Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes from Sandcastle, California. Today I have for you some very creepy stories about crime. Yes, crime happens everywhere but here in Sandcastle crime is a little more mysterious and usually a bit supernatural. Of course, it’s hard to tell one from the other but we know that many people don’t care or can’t see the difference either way–especially here in Purgatory.
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Now let’s begin…
MY TEACHER IS A KILLER
by MalumLibrum958
I’m in my English teacher’s walls.
The dumbass doesn’t even realize I’m hiding in the walls of his house. Why am I here, you ask? Well, it all started when he gave me that bad grade at the start of the year. In fact, all year he’s just been giving me one bad grade after another.
Why does he pick on me like he does? I work hard. I turn in my essays. Who cares if I have “controversial opinions” about the characters we read about? That doesn’t mean he has any right to flunk me. But here we are.
As soon as this idiot goes to sleep, I’m going to kill him in the most horrific way imaginable. He’s going to regret ever meeting me. But really, I’m doing him a mercy. His name is Mr. Bingo, for Pete’s sake. What kind of name is that?
I haven’t heard him in a hot minute. I squeeze out of a wall and into his basement. What a creep! Look how many taxidermized animals he has. Beavers, badgers, deer- the works. They’re everywhere.
He even has four taxidermized people standing by one wall. Wait. What the?!
Nope. My eyes aren’t deceiving me. This guy actually has four taxidermized people in his basement. What the hell! I thought I had a few screws loose, but this jackass might be even crazier than I am. What else has he been doing down here?
“They were old friends of mine,” I hear Mr. Bingo say behind me.
I whirl around. I hadn’t even heard the dude slip into the room. I might be fighting above my weight class here. Or maybe I’m just off my game.
Mr. Bingo ignores me and takes a step towards the taxidermized people. He looks at one of them with something like pain in his eyes.
“Apprentices, kiddo,” he says. “I taught them everything I know about what I do. But they thought they were better than me. They tried to hurt me. So I had to hurt them.”
I blink at him.
“Don’t call me kiddo,” I say.
Mr. Bingo smiles at me. “What?” he asks.
“Don’t call me kiddo,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m twenty.”
“Of course,” Mr. Bingo replies. “But compared to me, you are a kiddo. You don’t have a clue how the world works. Not the way I do, anyway.”
I blink at him. I’m at a loss for words.
“Have a seat,” Mr. Bingo says. He takes me over to two ornate armchairs. There’s a table in between them. It has a wine bottle and two glasses on it. I suppose he’d been expecting me tonight. I’m again reminded how out of my element I am here.
There’s also a cheeseboard. It has a knife sticking out of it. I let my gaze linger on the blade for a second before looking away.
Mr. Bingo pours us each a glass of wine, then sits down heavily. I’m wary of letting my guard down around him, and especially about drinking possibly poisoned wine. But I suppose if he wanted me dead, I’d already be dead.
I sit down. “Cheers!” Mr. Bingo says, toasting me. He takes a hearty drink of his wine. I take a little sip.
“Don’t like wine?” Mr. Bingo asks, taking note of my distaste.
“I’m not twenty-one yet,” I reply.
He chuckles. “You’ll break into a man’s house, but you won’t drink a little wine?”
“What does one of those things have to do with the other?” I say flatly.
“Fair enough,” Mr. Bingo replies with a roll of his eyes. He takes another drink. I notice he’s ignoring the cheese and crackers.
“Why did you taxidermy them?” I ask.
“Hmm?”
“Your former apprentices. Why did you stuff them?”
He shrugs. “Call me sentimental, but I couldn’t just get rid of them. I needed to honor them.”
I nod. “What if the cops find out?”
“The cops?” he laughs. “Forget them. They play checkers and I play chess. They’ll never get me. Besides, the only other person who knows about these four is you. And if you want to tell the cops about them, you’ll have to admit you broke into my house.”
A chill goes down my spine. The man has a point.
He gives me a cold stare over his glasses. “…Though I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m going to let you out of here.”
I feel myself stiffening up. “What do you want?”
Mr. Bingo smirks at me. “I’ve read about you in the news.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, playing dumb. How could he possibly know?
“You know what I mean,” he replies.
Shit. He’s good.
I shake my head. “You’re lying. Nobody’s been able to catch me.”
“Nobody but me,” Mr. Bingo replies, sitting back in his chair. “I’m smarter than whoever they’ve got tracking you. I know what you did to the widow Johnson and that poor young couple up at lover’s lane. I guess you thought you could get away with it. But I saw how full of yourself you were the day after both killings. How you couldn’t stop talking about them. What’s more, you killed all three of your victims the exact same way. It’s not hard to deduce it was you.”
I’m surprised. I don’t bother hiding it. Mr. Bingo doesn’t notice. He seems more bored than anything at the moment. He keeps taking slow pulls of his wine as he slouches in his chair.
The cheese and crackers continue to collect dust. I guess he thought maybe I would want some. But I’m not trying any until he tries some. I know he has the advantage over me down here, but even so, I don’t feel like taking that risk.
“Besides,” Mr. Bingo adds, snapping me out of my reverie, “you’ve been writing essays all year about how Gatsby should have just killed Tom so that he could have Daisy. I know. I’m your English teacher, remember. It’s not hard to connect the dots.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?” I ask. “Why I killed those people, I mean.”
“What’s the point?” he replies. “I’m willing to bet you did it to blow off steam. But I won’t pretend to know. All my apprentices had a different reason.”
“So you’ve found me out. What are you going to do?” I ask flatly. “Turn me in?”
“If I did, the police might be suspicious of me,” Mr. Bingo replies. “I would prefer to avoid them. I had to disappear once before. It was… a hassle. I’d rather not bother with that again.”
Mr. Bingo pauses to sip his wine for a while. I think to myself as he does. It’s way too quiet down here.
“So why haven’t you killed me yet, then?” I ask point blank.
Mr. Bingo puts his glass down and looks at me again. “What did you think I was trying to teach my apprentices?” he asks. He smiles like a cat about to swallow a canary. “English?”
I raise my eyebrows. “You want to teach me how to kill people?”
“If you’re willing. Otherwise, I can’t let you leave,” he replies.
I laugh. “Killing people is easy. You stick the knife in and the blood comes out.”
“Do you know how to make your getaway?” he asks impatiently. “Do you know how to hide the body? Do you know how to pick the perfect victim? Hmm? This is your problem, kid. You think you’re hot stuff, but really you’re just a dirt sandwich.” He sets his wine glass down with disgust.
I glare at him. “I don’t need your help.”
“Then this was a waste of time,” Mr. Bingo replies. He gets up and takes a step towards me.
I flinch away from him so hard, my chair squeaks on the ground. “Wait wait wait!” I say. “Don’t do anything stupid!”
The man smiles at me. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
He takes a few steps towards his taxidermized apprentices. I notice he’s comfortable enough to turn his back on me. I glance at the knife that’s stuck in the cheeseboard. If I want to do something to him, it’s now or never. Now or never!
Oh, what the hell? I’ll wait and see what he does next. I have a feeling he’s waiting for me to do something stupid, anyway.
“Have you ever heard of the Judge?” he asks me.
“Who?” I ask, subtly inching closer to the knife.
“The Judge. The old comic book villain.”
“Oh. Him. Wasn’t he based on a real guy?” I ask.
“Yes!” Mr. Bingo replies, looking over his shoulder at me. I smile at him, trying to play innocent. Like I’m not dreaming of burying the knife in his back right this very minute.
Oh, God. I want to go home.
If he notices anything, he doesn’t say it. He turns back to his apprentices. “The Judge was a special kind of killer. He only targeted those he saw as evil- criminals and the like. What’s more, he had special abilities. He’d fallen into a vat of chemicals one day, and come back out with unimaginable powers. He could outrun speeding cars, tear lampposts out of the ground, and jump into third story windows.”
Mr. Bingo glances back at me again. “But we don’t need special powers to bring justice to this world, kid. You and me, all we need is courage. We can cull the unnecessary folks from this world to make room for those that will make it better. We can change things. We can reshape the Earth. Even if it’s only one victim at a time.”
This man really is crazier than me.
And yet he has an odd allure to him. If life was a woman, this man would grab her by the waist and pull her against him. He’s like that guy we learned about in his class, Gatsby. Though I doubt Gatsby ever stuffed dead corpses.
I look at the knife again. I guess I may as well try my luck.
I rip it out of the cheeseboard and dash towards him.
He doesn’t even bother turning around. Instead, he ducks to the ground. I trip over him like an idiot, dropping the knife and banging my head on the wall. I groan, rolling onto my back. Mr. Bingo has the knife in his hand. He brings it down at my throat-
But at the very last second, he stops. The blade only nicks the skin of my neck, making it bleed. I wince as I stare up at him. He smirks.
“Join me, kid. Together, we can make our dreams come true.”
What choice do I have? It’s like this guy is not of this world.
“I’m in,” I say resignedly.
But as he pulls me to my feet and claps me on the back, I wonder how I can take his power for myself.
HELP, POLICE
by William See
You remember the night the Policeman escorted you home.
You couldn’t have been more than 12 at the time. You remember this distinctly because you were a big fan of Superman comics, but now you think Superman is totally lame. It was probably late, around 9:00 pm because the sky was already that Chicago Night shade of purple. As the train wobbled on you watched Superman beat Darkseid into submission.
You were coming home from After School Matters and the only people in the last cart were you, and of course, the policeman. He had been sitting quietly on the opposite end of you the entire ride; you can’t recall ever seeing him hop onto the train, to begin with. It’s only when you casually glanced up that he twitched and noticed you.
Under the dim lights, you could barely make out his face. The eyes glinted like tiny holes underneath the shadow of his cap. Nervously you looked back down. The policeman is here to make sure you’re safe, you think. Don’t give him a reason to be suspicious of you.
Ding dong. Doors closing. Western is next.
As the last stop ground further away from you, you cautioned another look up, pretending to look at the next stop sign. The officer was now directly staring at you. His mouth looked somewhat agape as if he got knocked in the jaw.
A small icy trickle of fear ran down the nape of your neck. Maybe he’s drunk. Sometimes crap like that happens in this city. Whatever you do, don’t acknowledge him. You’re fine.
Despite this, you could not help but notice that the policeman was slowly getting up and plodding over to you. You could feel a dull pounding begin to vibrate your eardrums.
As he sat down in the seat opposite of you, you take note of his shoes over the comic pages you held. They were dirty and ragged as if he hadn’t washed them in years. Furthering another slight glance up, you also note that his hands are clawing at the knees as if he himself is the one who is nervous. His nails are overgrown and have dirt underneath.
Glancing as minimally upward as possible, your brain fully registers the man’s face for one gut-dropping second.
Underneath the cap is a doughy complexion with lumpy skin. His mouth doesn’t look like it has lips, and he had no nostrils or cheekbones. His ragged breathing is what tipped you off that he had settled down directly in front of you, to begin with. And his eyes oh dear god, they were awful. They looked like tiny black holes puncturing his brow. You had a sudden irrational, sickening idea that they’d pucker open and closed like tiny mouths and resisted the urge to throw up a little.
Mustering every ounce of courage you have, you look up and squeak out a “good evening Sir”.
You immediately regret it upon seeing his mouth – the thin line with tiny black cracks stemming from it – drop open again. It is quivering violently and a disgusting scent smacks you across the face. You don’t know why, but you immediately feel like you’re right in front of the Chicago River.
Time begins to stand still as the policeman slowly crouches over you. His head twitched left and then right as if trying to shake a bug off. He looks down at you from above and you realize he’s somehow tall enough to block out the light from the train. In fact…somehow, in a maddening trick of the light, it appears his shoulders and arms are as wide as the train cart, looping around the poles and making sluglike motions.
You feel short-breathed as this thing in front of you leans down. A fat, black slug darts in and out of its mouth as it lays a single claw-like hand on your shoulder. Indescribable pain shoots through your shoulder as what feels like a million tiny teeth begin to chew through the fabric-
DING DONG. Doors closing.
Your stop. Addison.
The policeman glances away just long enough for you to slip out of his grasp and into the yellow light safety of the train platform. As you shakily turn back around, you see that the policeman, silhouetted as a normal man is standing with his back to the door. As they begin to close, he turns slightly and utters one inhuman phrase, understandable even through the rumbling echoes of that monstrous frame:
“Be. Good.”
You sprint the rest of the way home as quickly as you can, not even taking a moment to say goodnight to your mom as you slam the door behind you. She’ll ask you later what happened to your shirt and why you wet the bed, but you won’t be able to tell her. Not for several years anyway, since you lose the ability to speak not long after that night.
You often have dreams the policeman continues to escort you home every night after school.
Sometimes, even when you’re not asleep, you can see red and blue lights silently flashing through your bedroom window for a few hours before they disappear and blend in with the deep purple and blues and yellows of nighttime Chicago.
KNIFE FIGHT
by MalumLibrum958
“Please, Mr. Bingo, for the love of God!” I beg. “I’ll do anything to pass your class!”
“Yeah, me too!” my classmate, Ariana, pleads. She’s about my age, eighteen or so. She’s black and a little heavy set. A beanie cap is sitting on her head.
Our professor, Mr. Bingo, is sitting in front of us with his feet on his desk. He’s a wiry, balding man with liver spots on his head. Nobody’s in the classroom but the three of us. Mr. Bingo takes off his glasses and gives us a wary look.
“If you’re implying you’ll sleep with me for a better grade, Ms. Dante, you’d better ask someone else,” Mr. Bingo says to me. He puts his glasses back on. “I’m married.”
“No! For the love of God, Mr. Bingo!” I say, exasperated. “That’s not what I meant at all.” Why does everyone think I’m willing to sleep with them? I never wear anything hotter than jeans and a t-shirt. Just because I’m curvy doesn’t mean I’m easy.
Behind me, Ariana sighs loudly.
Mr. Bingo gets up from his desk and smiles at us. “Lucky for you two girls, there IS something you can do to improve your grades. A little ‘extra credit assignment,’ if you will. That is, if you’re willing to do it.”
“Oh, anything, Mr. Bingo,” I say, relieved. “What is it?” Behind me, Ariana perks up.
Mr. Bingo’s smile widens. He pulls a knife out of his jeans and tosses it on the ground between me and Ariana. Ariana and I look at it and recoil. We both turn to him and raise our eyebrows questioningly.
Mr. Bingo clears his throat. “The two of you fight. Whoever wins gets to pass.”
Is this a sick joke? Does this guy honestly think we’re going to fight each other to the death over our English grades? But the longer I look at Mr. Bingo, the more I realize he’s serious. He smiles at us so wide, it cuts into his cheeks. He has the strangest look in his eyes.
I do need this class to get my diploma. I turn to Ariana. Ariana looks back at me.
And she dives for the knife.
I kick her onto her back, then jump on top of her. She yells and grabs me by the neck. I break free and punch her in the face. She bites me on the hand. I scream in pain. Ariana grabs me by the neck and throws me off her.
She gets up and runs for the knife. I get up and tackle her from behind. She tries to regain her feet, but I wrap my arm around her throat. Mr. Bingo watches us from his desk with sadistic glee in his eyes. I wonder if he’s done this before.
Ariana breaks free for the briefest moment and bites me on the arm. I shriek and let go of her. She turns around and swings her elbow at my nose, breaking it. I fly backwards and collide with a desk. Me and the desk crash to the ground.
Ariana grabs the knife and charges at me, howling like a madwoman. I get up just in time and grab her by the arm. She tries to stab me, but I hold her back.
I try to force her to stab herself in the neck, but I only manage to get her shoulder. She yanks the knife out and swings it at my throat. I dodge backwards at the last second, and she only breaks the skin on my neck instead of shearing open the blood vessels inside.
Ariana tries to stab me again. I steal the knife and stab her in the arm, then punch her in the face. I rip the knife out of her arm and ram it into her chest. She makes a sound like a dying animal. I grab her arm and break it in one fluid move. With a gargled cry, Ariana pulls the knife out of her chest and tries to stab me again.
I get a hold of the knife and stab her in the stomach. She doubles over. I grab her and kick the knife, burying it in her stomach even deeper. Blood spews out of her mouth. I kick the knife again. This time, it goes clean through her back.
Ariana stiffens completely and collapses to the ground, dead on the spot. Blood pools on the classroom floor all around her.
I’m doubled over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. My wounds are all bleeding. I look at Ariana’s corpse again. She’s dead and it’s my fault, just because I wanted to pass Mr. Bingo’s impossible English class. What was I thinking?
Ignoring the blood, I sit down and bury my head in my hands. I’m so overwhelmed by what’s just happened, I barely hear Mr. Bingo speaking at the front of the room.
“That’s her, officer,” Mr. Bingo says, pointing at me and the corpse. “I was just sitting here minding my own business, and those two up and started fighting each other. They’re crazy!”
I look up. Mr. Bingo is standing at the front of the room, talking to a couple of police officers. When did the police get here? Did he call them himself? How many times has he done this before?
The cops march towards me and wrench me to my feet, holding me tightly by either arm. I stare at Mr. Bingo, incredulous. Mr. Bingo smiles back at me. I realize just how cold and calculating he really is.
But now, it’s too late. The cops drag me out of Mr. Bingo’s room and into the hallway, leaving Ariana’s corpse and the bloodied knife behind. I’m going to jail (and probably hell, someday.) Mr. Bingo pokes his head out of the classroom and waves at us.
“So long, Ms. Dante!” Mr. Bingo says cheerfully. “Guess I won’t be seeing you next week, eh?” He laughs.
Oh yeah. I hate him.
THE CRUMBLING HOUSE NEXT TO ME
by Joseph the Snail
Bordering my property line, a manufactured home is left to be devoured by mother nature; abandoned. I have owned my property for multiple years, and, throughout that time, an owner has never been present, nor had I seen anything suspicious — until recently.
On August 20th of this year, police were dispatched to the home with an arrest warrant. The 20th of August was a Saturday so being woken up around 7am to commotion would be an unpleasant surprise. This was until, however, I realized it could finally give me the opportunity to know some history of the abandoned home. Unfortunately, the police were, understandably, unable to speak during the open investigation. They did, however, let me know that the owner of the home has been marked as a threat to himself and others. He said for me to be on the lookout and if I see anything out of the ordinary, I should give them a call. A day or two passed and I noticed the police accidentally left the front door ajar. I made a mental note to close the door when I got a chance so mother nature could not make her way inside.
August 22, 2022
The next day, I walked from my property to close the door, but I was perplexed as I approached and realized the door was now closed.
I decided to walk around the home to inspect the condition and ensure a back door is not open or unlocked. Upon getting to the rear of the trailer, I noticed a small bedroom is missing a lower windowpane. The opening is small, but it is sizable enough to fit a smaller person. I notice the back door is closed, however, I reach up to grab the door handle and I am caught off guard by the door gliding open with ease; without even turning the handle. I take a momentary glance and close the door shut. After that, I go to the open window to peek inside before I leave. As I carefully place my head in the window, I notice a sticky note on the floor in the bedroom, lying in front of a closed door directly to my left with “Bathroom” written in Sharpie on it. It was close, so I reached inside and grabbed the note.
As I am taking in my last moment in the room, I am petrified to hear the back door, about 4 feet to the right of this window, smash against the wall I am leaning along. I pull my head out of the window and, without hesitation, make a run around the left side of the trailer back toward my property. When I get to the front, I see a white male, around 5’8 in height, running in a similar direction as me. We saw each other clearly. After noticing that we are running in similar directions, he turns around and starts to go the opposite way; I stand stationary, with a racing heart, sifting through my pockets for my phone to call the police. I knew, however, it would be too late. When they showed up, I offered the police the best description I could give, and they went on their way. This time, we made sure the door was closed and locked.
When I got back home, I decided to try and figure out the history of the property, the owner, or anything I could find that could help give me peace of mind after these two incidents. I was unsure of the address, so I went to Zillow to see if it is listed there — I have noticed Zillow typically has a surprising amount of information. Fortunately, the home had been for sale in 2011, until it was quickly purchased, so I was able to find basic documentation, including the address.
Why would someone buy a home just to leave it abandoned? The interior was in decent shape; and aside from the porch, the exterior could be cleaned up easily.
Upon researching the address for an hour or two, I, disappointingly, produced no information. Finally, I decided to check out the county arrest record as a final effort for information.
The most recent arrest was a man charged with “Possession of Schedule II,” “Possession of Schedule IV,” and “Attempting to Elude.” The last charge was a massive red flag. My local Sheriff’s office does not seem to release mugshots publicly so I could not identify his appearance on their side; instead, I copied his name and searched it in Google and was met by, not only a youthful photo of the guy I saw hours earlier, but a plethora of articles on both a local and national level about him. He has been arrested many times, but I was stunned as I started scrolling articles about one arrest.
For my safety, I am going to keep every identity and location confidential.
In April of 2012, he was arrested and accused of killing a hiker. Articles from 2014 unpack new case discoveries and updates, but also go into the personal life of the murderer. Newly publicized records, at the time, show that he was the caretaker of his aunt. His aunt had dementia and needed help with everyday tasks; help that he was meant to provide. His aunt passed away in November of 2012, alone. In the latter half of 2014, the trial is finally starting, and the man is making a spectacle of himself. Local news covered his trial in detail and used it as an opportunity to capitalize. Armed by documentation and well-respected lawyers, the man was able to successfully pull off an extremely rare insanity plea and was sentenced to “mandatory treatment,” whatever that means. While the initial arrest was made about 2 hours away, I was shocked to see past news coverage showing the mobile home in the background. According to 2014 coverage, the mobile home belonged to the aunt of the killer. This home is where they lived at the time of the incident.While the status of the home is unclear, I wonder what the future holds for it and who owns it. I have been thinking about it a lot lately, and honestly, I am starting to feel uneasy about the potential risks, so I am going to try and reach out to the county for more information. If I get a response or see something else, I will post an update, but for now it’s status will remain a mystery.
