Twisted Roads – Twisted Horror Stories by Matthew Tonks

Graceful

“Now, can you tell the detective what you told me, ma’am?” the officer says to the woman. She looks nervously at the detective and clears her throat.

“It was about fifteen minutes before I heard her scream. I saw this guy, and he was, he was dancing on her balcony, all graceful and shit.”

“Dancing?” the detective asks, his eyebrows raising.

“Yeah, like he was on one of those TV shows. You know, the dancing ones, with all those washed-up, wannabe celebrities who need to be relevant again, so they go on that show and hope everyone will remember who they were, hoping it will get them back in the limelight,” she says excitedly, her eyes gleaming with enchantment.

“Okay, sorry, you’ve completely lost me. What the fuck do you mean?” the detective says.

“It’s okay, sir, I know what she’s talking about. Ballroom dancing, is that right?” the officer says as he tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers proudly.

“Yeah, like I said, graceful and shit,” she says, throwing her arms in the air.

“Okay, now I understand what you’re saying. Dancing like Fred Astaire danced?”

“Yeah, like that old dead geezer,” she says with a nervous smile.

“Do you think if I had a profiler sit with you, you’d be able to help get a composite sketch of the dancer made so that we could shop it around the area?”

“No way. The dude was dancing up a storm, and I was way too busy watching his feet to notice what he looked like. Shit, I don’t think I even looked at his face once. You see, I love those dancing shows, can never get enough of them. But I can tell you he was old, like in his fifties, maybe older. That, I’m sure of,” she says with a beaming smile.

“Okay, thanks for your assistance with this case, Miss Denning. If we need any more information, someone will be in contact with you in the next few days,” the detective says before heading back over to the crime scene, the officer following closely behind.

“So, you think it’s the same guy?” the officer asks.

“Everything else fits, except the dancing and the vic isn’t missing their kidney, but I’d say that’s because he was interrupted.”

“Maybe the dancing has always been a part of his routine. It’s just we’ve never had an eyewitness before either, so, you know, maybe he’s always done it, celebrating the kill or something.”

“Maybe. Anyway, we’ll know more once forensics gets here. Maybe he left a clue. The crime scene isn’t as clean as the rest. This could be the one. This could be the slip-up we’ve been waiting for,” he stops and falls deep into thought before turning to the officer and grasping him by the shoulder. “We should also cross-reference all the victims and see if any of them had some connection to ballroom dancing. Actually, make it any dancing, just to be safe,” he says as he strides away, leaving the officer fumbling with his notepad, jotting down the detective’s instructions.

Miss Denning closes the door to her apartment behind her and smiles wickedly. “They won’t bother us now. I’ve made sure of it. You’re safe with me,” she says seductively.

“Samantha, I don’t know how to show you my appreciation. If they’d found me there tonight, I would’ve certainly been blamed for her murder. What did you tell them?”

She blushes bright red and struts towards him. “I told them I saw some old dude dancing on her balcony a few minutes before I heard her scream. They ate it up like it was apple pie.”

He smiles. “Dancing? Really? And they bought it. Amazing,” he says as he walks over to the window and peers out across the courtyard at the flashing lights and laughs. “Truly, I don’t know how to thank you. It will be, of course, such a shame.”

“Sorry? A shame? A shame for what, honey? Because what we’re about to do ain’t got nothing to do with shame,” she says huskily.

“Of course it does. It’s what makes the world go round,” he says as he backhands her to the floor. Her eyes widen with horror as his handsome smile is replaced by a twisted, evil snarl. He dives on her, wrapping his hands around her throat.

“You don’t fit my profile, but I have to eat, and sometimes the closest meal is the best meal of all!” he says as he tightens his grip, while her cold, dead eyes stare emptily back at him.