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The Terrifying Note Addressed To My Six-year-old Son

by Creeping_dread

This story has a free audiobook available!

There’s a certain terror in knowing your life is on a totally different path than the one you intended and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop it. Four days ago I could have looked out over the next 2-3, even 5 years, and said I pretty much know how things are gonna go. Well, not anymore. Even though every day is a living nightmare, it’s not knowing what tomorrow may bring that scares me so much.

Carrie and I started speaking to each other yesterday afternoon sometime. Just short conversations here and there, but it’s a start. My heart still feels broken, but my worry for her well-being is starting to trump my own feelings. She’s barely eating, for one. And if it’s possible to lose significant weight in the span of a couple days, she has. She was already thin enough to begin with. When she looks at me, I can almost read her thoughts through those puffy eyes: I wish I could take it all back. But I can’t.

There’s something else I’ve been considering: it’s entirely possible that Carrie was drugged. Cheating on me with a stranger in his car doesn’t seem like the Carrie I know. It just feels wrong. If the person who left those fucked up notes/took Andrew and the person who took Carrie down to the river are the same person, the idea that she was roofied is that much more plausible.

And I can’t help thinking Carrie saved her own life when she blocked “Ray’s” number from her phone. She may not have survived a second meeting.

Still, that stupid, smirking, voice is always there, whispering in the background. You’re so gullible, Dean. She CHEATED. And if what she says IS true, WHY did she hide it from you? Why, indeed. Shame, obviously. Or maybe she just didn’t want to get caught? It’s hard to ignore that voice, but I’m trying.

Detective Carr dropped by to interview Carrie around 4 yesterday. He thought she’d be more open about her experience with “Ray” if she didn’t have to talk about it in front of me, so I sat outside on the porch while they talked, that jealous little voice badgering me the entire time. When they were done, Carrie left the house to run an errand and Carr and I talked in the living room.

Of course, the police department had gotten dozens of calls after the radio show, which had sent our little town into a tailspin. I guess giving a name and a persona to this psychopath—whether correct or not—had really touched a nerve. People were reporting every single little “suspicious” thing they saw, which left a lot of work for Carr and his team. Every person that wore a hoodie, acted strangely, or was in an area they wouldn’t normally have been in was reported. The mall canceled its Easter Bunny pictures, which were supposed to take place each day of the week leading up to Easter. I’d gotten a text from Kyle’s coach explaining Kyle’s tee-ball season was canceled, too. Temporarily, at least. No one wanted to be responsible for another child being taken.

Leads needed to be followed, no matter how small, Carr said, but he knew he’d be lucky if any of them amounted to anything.

Before he left, I asked Carr bout what was going on at 3 Orange Circle. Had they found anything? He said the construction crew had finished breaking up the concrete floor and hauling it out just after lunch. He was waiting on the forensics guys—he laughed when he said it, it was really just two police officers with some special training in collecting evidence—to get over there and start digging. Even though he’d already refused to share it with me, I pressed him again about the evidence he’d found. He looked like he was mulling it over in his mind, then told me he could show me one thing. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, flipped through some pictures, and held the phone up to my face.

The picture on the screen showed a polaroid photograph laying on a scuffed wooden floor. The lighting was dim, so it was a little hard to see. For a split second, I thought it was a picture of Carrie. The blonde hair, pulled back tightly like a cheerleader’s, was almost identical. Then I realized who it was.

Suzanne Kerrington, Carr offered. Then, when he saw my face, Yes, I see the similarity. When I asked whether he thought this was all about Carrie the entire time, he shrugged. I’m not sure about that, yet. It’s an odd coincidence, if not. I thought he may agree to show me what else he’d found, but he demurred, glancing at his watch. I’ve been here too long as it is. Every minute is precious when you have a child missing.

A little after he left, I got a text message. It was from Ryan, a friend of mine whose son played on Kyle’s tee ball team. I’d kept him up to date on what was happening. Thought you might want to see this, the text read.

Below the message was a screen shot of a text message Ryan had received from Andrew’s dad. It said: What the fuck does this mean?. A picture of a note was attached below it.

I’m going to keep this short and sweet

before things get too scary.

If you want to know why

I chose Andrew to die,

you better ask Dean and Carrie.

I felt like throwing up. Who did this sick fuck think he was? It wasn’t enough to terrorize us—now he wanted to turn the entire community against us!

I had no idea why he chose Andrew! The only thing I did know—or THINK I knew, especially after seeing the picture of Suzanne that looked identical to Carrie—was that this was never about Kyle. Or Andrew. Not really. It seemed like he was targeting Carrie the entire time.

Actually, one other thing was certain: he wanted to destroy our reputation in the community. That’s why he had left that note for Andrew’s dad. I knew the picture would make the rounds, and Carrie’s and my name would be dragged through the mud. No doubt. But then, that voice was at it again. Gullible. Sucker. What if it’s more than that?

When Carrie got back from her errand, I showed her the picture.

Me: Any idea what this means? Is there something you’re not telling me?

Carrie: (Eyes wide and pleading) No Dean, I swear to God. I have no idea what this means. (She grabbed my phone and read the note again.) He’s sick. That’s what it is. He’s sick and he’s trying to destroy us.

Me: Well, he was telling the truth in the last note. Why lie in this one?

Carrie: (She grabbed my arm. It was the first time we’d touched since the day before). I have a lot of groveling to do. I get that. But please, if you’re ever trusted me—if you have any love for me left, any single solitary little bit—believe me now. Please. Believe me. I don’t know what this means.

She held my eyes with hers, and in that moment, I believed her. The little voice was silent.

I dropped the phone in frustration.

Me: What are we going to do?

Carrie: I don’t know, Dean. I just hope Andrew is okay. Do you think they’ll find him?

Me: (That reminded me of something). Oh, tomorrow at church will you ask Glenda in the front office if you can look at the church’s membership records? I assume Detective Carr will be by there, now that he’s talked to you, but maybe we can get a head start on it. I want to see if there’s a Ray listed anywhere.

Carrie: Okay. Are you going with me?

Me: I don’t think so. I don’t feel very close to God right now.

She looked like the words hurt her, but she also looked like she understood.

This morning, Carrie went to Union Street and met Glenda before Sunday school. The church didn’t keep any digital membership records, but Glenda did find a box with all of the membership bulletins for the last ten years. The kind with each member’s picture and their name underneath. When Carrie called, her words were dripping with disappointment. She couldn’t find anyone named Ray or Raymond. She asked Glenda to make a copy of each of them for Detective Carr and said he’d probably be by later to pick them up.

While Carrie was at church, I got a call from Ryan. Apparently, a lot of the dads are upset that the entire tee ball season was canceled. I know some of these guys, and you probably know some guys just like them. They have big trucks and guns, and they feel like they could protect their sons just fine if they were allowed to continue the season. I sort of agree with them, deep down, but I also understand its better to be cautious. Andrew was taken right out from under his dad’s nose, after all.

Ryan isn’t as bad as some of them, but he also agrees that this psychopath wouldn’t make a move out in the open like that.

So,they were supposed to have a “practice” game today at 1:00. Just to get some of the kids together at the field and let them feel like they’re actually getting to play. Full dress, scoreboard, ref, all that. The problem was, none of the dads could get in touch with the head ref. Some of the dads had been texting and calling him since the season was cancelled, but they hadn’t gotten a response. That's what Ryan had called about. To bitch about the refs.

The call was breaking up, but I thought Ryan said Ray’s usually here whenever we need him. He loves doing these games. He’s out here every chance he can get.

Me: Wait a minute. Say that again.

Ryan: I said Jay’s usually out here. But he won’t answer his phone.

Me: Shit, you just about gave me a heart attack. Jay who? Do I know him?

Ryan: Jayson Fisher. He’s been the head ref for a while.

Me: Who’s his kid?

Ryan: Doesn’t have any kids of his own. Just likes tee ball, I guess.

When he said it, something went off in my brain. Like a bell tinkling.

Me: How old is Jay?

Ryan: Uh, I don’t know, close to our age. Forties.

My heart started to thump in my chest.

Me: And you haven’t talked to him in a couple days? Any idea why?

Ryan: No, like I said, he usually texts back. He’s the one who assigns the other refs when he can’t make it. I guess I’ll need to track down someone else’s phone number.

Me: Keep trying to reach him, Ryan. And listen: if you get him, do you mind letting me know?

Ryan: Yeah, why?

Me: I don’t know, maybe I’ll bring Kyle out there.

Ryan: Really, I thought you said….

Me: Just let me know. Okay?

Ryan: Will do.

Me: I gotta run. Talk to you later.

My hands were clammy as I texted Carrie’s phone. Emergency. Please call me back.

About two minutes later, Carrie called, almost hyperventilating.

Carrie: What’s wrong? What happened?

Me: Nothing. Everything’s fine here. I’m sorry I scared you. (She breathed a sigh of relief). I need you to do something for me. Right now. Can you go back to the office? I want you to look for another name. I’ll stay on the phone.

Carrie: Another name? Okay, hold on. (I could hear the phone rustling as she hurried down front steps of the church and around to the side door that led into the office area). Okay, I’m here. The copies Glenda left out for the detective are on the desk.

Me: Carrie, look for a Jayson Fisher. Start in the one farthest back. 2007?

Carrie: Yes, 07. Jayson Fisher? Okay, let me see.

I waited. She was breathing heavily and I could hear her rustling through the pages.

Then, she gasped. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a new quality. Like that of a frightened animal.

Carrie: Oh God, Dean. Oh God.

Me: What?

Carrie: It’s him, Dean. It’s him! It wasn’t Ray, it was Jay!

Me: Are you sure?

Carrie: Yes, I’m sure. I don’t remember a lot, but I’ll never forget those eyes.

Me: He’s a tee ball ref, Carrie. He took Andrew! I know it.

Carrie: No! Oh my God. I missed Kyle's first game, but I was there for the second. Why didn’t I recognize him?

Me: I don’t know. But I actually spoke to him! During Kyle’s first game, he hit a grounder to the short stop and the ref called him out at first when he was clearly safe. It was a bad call. Everyone said so. And I let him know that. God. That’s why he said I was rude!

Carrie: It’s not your fault, Dean…..

Me: I gotta call Carr. I love you. Bye.

I hung up before she responded, then dialed Carr’s phone. As it rang, I thought: Hold on Andrew. Just a little longer.

#creepy #horror story #stalker #series #author: Creeping_dread #terrifying notes series

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