A Scurrying of Cockroaches
Officer Tom Skrzyniarz was a good cop, an active cop and an experienced cop. During the previous year he had a number of citizen contacts resulting in forty-three custodial arrests.
In his twelve years on the Skokie force there wasn’t anything that could happen in that small city that would shock or surprise him. On the way to the call he thought to himself; “Strange smell like a dead ‘possum maybe. Oh well, it’ll give me a chance to get out of the squad and stretch my legs.”
…Tom began moving carefully toward the house taking his time to carefully observe as much of the scene as he could without making written notes.
From past experience he knew that this was the best way to make sure that his written report would be as accurate as it could be. The sergeant was a bit anal about clean and accurate reports and from experience Tom knew that a happy boss was an easy boss.
The front gate looked as though it hadn’t been used in quite a while since there was quite a tangle of weeds surrounding the gateposts and the greenery hadn’t been trampled down.
Walking up to the stairs, he saw no evidence of recent traffic and there was no mail in the rusted mail box that hung forlornly to the right of the door.
He rang the bell and spoke loudly; “Officer Tom Skrzyniarz, Skokie police… is anybody home?”
There was no response. He then rapped strongly on the old wooden front door and repeated, louder;”Officer Tom Skrzyniarz, Skokie police… is anybody home?”
Still no response, just silence. He did notice a faint smell of what might have been a dead squirrel or cat. Nothing overwhelming, but it was there, none-the-less.
Moving off the porch Tom checked out the yard to the west of the house. There was nothing unusual to make note of except for the overgrown condition of a yard choked with weeds. No sign of either people or animals having disturbed the thick vegetation.
Moving back toward the east Tom followed what was once a walkway to the back yard. The side yard was also overgrown. The three windows on this side of the house were grime encrusted and opaque.
Slowly and carefully he continued his progress to the back of the house.
The backyard was as overgrown as the rest of the property with the singular exception of a pathway out to the alley and the semi-abandoned municipal parking lot to the north. Someone had been making entrance and egress from the house by this route, but the degree of overgrowth showed that it hadn’t been traversed for some time.
As Tom approached the rickety back stairs leading to the rear entrance to the house, the smell of putrefaction increased. Carefully mounting the steps and looking if there was any indication of human activity, he approached the closed door and knocked. The door swung inward with the force of his knuckles on the wood and the smell of rotting meat assailed his nostrils like a wind out of hell. There was definitely something… or someone dead inside.
“Officer Tom Skrzyniarz, Skokie police… is anybody home?”Tom announced while reaching for his Kel-light flashlight with his left hand while drawing his 9mm service weapon with his right.
“Officer Tom Skrzyniarz, Skokie police… check for well-being”; he announced as he flicked on the Kel-light and carefully entered the building.
When just inside the door, he found himself in the kitchen.
Sweeping the light slowly from left to right while keeping his service weapon at the low-ready position, he mentally recorded the fact that the kitchen had not seen use as a food preparation area for some time.
Paper plates were piled on the sink; dirty plastic ware with the rotting remnants of food was on the drainboard and the stove veiled with a coating of dust.
The only evidence of life were the many paw prints in the dust on the floor. Paw prints that appeared to be from squirrels or cats. There were two sets of human footprints leading into the house but only one back out again toward where Tom was standing.
As he made these observations, be noticed the longer he was in the kitchen the putrid smell increased in intensity.
Something deep in his consciousness made him want to leave this place. There was danger here and instinctively Tom knew it, but, as he was taught in his many years as a cop, you perform as you train and his training overrode his instinct. He moved further into the darkened house. Moving through the kitchen door into the dining room he swept the beam of his light from left to right, alert for any movement that would trigger his action response. The antique dining room table was piled high with old newspapers, junk mail and other flotsam and detritus.
There was an old pizza box computer with a tiny monitor on a table against the wall. It was also covered in dust and looked like it had been quite some time since it had been powered up.
The old dining room floor was replete with animal paw prints embedded in the dust and under those he could barely make out two sets of human footprints leading to a room to his right but only one set leading out and back to where he stood.
Carefully walking to the side of the footprints so as not to disturb the scene, he slowly worked his way to the doorway of the room on his right. Getting to the opening he stood for a minute listening.
Nothing… silence… and the smell of death was now almost overwhelming. He could feel the contents of his gut churning and he really didn’t want to go any further. Tom, a well-trained experienced cop, mustered all of the resolve he could to take the next step.
In one fluid motion he stepped over the dusty footprints going into the room and launched himself to the left of the door frame while sweeping his light to the right. The beam illuminated a sight that Tom had never experienced in all his years on the force. It was something out of a nightmare… something out of a grade B horror movie. It was a human body, or at least what used to be a human body.
“A Wake of Vultures” is available at Amazon.com Paperback $16.99 Kindle $2.99
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