Crime Chronicles


The Crime Chronicles


Morgan Anderson

Listed below are all true stories that were given to us by everyday people. The names associated with the stories have been blurred to protect the identities of the participants and their families.

Participant #001
Name: ****** *********
Age: 24
Occupation: School Therapist

“Are you recording now? Okay good. So… I woke up around 3 in the morning to the deafening silence of my room. I looked over to my brother’s bed so that I could wake him up, but he wasn’t there.

Normally, if one of us wakes up early, we will just talk to each other until we fall back asleep. I started to panic since I didn’t have my brother there to comfort me. I started counting sheep in my head so I could fall back asleep, but even that didn’t work. 1 sheep, 2 sheep 3 sheep, damn. For some reason, I couldn’t get passed the 3rd sheep. Maybe my dream sheep abandoned me along with my brother. I started to count again, 1 sheep, 2 sheep. 3 she-. I was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream that came from downstairs. I jumped so hard I could’ve sworn I hit my head on the ceiling. Following the scream, there was nothing but silence. Again, there goes that damn silence.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I heard more noises coming from downstairs, this time it sounded like someone was dragging a heavy bag of some sort on the floor. I know my dad really cares about his hardwood floors, he would go into a rage if there was a simple, tiny scratch. I gathered up the courage to go downstairs and see what was going on. When I stepped out of bed, the floor began to creak with every step. I started walking towards my parent’s room to check and see if they were there. The door to their room was cracked so I slowly opened it. “Mom? Dad?” I said, praying that they would respond to me. Here goes the silence again, who would’ve ever thought that silence would be a bad thing?

I slowly made my way over to the stairs. I am always hesitant when going down the stairs. Cuz my brother and I used to have a sister… used to. I still remember that gloomy summer day, we were playing a mountain climbing game on the steps, me, my brother, and my sister. When my sister was at the top of the steps, she stepped on a marble that I had left there earlier. She slipped, and fell down 16 steps, hitting her head on the wall at the bottom. The only things I remembered from that day are my sister falling, her ear-splitting scream, and the smell of all that blood. So much blood. She ended up succumbing to her injuries and died later that day in the hospital. My parents said it wasn’t my fault, but deep down I knew it was. That whole scenario plays in my head every time I go down the steps.

I slowly began to walk down the steps, step by step. I walked down 6 steps when all of a sudden I felt a warm, thick liquid between my toes. I froze instantly. I knew it had to either has been blood, or my brother was having another sleepwalking/sleep peeing episode. I kept walking down the stairs when all of a sudden the smell hit me. It smelled worse than anything I had ever smelled in my life. If you can imagine a mix of rotten eggs, rancid meat, and fear, you will know what I smelled. It had a slight similarity to the smell I smelled the day of my sister’s accident. I stood there, frozen at the bottom of the steps. I began to hear more noises. At first, it sounded like someone was sawing wood, but the wood seemed wet. Then I heard plastic bags rustling. The sawing again, followed by the sound of bags, again. I began to put the pieces together, I combined the smell with the sounds and then I finally knew what was happening.

I tried to stand still so that whoever was down there would not hear me, but my foot slipped on the final step. The sounds stopped. I then heard footsteps approaching me, my heart felt as if it would jump out of my chest at any given moment. I tried to run, but I was frozen with fear. The footsteps got closer and closer until I was finally face to face with… my father, drenched in blood. At first, I thought he was injured so I ran to him, but then I saw that he was holding a hacksaw. I slowly began to back up. Without blinking the entire time, my father said to me, “****** , grab a bag.” I was shaking with fear, but I did what he asked of me. When I turned the corner, nothing could’ve prepared me for what was in front of me.”

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