Perhaps that is why he had been the longest tenured editor,
chief of staff and every other hat he wears here. The Community Herald should
have died out two decades ago, but here we are, still one of the most read
papers in Indiana. We don’t even have a paper edition anymore, and the only
thing keeping us going is advertisements. Nobody wants an advertisement for sex
toys while reading about the latest Amber Alert, but it pays the bill. The
other option was limiting people to three articles a month and forcing them to
see everything. Albert said that went against the true meaning of journalist integrity.
We’re supposed to report the news, not hide it, and a paywall would do just
that. The tear in his eye that day might have added a little extra kick to his
speech.
This morning he was going over potential stories for the day
with reporters looking for any options he could get. Sometimes I wonder how
wild he would go if he could report stories on the supernatural world. Albert,
and most of the people here have no idea that Vampires are being hunted right
now. If they could report on that, they might win a Pulitzer. But the world as
a whole, isn’t ready to accept, well the world. In that past wars broke out
because people were so different. Somehow the idea that we should just hide in
plain sight came about. So far it has worked out pretty well. Humans still kill
humans and the rest of us will pick sides.
“Does anyone else have a story,” Albert asks covering his
eyes. “Something that feels good,” must be a depressing day.
“Oh, I’ve got a great idea,” Wendy Butler’s hand shot up
like a third grader.
I don’t think much of Wendy as a journalist, because she isn’t.
She writes the daily advice column, mostly answering questions sent in by
readers. A lot of which are sent in just to mess with her. She’s a holdover
from the old print days. Postcards turned to emails, tweets and everything else
the young people are doing. We’ve gone from questions asking why boys took swim
class naked and girls didn’t to questions about the meaning of consent. Most of
her good advice can be found all over the internet these days. The bad advice
mostly comes from old wives’ tales. I don’t think much of her work, but I do
respect her. Like Albert, she is one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet.
Even if she’s a little forgetful or doesn’t contribute much, she doesn’t
deserve to be treated poorly.
“What’s your idea Wendy,” Albert asks, not looking up.
“Well, Halloween is coming up. Maybe, we poll some kids and
find out what the best candy is,” Wendy smiles hard both eyes closed.
“I think that’s a great idea, we can even make a poll on the
site,” Albert doesn’t think that was a great idea, but she was the only person pitching.
“Anyone else, we still need a cover story,” no one bites. “Ryan,
good to see you back. You’ve always got something good,” Albert points to me
with his dry erase marker.
I was born as Rythe, that is my name. Still, like many other
Dark Elves, I chose a human name. Rythe is simple, but some Elven names can get
complicated for the human tongue. It’s a practice many immigrants from other countries
take up as well. Sometimes it can be odd being called by a name your parents didn’t
choose for you, but it helps. I can’t imagine I would get many call backs for
interviews if I put Rythe on the applications. I know I wouldn’t there have
been studies on the topic. Ethnic sounding names just aren’t considered smart by
many employers.
“Well, I do have one story I’ve been working on,” Albert’s
eyes light up when I speak.
“Thank God, tell me what you’ve got.”
“Well, for the past decade there has been a string of
murders all taking place on Halloween night. The police haven’t officially
linked the murders together, but I believe they are all from the same killer.
Each murder fits the same criteria. The person is found alone, yet not far from
places with heavy foot traffic. Death is caused by multiple piercing wounds,
usually grouped around the torso. The odd thing is the wounds leave no blood splatter
despite the violent nature. Additionally, they have not been able to link the
killings to any known murder weapon. The killer leaves no calling card and his victims
are varied, but every year, on Halloween someone dies. Even if we don’t have suspects
we should still warn the public of the possibility that there,” I pause as Adam
Beechwood, another reporter raises his hand to interject.
“I’ve got a question, more of a statement Ryan,” he starts. “There
is no serial killer, and that is why the police haven’t linked any of the
cases. Did you cook up any other crazy theories while you were hopped up on
cocaine? I mean really, I thought rehab was supposed to flush the drugs out,” Adam
gets a big laugh as if on cue.
“I’ve never done cocaine,” is my only response.
“Well maybe you should start if that’s all you can come up
with. I mean really, I heard you were a legendary reporter when I started. Now
look at you,” Adam continues.
“Enough,” Albert breaks the tension. “I’ll come up with a
story on my own. Adam, see me in my office.”
I suppose we won’t be running my story about the serial
killer after all. I’m beginning to believe that the link between victims is
that they weren’t humans. I can view crime scene photos, but they’ll still look
like their human selves, because a human took the picture. I don’t know how the
magic keeping everything hidden works, it just does.
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