By Roxane Liguti, Year 12
Lone Street’s clock struck midnight. It had been raining heavily for the past week. The street sweeper was scraping rainwater off the pavement. Drowsy, he saw and politely greeted a man, without recognizing him. The man ? It was Norton Wider, the local embalmer. He was said to be diligent and pragmatic.
May the Devil swallow whoever knows what in the world Wider did outside of his office at night. According to the sweeper, he leant against a wall, smoking a cigarette nonchalantly, and reading the local paper.
In fact, for the past 4 years, there had been a series of brutal homicides in this specific street. They had lost count of the exact number. But, every 3 weeks, a new case was dramatically announced. Out of paranoia, people would lock their houses after 10 pm and wouldn’t go out any more. The unfortunate souls who went out would fall in the hands of the murderer. Anyone who caught its eyes was strangled and then dissected like a wretched pig being slaughtered right before Christmas.
However, there were no witnesses to advance the case, yet too many suspects to find a potential culprit. As a result, it was dramatically thrown out of the window, like dirty and disturbing garbage.
On the other side, Wider’s job was to help the authorities and prepare the murdered body for burial. Unexpectedly, he enjoyed his job and worked mostly in the evening. Nonetheless, once the case was dropped, he continued his research, working all night.
He never stayed at his office late at night, but always returned there before and after 3 in the morning.
Sadly, the police didn’t get on very well with the embalmer, which made it difficult to pass on the results of Wider’s investigations. After his long cigarette break, he returned home. Once there, he took off his overcoat and extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray. He checked if there was any mail: 3 for tax purposes and 2 for a request to donate money to a popular protest. He placed them on his desk, took off his glasses and immediately headed for bed, where he fell asleep. Tomorrow will be exactly the same, he thought.
The next day, business as usual: annoying phone calls, bookings, weeping families of the deceased and so on. Wider lived from 8 am to 9 pm every day. In the evenings, he continued his observations as requested by the sergeants. He sacrificed his free time to work even more. He wrote and wrote, and then went out as soon as it was 11 pm. The embalmer studied the environment and the people in it in great detail. But, just after that, no one had any idea what he did.
Around midnight, he’d have a cigarette to relax, with or without a newspaper.
Anyhow, he was reading the monthly criminal cases newspaper that evening.
As he leafed through it, Wider found it strange that the authorities had not published any of his investigations. He threw his cigarette and the crumpled paper on the pavement and looked for a phone box in the pouring rain. “All this for nothing!”, he fumed.
But nobody answered his call, which only exacerbated his anger.
The embalmer went home and threw his things on his desk chair, where 4 more tax letters were waiting for him. He sat on the bed.
Wider had an idea: he would no longer help the police with the case.
This resolution was respected and Wider invested more time in embalming and organizing, which was his job in the first place. He was now going out at midnight, still smoking as much as ever, but going to bars and staying out until late. The sergeants only asked him to do embalming work.
One night like all the others, while the inhabitants were locked up in their homes, Wider went out for a cigarette, again in the rain.
Wider hadn’t gone to the bar, or to read the paper, or to write, as you might have thought. In fact, Wider was crouched down, his shirt saturated with blood. His cigarette in a black puddle.
There was a strangled, mutilated man with a belt beside him. Who then was the murderer who dissected and strangled his victims? None other than the reliable and brilliant embalmer, Wider.
