Midnight Dreary

With each step, creaked the floorboard beneath my muddy shoes, the sound piercing thick air like a periodic slice of a metaphorical knife, cutting through the eerie silence.

An anonymous caller had called in the station right as the clock had stricken midnight, leaving in an ominous tip about this place, 11037 Jenkins Street, an old and abandoned Bungalow.

The tip? A triple murder.

Three weeks ago, the smith family consisting of the aging Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith along with their only daughter, Emily smith, had gone missing.

The caller allegedly found their bodies at this very place.

"Sir, d-do you smell that?"

"That's a stupid question, George. The stench is stomach emptying, you'd have to lose your nose not to notice it."

The newly hired investigative assistant, George, looked aghast at the smell. Handkerchief to the nose and terror in striking blue eyes, grayer than usual.

"D-does that m-mea-"

"Dead bodies." I cut him off, resuming the walk into the Bungalow, the smell was coming from upstairs.

The stairs, creaky.

The air, heavy.

The smell, mortifying.

Finally, the second floor.

"Oh god..." The words escaped my lips as my stomach turned.

"Si-"

George had wanted to say something, yet the words never came. Instead, he had leaned over the railing and threw all over.

Hunched and piled atop each other, ending off with the limp body of the daughter, laid bare the Smiths.

Discolored, green fungi had risen, as the bloated skin had been torn apart, giving birth to the nests and houses of larval blowflies, crawling out of their deceased bodies. Their existence ripped bare of any familiarity, leaving only this horrifying sight as their last memory.

Another sleepless night on the Job.