “Watch what I can do.” Putting her fingers to the center of her lips. She took them across her mouth and smiled with her teeth showing. I looked at her teeth that were soaked in blood from my wound with a crooked smile while Ozama looked shocked.
“What should we play now?” My face turned to confusion because I didn’t remember playing anything with her quiet yet. Ozama shouted at Lizzie for an explanation. “What do you mean, what should we play now!” Lizzie with a smile still on her face. “You know when I was chasing you guys when I was trying to kill you. I thought it was a game. But sorry if I scared you.” Ozama and I looked at each other with horror on our faces at Lizzie’s definition of “fun”. I told her that we still needed a breather after the rush she gave us. “Oh no worries, by the way. Ozama are you in love with Reese?” Seeing Ozama it looked like he was taking a moment to register. “What gay? No, Reese and I are only friends. Always has been, always will be.” “Right on brother.” Agreeing with my friend. “Oh that’s good.” Lizzie replied. “That means I can have Reese all to myself.”
I didn’t understand why she said that. But I had a feeling Lizzie liked seeing me so much. That she fell in love with me, which I didn’t mind. Checking the time I saw on my watch that it was 4:00 o’ clock. Telling Ozama we got up and explained to Lizzie that it was time for us to go home. At the sound of that Lizzie smile turned to a small frown. “Please remember to come. Or else I will get feisty.” “Well after this little adventure.” I told her. “Of course I’ll want to come back.” She smiled and led us to the front door. Pulling a key from her pocket, she opened the door with Ozama and I looking at each other thinking the same. “So that’s how it was locked.” We thought. With Ozama going through the door first. Lizzie latched onto my arm and told me. “Before you go, is it alright if I have some more of your blood?”
For a moment I hesitated at the question. But remembering what happened with my arm. I decided that it was alright. “Sure, go ahead.” She smiled and pushed up my sleeve and bit my left arm and started to suck my blood. Thinking of the wound I wondered what the bigger picture was. How was that Lizzie drank the losted blood of my arm but healed it in doing so? My pondering came to a stop when she released her fangs. I walked to the door waving goodbye to Lizzie as she waved back. Outside walking and going the flight of stone brick stairs. I saw Ozama waiting for me at the bottom. So we trotted home together with ease in our minds. For some reason I couldn’t help smile. Ozama asked what was making me happy. I answered him when we went down our home street.
“I think I have a crush on Lizzie. It’s just I don’t know. It’s just nice to see her.” “You know she wants to suck the blood right out of you y’know.” Answering with confinces. “Yeah I know. But we can work the part out with her.” “Ok.” Ozama said. That’s how I found Lizzie Boomjoy again.
The Demise
by Ava Gillan
It was a warm summer night, the perfect kind for a party. Drinks were shared on the terrace, overlooking Manhattan. The birthday girl of the evening was having fun as hostess, entertaining her friends and putting on airs. As the night rolled on, the young hostess began to realize that her guests were becoming dissatisfied; there was no more drink, no more cigarettes. Quickly, she ran upstairs to her room to find a game that would amuse everyone. Ripping through her closet, the hostess found a large thin brown box hidden under a pile of old clothes. Printed on the cover in faded black letters was the word “Ouija”. A mischievous smile grew on her face as she hurtled back down the stairs. As she entered the living room, she noted that she was not a moment too soon in finding the game. Some of her guests were falling asleep; two of her cousins were trying to pry open her parents’ vintage alcohol collection. Putting on a large grin, the hostess held up the game, immediately captivating everyone’s attention.
“Ooooh, a Ouija Board!,” said one girl.
“I heard that some kids who played in Chicago were all found dead,” said another.
The hostess, pleased with herself, turned off the lights and lit candles. Everyone sat in a large circle, giggling over the allurement of the Ouija Board. No one really knew how to play, but the hostess had a good idea of what to do. Placing her hands on the board piece, she closed her eyes and called out,“Are there any spirits here with us tonight?”
There were several more uncomfortable giggles. Most of the guests felt like they were far too old to be playing such a foolish game. In fact, the hostess thought so too and was about to put the game away when the board piece began to move. Her smile disappeared as she felt her hands being tugged lightly across the surface of the smooth wood. J-A-C-O-B.
“Ha,” said one particularly drunk party guest. “You’re just moving it, silly.”
Unsure of what to do, the hostess slowly removed her hands from the board.
J-A-C-O-B
J-A-C-O-B I-S
J-A-C-O-B I-S H-E-R-E
The room fell silent as the board piece moved, slow at first, but then faster, racing around the board like it had a mind of its own. JacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishereJacobishere
Watching in horror, the hostess and her guests were unable to tear their eyes from the board.
“Make it stop!” cried one girl, clutching a glass of champagne so tightly that it burst. Several people screamed as the piece made one final trip around the board before stopping abruptly.
Looking from one terrified face to another, the hostess smiled uneasily and said, “Why don’t we get more champagne? We can drink it outside by the fountain.”
Her guests were quick to agree. Everyone stood up; lights were turned back on, candles were blown out. The mysterious liquor cabinet was finally pried open and the contents were distributed amongst party guests.
“Wait,” said the girl who had broken her glass. “We need to say goodbye to the spirit, or it won’t leave. It will never leave”.
Her peers glanced around at each other, smirking. They didn’t have to play that stupid game, and why should they? They weren’t children, it wasn’t real. Even the hostess, who wanted to please the majority of her guests, rolled her eyes at the suggestion. She packed up the game and its box and threw them both in a random closet.
Outside, the breeze blew the spirit of Jacob to the outskirts of town, to the old Proctor House.
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Detective Mackey was a no-nonsense man with little room for imagination. He always sported a well-tailored tuxedo, a tophat hat, and shiny black leather shoes; in his hand was a walking cane made from oak with an ivory topper. He openly frowned upon the poor, living in squalor on the streets of New York City, the flappers with their beaus who often snuck into speakeasies, and he absolutely could not stand the Charleston, which his girlish wife seemed adamant to defend. One might think that this sort of a man was a prude of the highest order, but Mr. Mackey had redeemed himself time and time again in the eyes of his peers. You see, his ability to sniff out crime was unmatchable. Perhaps it was because he believed in simpler times, and hankered for a non-bootlegging New York City.
The year was 1925 and the hour was late when Detective Mackey’s phone rang. Answering on the second ring, he got an earful of shouts, and it was a while before he was able to distinguish the identity of the caller and what they wanted. It was Mr. Green, the banker who held business on the corner of 116th and Madison Avenue. With great heaving sobs, he relayed to Mr. Mackey that his wife, whom he had seen just minutes before, was now missing. Elizabeth Green, a heavy smoker, had gone outside for some fresh air and a cigarette. Mr. Green explained that he saw a shadow in the kitchen window before hearing what he claimed to be his wife’s scream. Detective Mackey restrained himself from saying something impertinent to Mr. Green by rolling his eyes. Everyone knew that Green was highly superstitious and often suspected his wife of leaving him. Nonetheless, he added Elizabeth Green’s name to a pile of missing people reports that had been filed within the past two weeks.
The next morning, Mackey, clutching his walking cane in a gloved hand, walked the 24 blocks to Mr. Green’s 2nd story apartment building. He only had to knock once; Green, covered in sweat and fear, answered immediately. After giving the hallway a suspicious glance, he practically dragged Detective Mackey through the doorway and into the living room, which smelled strongly of alcohol and cigars. Mr. Mackey restrained himself from covering his nose by breathing through his mouth. In an orderly fashion, he took out his notepad and set it neatly on the coffee table before sitting on the leather couch.
Clearing this throat, Detective Mackey asked the first question. “Now, Mr. Green. Could you please tell me what happened last night?”
Mr. Green said, “MywifewasherethenshewasgoneandIthinkshe’shavinganaffair,eitherthatorshewastaken!”
Detective Macky replied, “I’m sorry, do you mind repeating yourself?”
“My wife was here then she was gone and I think she’s having an affair,” Green wrung his hands. “Either that or she was taken!”
“What do you remember about last night?” Mackey said calmly. “Can you recall exactly what happened before you realized she was missing?”
“Y-yes. W-we were on the c-couch. Watching t-television. She said she was g-going out for a smoke. She smokes, you know,” said Green. Tears were streaming down his face.
“I know,” said Mackey, who was desperately trying to restrain himself from wrinkling his nose; the smell of the place was giving him an awful headache.
“She w-went out for a s-smoke and never came b-back!” said Green, who then began to sob uncontrollably into a polka-dotted handkerchief.
Detective Mackey, who had had enough, politely excused himself and got up to leave. Upon reassuring Mr. Green that he would do whatever it took to locate his missing wife, Mackey could not restrain himself any longer. The lingering cigar smoke was making his eyes burn. He left that apartment so rapidly that almost forgot his walking cane. Almost.
The next morning, Detective Mackey received eleven similar phone calls from various parts of the city. Mrs. Lodge, the owner of a clothing store, claimed that her husband took their red setter out for a walk and never returned, which was suspicious because Mr. Lodge always came back in time to drive to the store in his bright green automobile. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson reported that their twelve-year old son never came down for breakfast that morning, and he wasn’t found anywhere in their apartment. By now, Mackey’s desk was filled with notes and names of the missing people.
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No one visited the old Victorian mansion that sat on a grassy hill outside of the city. Parents repeatedly threatened their children that if they ever visited that house, they would be sent to bed with a smack and no supper. Grandparents told stories of the Proctor family, the last known owners of the property. Stories had circulated amongst children and adults alike, the most ludicrous of them claiming that the Proctors were cannibals; they snatched children and old people and young people and kids home from college and retiring adults, and ate them. The more believed rumors were the ones spread by the parents of these children. The Proctor family was running an illegal drug business. They owned a secret brothel. They cheated innocent people in lousy sales. Either way, no one came near the house. At one point, the city council was keen to tear it down and build a community center, but were ultimately discouraged when members of the construction crew began dying in gruesome and mysterious ways. The first was Louie. Not the sharpest tack, young Louie was hit by a wrecking ball. Apparently, it missed the old mansion and took out Louie instead. The next unfortunate soul was Ned. Smarter than Louie, Ned made sure to steer clear of any wrecking balls coming his way, but in the end he was hit by a bulldozer. There were more deaths. Kevin. Mel. Ted. Leo. After barely a week of work, the construction crew quit, claiming that the house was haunted and that if they continued with the project everyone would end up dead. So the house sat on that grassy hill, year after year, with not so much as a curious visitor. Inside were six floors of dusty rooms, the kind with rats nesting in the worn out furniture, and carpets that used to be pastel but now were dark, almost black. Next to the spacious dining room there was a red door. If one were to go through that door, they would find themselves on top of a very large staircase. This door, this staircase, belonged to Jacob Proctor.
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Detective Mackey was hard-pressed to find the missing people. Every day for a month, he would scour the streets of the city and search for clues in the victims’ bedrooms. He even had a dozen bloodhounds brought in to sniff out any new evidence that might bring him closer to the missing people. After many long weeks of searching, Detective Mackey came to the conclusion that each of the victims was seen with a dark shadow just before their disappearance. A practical man, Mackey could only assume that this shadow was the figure of a man wearing black, despite certain members of the community who claimed it was an evil being.
While driving out of town one evening in search of evidence, Mackey happened to notice the old Proctor mansion. The Green’s familiar bright green automobile sticking out of the old-four car garage caught his eye; he swung his own car around and pulled into the driveway. As he stepped out his car onto the gravel, he noticed the house was surrounded by overgrown hedge. The grass was the tallest he had ever seen, and broken tree limbs littered the front yard.
Despite the fact that the house was abandoned, Mackey wasn’t quite sure whether he wanted to enter. Not only was the house radiating a cold sensation, but there was also a shadow in the upper right window of the third story. Squinting, Mackey could see long dark purple drapes framing the shadowy image. Taking a deep breath, he walked down the path towards the steps, which groaned under his weight as he ascended to the porch.
Before he turned the doorknob, the wooden door swung open by itself, and Mackey stopped confidently inside. Tendrils of sunlight seeped into the dark rooms of the mansion, and Mackey thought he saw a rat slide under the dining room table.
He was just about to explore the marble staircase when he noticed the red door with a key in the lock in the corner of the dining room. Curiously, he turned away from the stairs and turned the key; the door opened with a click. He was immediately overwhelmed by the repulsive scent of rotting human flesh. Wrinkling his nose, Detective Mackey descended the crooked wooden staircase, clutching his walking cane in one hand and the railing in the other. When he reached the bottom, Mackey grapled in the darkness for a lamplight and found a candle lying on a table close to the stairs. From his coat pocket, he found a match which he struck against the table. Holding out the candle, Mackey's eyes widened in horror. Elizabeth Green was hanging upside down from the ceiling by chains. Her mouth was opened in a grimace of shock and her face . . . oh god, her cheekbones were hallowed, and where her eyes used to be there were now large, dark holes, and as Mackey stared into them, the candle quivering in his hand, he could see the whiteness of maggots congregating in her skull. He couldn’t seem to make himself move, and yet he knew he wanted to, he needed to leave, to go upstairs and get into his car and drive far far away. And then he found he could move; translucent white skin caught his eye and he turn a little to the right, and he saw the Patterson’s twelve-year old boy, propped up against the wall, his hands crossed over his chest, and yet, when Mackey took a closer look, he discovered the boy had no hands. Dropping his walking cane, Mackey headed toward the stairs on trembling legs, but the door was closed. Why was the door closed? A rat scurried out in front of him, and he dropped his candle in fright, and suddenly found himself in complete darkness. He turned left, and felt his way along the wall, hoping he could find some sort of trap door, anything that might lead him out of this nightmare. Mackey’s foot got caught on something in the darkness, and he fell down hard, pinning a pile of flesh beneath him. Screaming, he felt his hands slipping on the ground, and on that great pile of flesh and the warm and sickly smelling blood pulsing from it. Finding his footing, he felt his way to the back of the basement through piles of death, death which he could not escape, and felt a presence in front of him. Even in the darkness, he could see the dark shape of the shadow as it engulfed him, gorged itself on him, surrounded him and closed in on him, until all that was left of Detective Mackey was his top hat, lying there in the darkness of that basement.