The Baltimore Murders

tell tale heart to the woe

Loud stormy night, the window shutters clanging and banging as the night sky lights up with a thunderous clap of lighting, almost like someone firing a lot of rounds into a cold, lifeless husk upon the ground.

I overlooked out of my window. I saw what looked like a trash bag until the thunder hit the lamppost, shocking the lamp, causing a little flicker of light. I saw a body laid on the floor.

I grab my oil lamp and lit it with a match closed the tiny door. I grab my scarf and coat heads out of the front door.

I walk out to the street, and the rain is heavy, like the seas high crashing water hitting the face just as it would hit a sailing ship.
The wind is so cold it's like been lost at see. It's so cold, so lifeless. it's like a drowning in a sea of emotions that the human brain can't flabble to process every memory into a grain of sand.

Each memory is like a heavy grain of sand it so small, but it tells a simple tale in one hand that it is delicate in the other. It's fragile it easily breaks like a glass.

I shined my torch on the corner where the lightning hit looked like the power out. I find a woman mutilation that her face is beyond recognition.

It looked like it was slashed, then pumbled in upon the ground there a few teeth upon the pavement she had jewellery on, but it was missing.

It looks like it could be a mugging
But the attacker knew the victim
For this, a malevolence amount of violence is debortuary.

There has been no police here yet, so I have complied my evidence. I have to notify the police at once I run to a phone box call the police I informed them of the murder however there no police in the station there all out hunting for a person called leather apron.

It's got the great detective sherlock holmes working on the case.
I make a sketch of the crime scene.
I see a gardening borrowed. I stick a note on the shop saying sorry borrowed it to remove a body.

I carts the body to the nearest morgue. I tell them I require the postmortem reports the mortuary assistant said thank you for bringing the body in.

We will give you the report tomorrow. This person is a friend of dark Annie.
Dark Annie?
She was a prostitute who worked the streets. This is her friend. What a horrific crime.

I will not breathe a word. Mr. poe to sherlock holmes as I see this is your case.
Thank you, my friend. Here, after you finish for the night, come with me to the Crow Nest pub. I'd buy you a double whisky, my friend.

I would take you up on that offer. However, I have a few more decreased people to do postmortem on, so I will graciously decline.

Edgar says there are only you on tonight?
The mortuary assistant said well the last person I hired wound up dead the nicklesboys ended his life

Well, since you share the same way of
Interests I don't mind if you want to stay, plus it makes a great way to have a conversation with a real person instead of talking to the dead.

Plus Mr poe it will make a great experience for your readers I have to admit I been a follower since you wrote you first column the bell tower killer and the swinging pendulum.

So Mr. poe, would you like to offer you a post here at nights I can teach you of
Course.

Edgar said alright I won't be no sherlock holmes, but I will try my best to learn

The mortuary assistant starts laughing. It sounds like you can't stand sherlock holmes.

Edgar replies well that his methods are different from mine. He spends his day collecting evidence and stands there with a deduction board.

I, on the other hand, I study the crime scene I sketch it to every fine detail. I also can place each piece the information.
I somewhat touch an item of the dead person belongings, and I have a vision
I see who murdered I can put a face to the Killer's.

Unlike sherlock, I caught my first killer on the very first day I arrived in Baltimore.

My name rang out like the bells everyone wanted to hire me, but I turned them all down.
Simply, i wanted to write for a newspaper.

I wanted to share the grotesque crimes
That go on in the flith.
The people are eating up like sinners.
Like moths to flames, nobody can see how beyond the fantasies of the living they see the dead and gossip for hours to the nabours and friends.

These days, they play party games at Christmas time, someone playing the roll of mass murder it's a sickening party game if you ask me if they had any morsels the world would be that little bit brighter instead of the stench of decay lingering around every corner or dark alley that portly lit.

The mortuary assistant gassped in horror but said so true Edgar.