Pretty much nailed it. Glad someone got it.

Thank you for the kind comment.

*3 days later*

Djimmie had really enjoyed his time off. He hadn't had any fun since before he made the deal with Zeus and a good old fashioned 3 day weekend had really recharged his batteries. Still, the thought of the crazy list the kid had dreamt of had left him a bit nervous.

"Mr. Genie! You came back like you said!" Franklin leapt at the djinn and hugged him. Djimmie was a bit taken aback but he couldn't blame the kid for his excitement.

"I did! And please, just call me Djimmie."

"Your name is Jimmy?"

"No. My name is Djimmie. Same pronunciation, different spelling."

"How do you know how I spelled it?"

"Look, do you want all the answers in the universe or do you want to get on with this wishing business?"

"Sorry. Sorry. Right! One sec!" Franklin said as he ran from the dining room to go get his list of wishes. Djimmie looked around to see it was a well maintained but older home. Definitely not built with the large djinn in mind as, even sitting, his horns scraped the ceiling.

It wasn't a moment after this thought that Djimmie could hear the tell tale 'thump thump thump' of excited feet on old wooden floors. Franklin appeared through the doorframe and nearly fell sliding on his socks if Djimmie hadn't caught him.

"Woah there! Chill, dude! Chill," Djimmie said as he stood the boy upright. He was careful not to hurt Franklin with his great claws.

"Here!" the kid said as he flapped about a spiral notebook in front of the much larger djinn. Djimmie couldn't help but smirk... at least until he opened the notebook and saw that it was full. Like every page front and back full.

"I went through three different notebooks and that's my final draft! I hope there's enough good wishes in there!" Franklin beamed.

"Hmm...," Djimmie thumbed through and gave every possible wish a thought. It only took him two minutes while Franklin stood in excited silence.

"Okay, Franklin. Here's the deal; I read the entire list and I would suggest these 3," Djimmie gestured and 3 lines of text dethatched from the notebook to widen and expand in the air so that both could easily read them. "These were the ones I can do easily enough that there's not major repercussions but still give you something to work with. If you're happy with them, wish away."

Franklin looked over the 3 wishes he had written and was surprised but happy. Djimmie could see the sparkle in the boy's eyes. Kid on Christmas indeed.

"Genie- Sorry! Djimmie! For my first wish, I wish for a small fortune that nobody will question and the government will just ignore!" Franklin shouted with joy.

"Inside voice, please. Wish granted," Djimmie nodded.

"For my second wish, I wish to be in good physical health for the rest of my life," Franklin wished.

"Done."

"For my third and final wish, I wish that anyone else who finds your lamp will ask for your wisdom and use their wishes for good," Franklin stated plainly.

"Done and done. It's been good kid. Take care of yourself. I only got 200 more people to go before my deal is complete so if I make it before you die you're gonna be my best man. Peace!" Djimmie says as he disappeared in a flash. And just like that the room had one less djinn but one boy who wanted to use his good health and new wealth to help. Djimmie had absolute faith in the kid to do so.

I wrote something similar a while ago.

I had always thought I was just a bit tough, that most physical pain just washed off of me. I had gone through training, top of the top. I never broke down, was never too tired to go. I always gave one hundred and ten.

Of course, then things became chaotic. Wars have to be fought by the best. I was put into a situation where I was dropped in to recover a critical bit of intel, that would leave a huge amount of the military vulnerable. They would be scrambling to fix the hole, but it could take weeks. We had days.

My operation was definitely on the black books.

I never thought that the same time that I recovered the data. I'd be looking out a window to see devastation. The city was being bombarded.

"Fuck me-"

Ten stories of building. Tumbling away like shattered glass. Fire. Metal. Cement.

I never expected to see anything ever again.

'USER CATEGORY TWO DANGER'

...

'ADMINISTERING SHOCK'

I screamed my body was left twitching. I looked around and I was sitting in a pile of rubble. My clothing was mostly ruined, but I was...fine. I glanced around wondering what had happened. What was that sound I had heard just before I lost consciousness?

I checked my pockets and found that the USB was still intact, the container was completely undamaged. Shaking my head, I tried to reach my evac but all my gear was completely fried. With the city in ruins it was doubtful that I would find an easy way to communicate. Luckily I knew how far the nearest base was.

It was quite far but all I need was a working vehicle and I could get there in a couple days. Even as ruined as it was, that was possible. Of course I had to deal with something new. The local militia had surrounded the city and put check points up. If I had thought about it I would have changed my appearance more, while I wasn't in military gear they had apparently made me off of some security networks that had survived.

They were on a shoot first questions later mentality.

'USER CATEGORY FIVE DANGER'

The first shot hit dead in my chest. I had a moment of panic, but then immediately wondered if they had a misfire. Didn't matter. I gunned it through the checkpoint.

"What the fuck is going on?"

I was definitely going to be chased down, and the beat half dead car I had wasn't going to out run them.

"What do I do now?"

'USER ADVISE - PULL OVER AT DEFENSIVE LOCATION. APPREHEND WEAPON. DEAL WITH ENEMY FORCES. COMMENDEER ENEMY TRANSPORT.'

"What the hell is that?"

'USER RESPONSE - I AM THE AUTONOMUS NANOMUSCULAR PROTOTYPE THAT YOU HAD ACTIVATED JUST BEFORE YOU WERE KNOCKED UNCONSCIOUS.'

"I did?"

There was no response to that, but following it's tactical advise, I was able to make it back to base. With a frown, I had to deal with a lot of questions. The problem is...

I had the information. It wasn't some nanomachine. No matter who I spoke with no one understood what I was talking about. I had to talk to a therapist who told me that it was a rationalization. My mind made it up, to rationalize how I survived.

I didn't argue, if I did they would force me out.

As I was leaving, I was stopped again. I didn't recognize the man wearing thick dark aviator glasses, but I recognized his rank and stepped aside with him.

"Well son, I don't know how to say this other than, you're out."

"What!"

"Well, we can't have an X-Factor in the military."

"X-Factor?"

"The nanomachines. They aren't how do I say this...let's just say they are an anomaly, and thus you are an anomaly. Following the Concords of the Shadow we can't have you in the conventional military."

I paused. There was a lot in that sentence.

"Don't worry son. You aren't done protecting this fine nation. You are just moving to the real black ops."

I froze when he removed his sunglasses revealing inhuman-looking, cat-like eyes.

"Welcome to the End Game son. We are the last line. The first line. The only line between us and things you've never imagined. From today on, you are one of us."

He handed me my orders, and I felt a bit reassured. I was always a bit different, but today I was ready. The world was even wider and for once I really didn't know what tomorrow would hold.

There were signs, of course there were, but I hadn't met a girl I got along with for years, so I guess I might have ignored a couple of red flags. Besides, it's not like I could have guessed what would happen, no sane person would ever have even considered this a possibility. There was one incident with some green shit in the bathtub, and a time I caught her humming a song that she definitely didn't hear on the radio, but I just chalked it up to her quirky, off-beat personality. No way could I have expected the absolute insanity and sheer amount of brain-fuckery I was in for. I suppose my weakness for nerdy, socially-awkward blondes is something I need to work on if I ever get out of this.

"Günther, focus!", Oma shouts. "Grab me that book from the top shelf!". Hearing her speak with such a commanding tone quickly snaps me out of the fuge state I had been in up until now, and I hurriedly make my way over to an old, nearly-collapsed bookshelf and reach for a moss covered bronze-tinted book. "Holy shit is this thing heavy, are you gonna be able to carry this Oma?" . Without hesitation she rips the book from my hands and opens it to a page about 2/3 of the way in. It was kind of cool to see her like this. She had always had a strong personality, but this was on another fucking level. I guess this explains why she and Opa were so secretive about their careers.

"Akth F'the Frilehth, Akth F'the Frilehth". Oma starts chanting vigorously as her face becomes pale and her eyes blank, like something is taking control of her body. A terrible sound can be heard from downstairs, but it doesn't feel like a sound, nothing like anything I've ever heard anyway. More like a gut-wrenching vibration passing through me making me feel as if my skin is melting and my intestines are being pulled out of my stomach.

Oma breaks out of her trance and turns to face me; "The incantations didn't work, this means she's gotten stronger. We have to fight her. I know what she can do, the suffering she can cause ". I get the urge to tell a shitty joke about a time we had gone shopping and I ended up sitting with my dick in my hand at Ikea for 4 hours, but quickly come to the conclusion that it probably won't get many laughs. Without wasting time, Oma sprints to the edge of the attic and pulls open the door to a medium-sized room filled with weird contraptions and odd-looking instruments."Take this-", she says as she hands me a small wooden cylinder with a lever on top, along with a small silk bag filled with what feels like a bunch of marbles. "It can fit 3 at the time, only use it if you have a clear shot-", I wanted very much to pay attention to what she was telling me, but the room we found ourselves in was filled with a foul, vomit-inducing odor that would make any experienced skat-enthusiast cream with excitement. "I love you, Günther, and I wish I could have introduced you to this part of my life under better circumstances. Opa loved you to, and even though he now lies scattered in the living room, he will always be with us". Before giving me the opportunity to return any affection or ask for further instructions, she disappears back through the door from which we came.

Preparing myself for the impending, most likely torturous death of both me and my grandmother, I find myself wondering; Do I really want to do this? I have so much to live for, so many girls to kiss, so many blondes to get manipulated by, do I really want to risk my life for the sake of humanity? What the fuck has humanity ever done for me. With global warming, wars and all the other misery we put upon ourselves, maybe there is an argument to be made for me just staying behind.

But then, as Oma's warcry can be heard reverberating through the house, I'm reminded how my last relationship turned out, and I realize that maybe my uncontrollable predilection for pretty blondes is doing my life more harm than good.

Alas, I think it's time to find out what the family business is really all about.

That was a wonderful read. Very well done and thank you for the story

I had been dreading dinner for weeks now. The family dinner that would inevitably end up with someone either drunk or crying. Maybe both. Our family dinners didn't exactly have a great track record.

Especially when I'd bring the current person I was seeing.

The last guy I'd been dating, an engineer named Trevor, had left the dinner halfway through because my grandma had claimed that he was possessed by a vodyanoy, a male water spirit that was known to drown people. Why did she think that, you ask?

Well, he had a tattoo of waves on his forearm, which she had interpreted as a demon’s mark. Because having just having a normal, non-demonic tattoo apparently wasn’t possible.

Anyways, that wasn’t the first time my grandma had made comments like that. She had this fun quirk of thinking anyone I dated was either cursed or possessed. Something that definitely didn’t help my already-dry dating life.

So, after years of failed relationships and being ghosted after family dinners, I decided to try a new method: don’t introduce anyone to my family. Ever.

And that had worked well for the past year. I’d managed to stay in a relationship longer than a few months. We were even planning on moving into an apartment together in the next-coming months. Everything was going well.

So of course, it only made sense that my family would plead and beg to finally meet him. After weeks of my mom’s constant nagging over the phone, I finally gave in. I’d bring him for dinner.

Briefly. No longer than an hour. Because after an hour meant that my mom would start asking her embarrassing drunken questions and my grandma would start theorizing which demon he was.

I was determined for this dinner to work out.

“It’ll be fine,” Nate had said, trying to comfort me as we drove. He squeezed my knee a she was driving.

“That’s what you think,” I frowned. “You haven’t been there to witness my grandma’s odd fixation on Russian folklore.”

“Well, lucky for her, I love learning about folklore.” I didn’t say anything, envying his positivity. The positivity that would be gone within an hour’s time.

We arrived at my grandma’s house later than I had promised. I hoped that dinner would be ready and it would cut out some of the time spent talking with my family. My mom answered the door with a smile. “Alexis! And this must be Nate. It’s great to finally meet you.”

She pulled us both in for a hug.

“Sorry we’re late,” I apologize. “There was some traffic.”

“There wasn’t traffic,” Nate said. I shot him a look. “Oh! You mean that traffic. I almost forgot about it. Yeah, it was bad. Really bad.”

We walked inside. My grandma was already sitting at the table, waiting. Warm food was steaming on the table. I kissed her on the cheek before sitting down. “This looks great, baba.”

She said nothing, her eyes narrowing at Nate as he sat down. He gave her a nervous hello. This is only the beginning, I thought with a sigh.

“Let’s start,” my mom said, joining us at the table. We began serving food onto our plate. My grandma continued to shoot odd glances in Nate’s direction as she ate. I could feel him eyeing me, a bit weird, his eyes seemed to say. I gave him a knowing look.

I told you so.

We ate in silence. I prayed that it’d last. But it never did. “You brought a unique one this time, Alexis,” my grandma said.

“Can we not start this now?” I asked. It was too early and I was far too sober.

“Nate,” she continued. “Have you ever felt drawn to, or I suppose a kinship towards vampires?”

He swallowed his food, confused. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You carry the aura of a besomer.” She put some food into her mouth and chewed it. “A very dangerous demon.”

“Grandma—” I started to say but Nate stopped me, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“What kind of demon is that?” He asked. His voice had lowered. There was a darkness in his gaze that I’d never seen before.

“Hm, I think you know.” They were staring at each other. The table suddenly felt tense. I looked over at my mom who was uncomfortably draining her wine.

“I’m not sure I do.” His fingers dug into my shoulder. That’s starting to hurt, I thought.

“They tend to enjoy darkness,” my grandma said. “And a craving for blood. It’s no wonder you latched on our Alexis. She’s got the blood of our family’s ancestors. Pure blood.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Nate said. He released my arm. I could still feel the ghost of his grip even after it was gone. “Although, I'm sad to admit you’ve got the wrong type of demon.”

His eyes flashed. “I’m far worse than any besomer.”

You gathered way more than I did while reading it! Thanks for the synopsis, that's actually really cool!

This was absolutely based on that

Little mortal

The voice echoed in my skull as I floated through the long central shaft of the derelict. The etheric sails had been torn to shreds, first by kinetic blasts, then by micro-meteors, and finally by the ravages of time, leaving the ship becalmed in a distant orbit. The saltwater reactor had drained long ago; there was no power for the lighting strips, leaving the interior dark.

Creature of a diminished age, you diminish it more. You break what you cannot build.

The voice grew louder as I went up, away from the engine. Most modern ships house their daemon toward the center, where they can be protected and wired to every ship subsystem with the minimal length of copper wire. But old warships put their daemon at the prow.

Do you know what I was?

The lights snapped on with a flash. I blinked hard and whispered a ward. It was an illusion, but a strong one. I saw ghostly sailors filling the shaft carrying harpoons and wounded comrades; marines with spectral vibroblades. I couldn’t see out, but somehow I knew without a doubt that in the illusion, in the daemon’s memory, we were above Port Coriolis, on the eve of the fall of the Long Diet.

This had been a great ship once.

I could make you great.

The illusion shifted. Now the sailors were wearing modern uniforms; on their sleeve was the family crest, the one my grandsire had insisted we were entitled to. They cheered my name.

I double-checked the seals and wards on my suit, and then I pushed my way through the maintenance hatch at the prow. Towering beside me, bare-chested, spear in hand, was the ship’s figurehead — the ship’s daemon. Her eyes glowed red.

I could give you worlds.

There was no illusion this time; just a certainty that the ship’s daemon was right. I could fix this ship. My crew would follow me.

I felt a hunger for conquest, for revenge, and I couldn’t tell if it was mine or the ship’s.

“Boss, fuel tanks are detached, Dyan wants to know if you want to do the honors or if she can make the superstructure go boom this time."

This voice in my ear was concrete and familiar. I didn’t want to rule anything, it reminded me. All I wanted was a steady paycheck for my crew.

“Go ahead,” I radioed back. “Boom authorized.” And then I fired up my own torch, and started to cut.

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Yes. And optic neuritis (I have this in both eyes) is an autoimmune condition that attacks your eyes. White blood cells attack the optic nerves thinking the nerve coating, myelin sheath, is an allergen, damaging the nerves and opening up for an infection. It's part of multiple sclerosis.

How about a magic trick? I'm gonna make this pencil disappear. plap

Gaaaaay

I really hate subversion as it has been used as a cudgel in contemporary urban/modern fantasy. I like the rules, and when we start into a point where you slap an old name on your creature because ours are different? Ugh, it's infuriating.

What I like to do is work within the 'rules' set forward by the specific creature, and then try to delve into the why. There's no real deep lore on why they drown their prey, or the reason for later redemption necessarily. Having a little base to build on and then make my own reasons? More fun.

Wow. Truly brilliant work. I loved the characterizations, the detail, and the use of language. The thing I liked most, however, was how you adapted the source material.

In your story, the classic folklore monster that lures mortals to their doom is not made out to be a tragic predator who just can't help itself etc. But rather, and more interestingly, I think, the one who seemed to be the fisherman in the story, was actually the bait.

And yet, even in taking that marked diversion from the source material, you didn't just stomp all over the lore of the Fossegrim. The poor girl does drown, and it's not unreasonable for a witness to think he was responsible; he says as much in his song.

Merely making an evil figure of folklore sympathetic is no longer a subversion of the trope -- it's become more the rule than the exception, if anything. But you gave a fresh take on an old story while respecting the story you drew your inspiration from. Again, brilliant!

I hear the sounds of my stomach gargling, hunger pains override my senses. I've been chained to this chair, and unconscious for what must have been a few days. a Blind fold is pressing against my head, and I see nothing but the darkness, after what feels like a long while I hear approaching foot steps of what must be three people.

They remove my blindfold, and I'm greeted by three hideous tall men, one is bald with a nose and lip piercing, and big scars that look like they came from a blade across his ugly brutish face.

Another, has a eye patch, and long grey hair, a soulless look in his one remaining eye, and a small grin plastered across his ugly complexion.

The third I recognize as no other then the person I've been searching for, the leader of their whole organization. He is young, mid thirties, with brown short hair.

right next to them, is a rack with torture utensils, as I glance my eyes towards that the leader smirks, and says. "You didn't think I would just kill you right? You've caused me to much grievance for that."

While this is going on, I'm attempting to dislocate my thumb to get out of the handcuffs, suddenly an alarm bell rings, and another goon enters the room.

"Boss, someone has breached the perimeter, they've been on a rampage killing all our men, we need to evacuate you at once!" As he says that sentence, a throwing knife enters his skull and out his eye as he falls to the floor lifeless.

a women appears, I recognize her to be no other then, Aura.. of all the people who would come for me it was her? The one person who I would imagine would want me dead the most.

The three men draw their swords from their holsters, as Aura says. “You didn’t seriously think I would let anyone but myself be the one to kill you did you?” with a confident smile plastered upon her beautiful complexion.

"Who said that I needed saving?" I retort, a sly smirk on my face.

"ever think that maybe I let them capture me.." I continue, my hands and feet now completely freed from the chains, as the leader turns around a shocked expression on his face, and attempts to slice at me with his sword, and I effortlessly dodge it, and head butt him back in response.

Aura smiles, and starts to fight the two big goons, she dodges a sword attack from one, as she quickly slices the others neck with her short sword.

The leader, now recovered attempts to attack me again. "I'm going to make sure you at least die before I do.." he says as he charges foward at me. I do a back flip behind the chair I was chained too, and make my way over to the torture utensils and grab a knife.

This time the big goon instead of attacking with his sword, uses his size advantage to attempt to bear hug and grapple Aura. Aura, being distracted after slicing the other ones neck gets grappled by him. I see her having the disadvantage, but I'm to distracted fighting the leader.

The goon bear hugs her, and brings her to the ground, I hear a cracking sound and a groan, she had some bones broken from that, but she manages to bite down hard on his neck, and rip a huge chuck of flesh off, blood starts gushing from the big goons neck as he lets go, and Aura steps back discombulated from the attack.

The leader lunges at me again, as I just barley dodge away. I quickly lunge at him with the knife, and manage to stab him through his left shoulder, blood gushes out as he backs up in a panic.

Aura looks like one of her arms are broken, and shes in a lot of pain and on the ground. The goon was heavily injured by the bite, and lost a good amount of blood, but he gets back up again, and grabs a hammer off the tray and gets ready to finish the job.

Mean while, the leader is backing away from me, he drops his weapon and starts to run trying to retreat, a quick choice must be made by, save my enemy, that decided to save me for whatever reason, or finish off the person I came here to kill. The person I let myself get beat up and kidnapped to find.

I sigh to myself, and let the leader run off, as I come behind the goon in the nick of time to stab him through the head before he can kill Aura.

"next time, don't try saving me, I'm not one that needs to be saved." I say, with a disappointed voice.

Aura stands back up on her feet. "I only wanted to save you, so I could kill you myself, after what you did to my sister and all it's only right that I get the honors."

"how many times have I told you.." I retort, "I wasn't the one who killed your sister.."

"Yes, but you were there, you could have saved her, and you didn't.. the one who really killed her is long dead, and I lost the chance to stop them, but you're still here." she replies.

tears fill my eyes, as I reply. "I loved her, you know. I would have given my life for hers in a heart beat."

tears begin to fill Aura's eyes as well. "she wouldn't want you to be so full of hate because of her, I know this isn't who you actually are."

I begin to walk out the entrance, "hey wait! Aren't you going to fight me?" Aura yells out.

"fight you? You're in no condition to fight now, if you still want the pleasure of killing me, come back when you're healed." I reply, as I continue to walk away.

As I walk away, I hear her pull a throwing knife out of her belt, she gets ready to throw it, as I get ready to dodge it. Instead she changes her mind and puts it back in her belt.

Ohh sweet I love the two steps of depth in tech discussions, enough to get a good idea and immediate innate understanding yet enough wiggle room for details and edge cases later.

Very sophisticated worldbuilding.

around by the elbow.

There were four victims: Henry Emerson, his wife July Emerson, and their children, fifteen-year old Colin and twelve-year old Bailey. Captain Gunn gave me a brisk tour around the home, which was spotted with evidence cones and swarming with camera-toting forensics officers.

July was found dead in her bed, her face caved in by something large and round, but her body was otherwise undisturbed. The children's fate was no so peaceful.

"Can I see where they were found?" I asked the Captain.

Gunn's stoic posture was slightly shaken, she did not want to see the children again, but she led me to the garage anyway.

It was a scene of chaos: boxes fallen to the ground, their contents spilled. Christmas ornaments coalesced with pool noodles and tennis rackets. In the middle of the car bay, two bodies lied sprawled out, blood dousing their clothes and the ground around them.

"What was the cause of death?"

"You know as well as I do that we won't know until the autopsy is done."

"What do you think it was?"

Gunn leaned closer. "Could be the stab wounds. Could be blunt damage. Could be their eyeballs being ripped from their sockets."

My blood ran cold. I would learn nothing here, where the crime was most interesting. "Where's the father?"

Gunn lead me to the backyard, where a man was erected on a cross, nails driven through his hands and feet and his eyes taped open. It was a bizarre and gruesome scene, more akin to some arthouse horror film than a suburban murder.
But at least his eyes were in tact.

I convinced Gunn to let me a little closer before I peered over the black lenses of my glasses and made eye contact with the corpse hanging before me.
The images rattled into my mind.

Bully.

Abuser.

Alcoholic.

Liar.

Racist.

Sexist.

Sadist.

Murderer.

"Did you know him?" I asked the Captain.

"He was an officer," she replied in a detached, stuffy police captain voice. "I can't say we saw eye-to-eye frequently, but it didn't deserve this."

And yet I knew he did. His family didn't, of course. From what I could tell, they'd been victims the whole time, only to meet a grisly end.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I told her.

"What did you see?" she whispered, either desperation or anger causing the end of her sentence to flutter.

She couldn't know about me. There was no way. But in some way that she couldn't explain out loud, she had picked up on my gift, or at least had come to understand some small piece of it.

I wanted to tell her he'd been brave; noble. I wanted to give the captain comfort. But kind lies would be an insult to a woman of her integrity.

"His family didn't deserve this."

She gave a curt nod before asking me to leave.

I snuck one more glance at the red, taped-open eyes staring at the ground.
"Excuse me," an officer with a camera asked me to move, and as I stepped aside, I saw my reflection in his lens for only a moment.

Traitor.

I doubled over and vomited bile from my empty stomach.

"Okay, okay," the Captain ushered me away quickly. "Let's not make more of a scene."

"A blind detective," the officer with the nametag Collymore exclaimed, "not something you see every day."

"Not something I see any day," I smiled. Most people were sensitive--if not somewhat patronizing--when they watched me tap my way around police barricades and yellow lines of police tape. Not this guy, though. Every once in a while I come across someone who speaks their mind.

"I guess that's right!" he chortled, drawing glares from the handful of forensics personnel as they emerged from the house. Who laughs in the presence of a murder victim? "So it's some kind of ruse, right? Like Miss Cleo?" The officer was now leaned closed, whispering conspiratorially.

"Miss Cleo?

"The psychic." He used air quotations, then caught himself and dropped his hands. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

"She had a commercial, used to scam people who called her line. Miss Cleo, that is. Famous in the 90s. You really never heard of her?"

"I don't watch a lot of TV."

"Right." He pressed his eyes closed and tucked in his lips for a moment, illustrating some newfound shame. "But what I'm saying--and I'm not trying to be an asshole--but come on. What are you doing here?"

"I was hired to come assist the department," I answered. "They keep me on retainer."

He shook his head silently before squinting up at my sun-glass-shaded eyes. "I guess go on through," he sighed. "But hey,"

"Yes?"

"This was a good family, okay? Try not to stir the pot too much in there."

"Thank you, Officer..."

"Collymore."

"Collymore," I smiled, extending a hand forward. "I'll do my best to respect the dignity of everyone involved."

He nodded, unconvinced, before gesturing me to follow the freshly edged walkway into the house.

It was like every other home in the cul-de-sac: a large, pitched ceiling, arched windows, hollow columns. A concrete-and-drywall palace, massive from the curb, but oddly cramped inside. Family pictures hanged in the entryway under an artificially weathered sign: "When we're together, we're family." What was once a harmless expression of familial affection was now a cruel, dark irony.

"Detective Bexley," the unmistakable voice of Captain Gunn easily rose above the cacophony inside. She was a tall and foreboding figure, her hair cropped unapologetically short and her uniform prim and spotless.

"Captain Gunn," I returned the professional greeting. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

She ignored my thinly veiled question, what is a police captain doing at a midnight murder, and moved toward me quickly. With one firm hand she gripped my elbow and with the other, she shook my hand. "It's good to see you, Detective."

"Good to be seen."

"I have to ask, though. What are you doing here?" She'd beaten me to my own question.

"I was actually hoping you would tell me. I got a message on my pager thirty minutes ago to be here. What happened?"

"Not that I don't appreciate your service to the department, detective, but that didn't come from me. Regardless, it's too early to speculate. Forensics is still combing through the home and we won't need a consult at least until tomorrow after noon."

"Oh." I tried to sound more embarrassed than offended, without removing all offense from my tone. "I see. In that case, I'm terribly sorry for intruding."

"It's nothing. Do you need help getting back out?"

"Since I'm here, do you mind if I poke around? I'm not going to be able to get back to sleep for a while anyway."

Captain Gunn was not so easily charmed. A black woman in command of law enforcement officers would have had to break a cascade of glass ceilings. My "blindness" was just one, and she was not about to change the rules off that alone.

"No," she finally told me.

"Officer Collymore told me there was a family here--a good one. Was it someone close to the department?"

Her thin eyes peered outside toward her loudmouth subordinate. "I don't like rumors around my crime scenes, detective."

"Then please, dispel them."

Her tongue mouthed the inside of her cheek as she mulled over the position she was in. "You can follow me. Five minutes." Gunn handed me a box of latex gloves before ushering me

Same. Translations for the dialogue between grandma and anders would help

I've always thought this was a weird choice in translation. A witch in the woods gets translated into a monster in a closet?

Also I think the witch is a better nickname than the boogeyman.

What? Pause? Noooo!

More please!

Nice! Any Part 2 plans? This seems teed up for one.