The Mystery of the Second Floor Apartment

Collinsport. A new night falls and with it the lengthening shadows that begin to drape the small costal town. Whispers within the small community have begun once again concerning the ever-present apprehension of the return of the “The History.” Those strange and unsettling occurrences that seem to so suddenly transpire in and around the hamlet of Collinsport, and which are invariably accompanied with homicide. Of late a police consultant had been charged with a series of murders perpetrated it would appear based upon his extreme fascination with vampires. The purported “Vampire Murder” had been incarcerated in Wyncliffe Sanatorium – but his escape has coincided now with yet another grisly double homicide. Two tourists found murdered on the Old New Jerusalem Road at an ill-used rest stop. Both of them beheaded. Only tonight, there are two young women from St. Andrews School for Girls who are more uncertain about the earlier series of murders. So much so that one of them has decided to take it upon herself to continue her own investigation – unaware of what she is about to find.

{Opening Theme: [www.youtube.com] }

In the shadows, standing well back from the dimly lit street, where the scent of the blue dumpster wafts a nauseating mixture of garbage and sweet decay, Kimberly St.-Simone stands wishing she had worn a heavier coat over her grey school uniform blazer, the short, gray plaid skirt, and her white knee socks. The October evening has grown progressively chill, as dusk has given gave way to night and the streetlights along Brewster Street first flickered and then came to life in order to emit the rosy haze from their bulbs of low-pressure sodium vapor. As if they were placed there so that their rose color could conceal the starkness of the run down, low-income section of the city.

They are way off the old Collins Captain’s Wheel, his 18th century three-masted Schooner, and the much too happy Sea Horse glyphed souvenir map of multi-colored and encircled, numeric scenic routes. There are those, according to an article in the Collnsport Star, who would like to see this old neighborhood turned into the “Historic Collinsport Residential District.” There are others who are just as adamantly opposed. Just were would all the displaced go, seeing as how Brewster Street was enclaved almost exclusively for the natives – meaning those primary on the lower end of the socio-economic scale – among whom included most of the examples of Collinsport’s criminal elements, or at least the more respectable of the criminal elements as the hard core tended to reside in the concealment of the Maine forests.

Kimberly she peers once again around the edge of the dumpster to look out at the intersection of Brewster and North East Main where the headlights of a late model car skim across the road as the automobile makes its way down North East Main heading east, toward the bay.

“Are we going to stand here all night smelling this horrible garbage?” Agatha Morrowfield asks forlornly as she shifts her height from one foot to another growing ever more impatient as it gets colder. She has feared opening the rusted lid of the blue receptacle for fear of what she might find inside – a corpse, because garbage just doesn’t smell this bad. Or at least any garbage she has ever been around.
“Sssh.” Kimberly says as she quickly ducks back behind the edge of the rank dumpster, pulling Agatha with her further back into the recess of shadows as someone strides past the mouth of the alleyway.

He looks as if he’s about to be starting something.

And for a few long moments both are silent, each unconsciously holding their breath as the ‘gentleman’ strolls down the narrow sidewalk.

“Kimberly,” Agatha whispers once she feels it’s safe to breath again, readjusting her book bag’s strap across her shoulder as she glances up at her taller, more attractive, sandy-haired companion – who for some reason has become enamored with the idea that she is now some kind-of-would-be Nancy Drew, which of course left Agatha to decide whether she was to be either her Bess or her George, and Agatha was not at all not sure she cared for either role. “It is late – and I have that essay to finish for Fenn-Gibbon.”

And the one thing Agatha did not want to do was to turn in a late essay to the new Comparative Religion teacher – whom word had it was an ex-university professor from Arkham, Massachusetts’ Miskatonic. Fastidious, a long lecturer, and did not grade on a curve was the only fruit the school’s grapevine and yet to grow concerning this newest addition to the faculty; and so she wanted to make the most favorable impression with her first assignment.

“I know, Agatha, I know, but just a little bit longer please.” Kimberly says and peers back around the corner of the dumpster. “I just know she will show up – it’s the right time – right after dusk.”

“What is this obsession of yours with this singer?”

“It is not an obsession, Agatha – “The attractive, sandy-haired would-be young sleuth replies, “This is an investigation.”

“Investigation?”

“The whole story as given by the police – “

“And reported by that bastion of journalistic excellence The Star.”

“—is so full of inconsistences. I don’t think they even looked into Vivica’s death.”

Agatha looks up at her and taking her forefinger begins counting on the tips of the fingers of her other, upheld, hand: “Found by the Coast Guard floating in the bay. Two wounds on her throat. No blood anywhere in her body. They arrest a nutball who’s been killing young women, and, this – this is important, he drains all the blood out of their bodies. The police catch him just as he is in the act of doing it to yet another young girl.” She then wiggles all of the fingers of her hand that have been counted off, “Hello! Kimberly—they have, or well, they did have, the nutball who did it!”

Kimberly cuts her eyes to look at Agatha, “Well, I am not the only one. There is this doctor – a much respected doctor from Arkham and he says that Vivica was attacked by someone else.”

“A singer in a rock-in-roll band?” Agatha shakes her head.

“As I understand it, he believes this Alison Drew is involved, and so I have been watching her.”

“Stalking her – more like it.”

“And up there, on the second floor, the one in the front, overlooking the street.” Kimberly points out, “I’ve seen her up there.”

Agatha Morrowfield glances now across the dimly lit street to look at the old two-story rooming house: The Brewster Apartments, “Oh, whoopee a bar singer who lives in a cheap, run-down apartment.”

“No—she doesn’t live there. She goes there to meet someone—a very special someone in fact?”

“Oh, really? And so we’re standing here smelling garbage in the middle of night because she’s what? Seeing someone’s husband? Oh, now there’s a crime.”

“It’s a reverend.” Kimberly says, “A Reverend Trask.”

“A minister secretly seeing someone in the dead of night . . . “Agatha whispers, with mock intrigue. “And it’s not an altar boy . . . ummm, you might be on to something.”

“Will you be serious,” Kimberly says with a slightly irritated tone, while keeping a watch on the building, “Look, I know you think this all so crazy – but I just know that Vivica would not have gone off with that—that Shiva guy.”

“Silva.”

“Yes.” Kimberly nods crossing her arms to warm herself.

“Because?”

Kimberly looks down at her friend and for a moment Agatha takes note of the slight hesitation, an odd look in Kimmey’s eyes – “Because why?” she continues.

Kimberly is uncertain now whether or not she should tell Agatha why she is so Vivica would not have gone off with him—or any other guy—since she knows that Vivica was gay. And it’s not that she thinks Agatha would intentionally tell anyone, she is undecided if should reveal this to her . . . after all why should she bring all that up, why should she disparage her reputation now that she is dead.

“Vivica—just didn’t go out – with boys all that much.”

“Just because you were her roommate, it doesn’t mean you would know everything about her, Kimmmy – especially, who she might be seeing.” Agatha tells her pointedly. “She could have been secretly seeing someone and you’d never know.”

“Just trust me.” Kimberly tells her, “And please, Agatha can you just concentrate on the apartment.”

Agatha peers around the edge of the dumpster – the scent’s getting even worse, if that was even possible, since, like isn’t odor supposed to just dissipate the longer you smell it, right? “It’s getting cold Kim. And what do you expect me to see – it’s just a rundown old apartment building.”

“I want you to see this Alison Drew. “ Kimberly explains. They’ve already been to the old warehouse used as a rehearsal hall for the band Room 2, and it was deserted – or so it seemed. “There is something really strange about her.”

“Strange?” Agatha mutters, “What—she doesn’t date boys either?”

Kimberly cuts a look at her.

Could Agatha know? It wasn’t like Vivica made a point to tell her, it wasn’t like they sat and shared special confidences or sat around at night talking about their secret loves – but sometimes a roommate rather unexpectedly enters the room and they Vivica was in bed with another girl, which is how Kimberly not only discovered Vivica special affinity but became aware of several other girls at school who were friends of Vivica.

“Well, I have no idea. But what I am concerned about is that at times, and I know this sounds very crazy, but at times it is just like she disappears – like she just sort-of fades into the shadows or something.”

Agatha Morrowfield keeps an eye on the street even thought she is not at all sure what it is she is supposed to be looking out for on this bizarre Buffy the Vampire Slayer stake out – and she smiles at that. Stakeout. “So, what are you saying?”

“I don’t know what I man saying – that is why I want you to see and you can tell me with you think.”

“I think Sarah Michelle Geller is better at this kind of stuff – Kimmey, I thought we were playing Nancy Drew . . . not vampire hunters.”

“I didn’t say vampire.” Kimberly replies distracted.

“Fades away . . . “ Agatha repeats, “That’s either Dracula and it sounds like someone might have smuggled in all seven volumes of Harry Potter.”

“I know it sounds like yeah, Vamp Night or something – but it’s the truth, I swear.” Kimberly St.-Simone says as she glances up at the apartment, and her eyes narrow now as she sees a shadow move across the curtain. “Someone’s there.”

Agatha Morrowfield follows her gaze.

“So you say she’s seeing a minister?” Agatha asks.

“Yes. What if she happened to have seen them, then maybe—well, maybe they did something to her to keep it quiet. To avoid a scandal.” Kimberly moves over slightly so as to have a better angle to look up at the open window.

“Sound more plausible that Vamp Night.”

“I so want to see what is in that apartment.”

Suddenly the door to the old apartment house opens. They both slip back into the shadows of the alley and hold their breaths as if whomever was exiting the building could actually hear them breath from across the street.

The Reverend Trask strides casually down the stone steps of the building and looks down the sidewalk. He turns up the collar of his jacket and walks over to the intersection. He crosses the street and removes his car keys to open the door of a black Mercedes.

“Got a nice ride.” Agatha whispers.

The Reverend Trask starts the motor and pulls down the street and turns to head back toward North East Main Street,

Kimberly steps away from the concealment of the dumpster and moves toward the mouth of the alley as she looks back at Agatha, “This might be our chance. Come on!”

“Wha? Wait!” Agatha stumbles as she rises to follow. “So, what are you planning Kimberly St.-Simone?”

Kimberly smiles and grabs a hold of Agatha’s wrist as she hurries across the dark street. Agatha holds tightly to her book bag as she is pulled along as the approach the old apartment house.

“Now we have to be careful,” Kimberly whispers, her voice full of excitement.

Agatha looks at the tall, slender, sandy-haired girl beside her as they gain the sidewalk across the street in from the of Brewster Apartments, “So—do you even know how to pick a lock?”

“You think the door is locked?”

“Duh.”

Kimberly dashes up the steps and tries the latch, but it is lock, “D**ned!”

Agatha holds on to the strap of her book bag as she looks up the stairs to see her friend at the door, whose enthusiasm is badly waning as she kicks an oxford toe at the bottom of the door.

“ummm.”

And Kimberly looks back down the steps now at Agatha and smiles as she has heard that tone before. “Yes?”

Agatha Morrowfield glances up at her, “Okay, fine, but you owe me for this.” She slowly ascends the steps, “Big time.”

“I certainly will,” Kimberly tells her and gives her a huge hug as she passes – which Agatha breaths deep the heady scent of her. “I will keep watch.”

Agatha opens her bag and pulls out a textbook, which she then opens and from the cover she extracts a pin out of the small compartment carved into the pages

“Okay, so no one is around, “ She tells Agatha as she glances down the street.

Textbook put away, with pin in hand, Agatha moves over to the locked door.

She kneels down before the lock.

Kimberly nervously watches the street with an occasional glance backward to watch Agatha’s progress.

Agatha Morrowfield sets to picking the lock, muttering, “All I wanted was to snitch a couple bottles of communion wine, now . . . here I am here breaking into houses . . . God, they need to hire better nuns . . . “

CLICK.

The door swings open with a soft creak.

“Sssh,” Kimberly says over her shoulder just as she observes Agatha pushing upon the door and looking up at her with a sly and triumphant grin.

“Agatha!” Kimberly’s impressed, “You are so cool!”

“Yeah, yeah – I bet you tell that to all the girls.”

Kimberly steps forward and pushes the door open further to reveal a long, narrow hallway. There are a few brass light fixtures attached to the old wallpapered walls lighting the way. On either side of the hallway there are two doors, which appear to lead to the lower floor apartments.

At the end of the hall is a wooden stairwell.

Kimberly steps in and almost walks on her tiptoes as she slips down the hall to the stairs. She looks back to Agatha closing the door behind them and waves for her to follow.

Agatha Morrowfield hesitates; just want are they getting into? She looks at Kimberly and sighs before deciding to follow her – h**l she has already picked the lock.

A wooden floorboard creaks under Kimberly’s foot and her heart races. She stops, frozen the hallway, as she looks at the two doors.

But no one seems to have heard.

They quickly climb the stairs to the second floor.

Kimberly motions to the door that should be the apartment she has been watching from below, “Can you open this door too?’

“Yeees.” Agatha rolls her eyes slightly before setting to work upon it, murmuring something about flying nuns and a one-way ticket to hell.

Kimberly once again takes up the vigil of the watch

She glances back to see Agatha working once again on the lock with her pin.

Agatha Morrowfield pushes the door open gently, glancing to Kim, “You might want’a get a longer skirt, not much mystery from down here, “ she whispers as she rises from her knees.

Kimberly gives her a look.

“Now Agatha!”

Kimberly reaches in the open door and searches now for the light switch and turns on the lights.

Agatha smiles not at all innocently, “Just sayin’, though the boys prolly don’t mind.”

The first thing Kimberly sees upon entering the room is a large map placed upon on an easel.

Then she sees the papers scattered on the floor and stacks of old books lying around.

She steps over to the map, “Oh my, what is this?” She takes out her IPhone and clicks a picture of it.

Agatha steps over and looks at the map, “Have you ever heard of Chesuncook?”

“No –“

“I think it is in Maine.”

“Yeah – well, I sleep through geography classes like normal people.” Agatha replies as she looks at the map.

Kimberly looks now at the odd hand drawn map, it looks as if it is some photographic blow up of a much smaller original.

She steps over to the sofa and sits down to look at an old book that is open, “This is some old history book about Collinsport.” She says flipping through the pages.

“What? There’s books about some washed up canning towns through the ages?” Agatha replies as she steps closer to look at the old book. And it is a very old book that’s for certain.

“This chapter is about some trial. A Quentin Collins, who was on trial for . . . Witchcraft in –1840! That can’t be right.” Kimberly says.

Agatha looks up from the book with a expression of mock surprise, “Oh, don’t tell me you stay awake in history class too!”

Kimberly takes out a notebook and a pen and starts taking notes. She writes down the names, Ivan Miller. Gerard Stiles. Desmond Collins

“Look, if you want the book, just stuff it in here,” Agatha tells her as she opens her book bag.

“Oh, this is like totally wrong – I mean it says here that had a witch trial here in Collinsport back in 1840. They didn’t have trials for that in the 19th century?” Kimberly says as scans a paragraph and flips a page, “But it seems the trial ended in a mistrial for something.”

“Kimmy!” Agatha implores as she holds her bag open and shakes it.

Kimberly looks at her, and then quickly grabs the book and puts it in the Agatha’s bag.

“Ok—Nancy, so how does a history book work into your Vivica theory again?” She asks as she clasps the bag shut.

“I have no idea,” She replies as she walks around like some tall, attractive, sandy-haired Sherlock Holmes, her fingers pointing at things absently, her eyes scanning the table, the chairs . . .

“You know we are going to be in so much trouble, we’re going to miss no doubt at least three bed checks.”

Only Kimberly is lost in her examination of the room.

“And I have nothing to show for it but a history book—a history book!”

Kimberly over and looks at the books on the floor “Some more History books about Collinsport and Maine.”

“Well, I’m not carrying them.”

She looks at Agatha, “What? Is he teaching her history?” And she absently steps over to the large antique bookcase, “This makes no sense.” She says as she opens the book case and suddenly screams and puts her hand to her mouth – “Oh my God!”

“Keep it down” Agatha hisses as she instinctively looks around owing to the loud scream.

“Look!” Kimberly demands, pointing to the bookcase.

Agatha Morrowfield walks over and looks into the case, “What is so bleeding speci—speci—“ and her voice trails off,

The glass door is open to reveal a human head in a glass jar.

“I knew it! I knew it!”

Agatha Morrowfield leans forward and taps at the jar with her forefinger.

“Murders!”

“Quick, get a picture or something.” Agatha tells her.

The head seems to be preserved, very old. The glass jar with old brass fittings is an antique.

“Kimmy . . . “

Kimberly takes her iPhone and tries to steady her hand.

“It’s almost mummified . . . “

She takes a photo of the head.

“I think it might be older than Trask.”

“Agatha, what is going on in here?”

Agatha turns and looks at her, “Oh sure, find a head in a jar and ask the trouble maker from the girls school. Do I look like an expert about jarred heads?”

A car can be heard driving down the street.

Agatha Morrowfield’s eyes grow wide, “Well now we’re fricked!”

Kimberly quickly glances out the window, but the car keeps on moving down the lane.

“Hey—don’t go near the window!”

“We—We better get out of here.” Kimberly clicks photos of the room quickly as she heads to the door.

“Oh, really, I wish you’d thought that 20 minutes ago, “Agatha mutters finding a cleaning lady placard and hanging it on the doorknob.

Kimberly takes one last look at the map.

Agatha at the open door motions Kimberly to hurry up and she does so just as Agatha clicks out the lights.

They hurry down the hall

Down the stairs and back out into the lane below.

“Well, that’s it,” Agatha Morrowfield tells Kimberly as they hurry down the stone steps to the sidewalk, “You know, he’ll know someone was in there.”

Upstairs in the darken room, sitting in the dark recess of the self of the bookcase, behind the glass door, inside of the antique glass jar, the eyes of the head open and stare out into the room.

Cue Music End Of Scene