Witch of Fear [Mild horror, Isekai High Fantasy]

The Detective and the Dwarf

in

The Death of a Catgirl

Chapter One: An Unfortunate Meeting

Chicago. October, 1956.

The Korean War had been over for three years, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Eisenhower was in office, Elvis was on the radio, Marilyn Monroe was in the movies, and Don Larsen of the New York Yankees had thrown a perfect game for the first time in World Series history. All the while, tensions between East and West were steadily rising; a Cold War becoming hot.

Each point seemed both more and less important than all the rest, depending on who you ask.

Nicotine sang in my lungs. I took another long drag of my cigarette, letting the haze fill my mind. The glow lit up my face as I held it between my fingers. With my other hand, I parted the shuttered blinds to gaze out over the sleepless city where I lived and worked. The skyline of towering concrete, steel and glass met my eyes.

Fat drops of rain fell upon Chicago as night cradled it. Darksome streets and alleyways sat beneath the vast array of neon lights and glowing signs struggling to illuminate them through the downpour. The flickering cast a stark gloom. I took another drag as I watched the night. The city was a cancer. A sore. It was a plague on life, mortality, and all things men hold good in their hearts. It chewed people up and spat them out lesser.

Righteousness went here to die. Upon a grim altar, it was sacrificed.

Taxes stole men's hard earned money. Crooked politicians robbed them blind and called it right, judges sent folk to their corporate prisons and called it just, bent coppers shot men in the streets for the color of their skin and called it law, all the while all three took money from the gangs to look the other way. Dope ruled the streets. Darkness had stolen over this city fair and there was little the working man could do but to drown his sorrows in whiskey and domestic violence.

Sour was the taste of smoke on my lips tonight.

Gunshots rang out through the dark city streets. Not far. I listened to the heartbeat of the city as sirens wailed. Music filtered through my four dusty walls as the nightclubs and dive bars churned through dancers and drunks alike. Traffic blared their angry horns as lights turned from red to green. The chatter of shadows filled the spaces in between. Inside my office silence reigned, only broken up by the melancholic Tick-Tock of my clock as it marched a tired rhythm towards a tomorrow it hoped in vain to be better than the last.

A hopeless tomorrow awaited me.

... or, as I'd soon find out, perhaps not.

Acrid smoke filled my lungs as I continued to brood.

Crime was ever on the rise in a city of millions. So many people crammed into such a small place were bound to do such evils. As they say, when in the dark, dark men give birth to dark desires. As a P.I.; a Private Investigator; a hired dick; that oughta be a good thing for me. Earlier in my career, I'd made inroads with the CPD, and as such, whenever there was a crime wave, they'd send me whatever cases they could not, or would not, handle. However, I didn't usually do so for free.

Was I any better than those who profited off the misfortune of others? I liked to think so, but perhaps I wasn't. All the same, crime was business for me. And business was good.

Here I am, just another symptom of this dying city.

Thunder flashed across the sky, driving more and more rain down upon the city. Was God trying to wash us all away? I wondered. Too bad the only Ark I had was a gun, and it only held space for six souls.

Perhaps in a better life I could have spent the rest of my night brooding some more, spent it wondering where my better years went whilst staring at the bottom of a bottle of scotch, but tonight it was not meant to be, for the sound of thunder pounded on my office door.

I turned from my window, letting the blinds snap close as I looked towards the sound of knocking. The glass bearing my name rattled in its frame. I recognized the cadence; impatient yet somehow unhurried.

"Come in!" I called. "It's unlocked!"

True to my word, the door was unlocked and it swung swiftly open.

It was no dame nor femme fatale that awaited me that night, much to my disappointment, but one of the shortest and hairiest men I'd ever encountered. The Dwarf, I called him. The stout figure shut the door behind himself as he doffed his rain-soaked hat and coat onto a rack beside the door. Free of its confines, his great reddish beard cradled his face and chest, joining up with his lion's mane of hair upon his head.

Making his way into the room, he made himself comfortable in the spare chair I kept for clients and visitors across from my desk. With a pair of meaty paws, he availed himself to the Irish whiskey I'd set out for myself earlier.

The first glass disappeared in one quick gulp. Then the second, and the third. By the time I'd sat in my high-backed chair and stubbed out the embers of my cigarette in a glass ashtray, he was onto his fourth glass.

Staring across the desk at the diminutive man, I recalled our first meeting.

Like today, it'd been raining hard when we met. The Dwarf had come to my office in search of information and aid, seeking the fates of his lost friends, and had found more than he'd dared hope as, according to him, I was one of his lost friends despite never having met him before now. He had an answer for that, of course, not that it made sense to me. Apparently, we were all stuck in some kind of false world; memories stolen and warped by some kind of shadowy monster that'd waylaid them.

When I questioned him as to how he'd know this, as he'd claimed we were all living in someone else's memories, he told me that Dwarves (Yes, as in a fantasy race. His words, not mine.) are naturally resistant to magics (yes, magic.) that alter one's mind and perception of reality.

Naturally, I suspected then, and still suspected now, that he was certifiably bat-shit insane. However, as none of the local asylums were missing any patients (I checked) I was willing to entertain him for now. Who knows, maybe I'd write a book about this someday?

That'd been a week ago, and he'd reappeared every so often with some lead or another that didn't pan out.

My musings were broken with a grumble from the Dwarf that sounded like two boulders grinding against one another. "I wish ye wouldnae dae that!" he growled in his thick accent.

"Do what?" I asked quizzically.

"Narrate every bloody thin' that's goin' on!"

I blinked at him, confused. His eye twitched in annoyance, seemingly at nothing. "Like that!" he bellowed.

"I haven't said a word," I said. I eyed the rapidly depleting bottle of whiskey. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Ye insult me! As if this half-watered shite could get a Manus drunk!" He slurred. "I ain't slurrin'!" He lied. "An' I ain't Lyin' neither!"

Stark raving mad, he was. The Dwarf huffed and poured himself another drink.

My hand itched for another cigarette, but I resisted the cravings and instead waited patiently for the Dwarf to finish his latest drink. I suspected he was here for a reason beyond just draining my liquor cabinet, so I waited, and waited, and waited some more. Eventually, my patience was rewarded as a story spilled forth from his lips.

A story of death.

"How dae ye know that?"

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"How dae ye know there'll be death comin'? I havenae said anythin' yet!"

"Neither have I?"

The Dwarf huffed. "Well, I've got another lead for us," he eventually said.

"Another? The last ones didn't pan out. I don't feel much like venturing out into that downpour for a lark."

"This one's different! I can feel it!"

"How so?" I asked. "You sight any of those lost friends of yours with your magic eye?"

"Nay," he grumbled, chewing over his thoughts. "It's just... this world, this memory we've found ourself in feels much like a story, a play, or one o' those penny-dreadfuls o' yours. It's flowerin' now an' I think we might've entered an openin' act o' sorts. I fear for the others - these sorts o' stories rarely have a happy endin'."

"You think they might be in danger?" I asked.

The Dwarf nodded. "Aye. I've seen how these things gae before."

"Did you serve in the army?"

"...Somethin' like that," the Dwarf said after a moment of contemplative silence. "Never mind that, we need tae follow up on the leads I found. I've been hearin' rumors about-"

Whatever the Dwarf was about to say was interrupted by the shrill ringing of my office phone. It rattled atop my desk ominously. I eyed it warily. Few had any reason to call me this late at night, and fewer still with good news. It continued to ring.

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"Hold that thought," I said to the Dwarf as I picked it up and held it to my ear. "Hello? This is the Devil's Eye Detective Agency. How may I help you?"

A familiar voice spoke back, mildly distorted by the weather interfering with the line. "It's me."

"Ah, Officer Harrison. How lovely to hear from you! How might I help the CPD? Should I get my raincoat?"

As no-nonsense as ever, Officer Harrison gruffly said only a few words to match my many. "We caught another body."

Briefly I looked across the desk at the Dwarf, his warnings fresh in my mind. He chewed on his lip as he clutched the glass of whiskey in hand. It wasn't that usual for the CPD to drop a body on my caseload at night, but it certainly felt strange. "And Am I right in assuming you want me to take over the investigation? You did call me, after all."

"That's right."

Pinching the phone between my shoulder and cheek, I fished about in my desk drawer for a pad and pen. "Alright," I said into the phone, "give me the deets and I'll head on over right now."

As I listened, jotting down the address I was given, the Dwarf shamelessly polished off the last of my whiskey before he heaved himself to his feet. I glared at him, but my ire slid off his ire skin like water off a duck's back. After hanging up, I reached into my desk to retrieve my gun.

The cool carbon steel of a Colt Detective Special rested comfortably in my hand. My faithful companion, offering .38 Special double-action justice to the darkest corners of this grim city. Slowly spinning the cylinder, I saw it was fully loaded. The clicks filled the office. Satisfied I'd not be unarmed whilst braving the outside, I tucked it away into the harness I wore, nestling it against my side.

After snatching up my remaining half pack of smokes, I made my way over to the office door where the Dwarf waited impatiently beside my lonesome hatstand. He'd already donned his coat and hat, somehow wrestling his wild hair beneath a porkpie hat. Once there, I grabbed my own.

The comfortable weight of my trench-coat soon fell upon my shoulders like an old friend. I turned its collar up in anticipation of the rain and wind to come. Upon my head, I placed a well-loved fedora, a dark and brooding thing.

With that, we left, stepping out into the hallway and the night beyond.

Chapter Two: A Dimly-lit Alley

"Well, it's one for the money two for the show,

"Three to get ready now go, cat, go."

Elvis' soft crooning filled the car as I drove down the night streets. Overhead, the dark clouds opened up fully, casting their watery burdens down onto the city like a biblical tide. Little could be heard over the rainfall's roar, aside from the occasional belt of thunder. The flashes of lightning lit up the interior of my car alongside the periodic glow of passing street-lights.

At a red-light, I cast a brief glance at my tag-along. The Dwarf sat rigidly in the passenger seat with a white-knuckled grip held onto his seatbelt. Under his breath, he uttered oaths every time we passed another car by. What little I could see of his face was rather pale.

Amusement had me shaking my head as I turned my eyes back to the road. The light turned green.

Thankfully for the poor Dwarf's stomach, and my car's carpets, the crime scene wasn't far from my downtown office. Someone had found the body in a back-alley not too far from the main strip. The alley itself was often used as a thoroughfare for revelers and drunks, so the body couldn't have been there long before being discovered. If it was murder, it must've happened fast, or somewhere else. It was too early to speculate.

Eventually, I found the place and pulled us to a stop behind a parked patrol car. The flashing red and blue lights greeted us grimly. After pulling my collar up, I stepped out into the downpour and made my way over to a poor beat cop standing before a barrier blocking the alley-way, his standard issue parka barely keeping him dry. Behind me, the Dwarf grumpily followed.

"Detective," the officer called out with a nod.

"Officer," I greeted him in kind. "What do we have?"

"An unidentified female, Caucasian, late teens to early twenties. A couple of kids found the body as they were cutting through the alley to a club on the main strip. We cordoned off the alley as quickly as we could to preserve the scene, but this rain has probably washed most of the evidence away by now. The body doesn't look too good."

"Are we thinking murder?" I asked.

The cop nodded grimly. "Looks like it. I didn't get too good a look, but the body is pretty cut up. Butchered. It's the third one we've caught this week."

"There's been more? Are they connected? Are we thinking it's the same killer?"

"Possibly. I wasn't put in charge of those scenes, but from what I've been hearing from homicide, the victims have all been young girls found with similar wounds. Could be a coincidence, but I doubt it."

"How long ago was the body found?"

"Not too long," the cop said. "We got the call maybe twenty minutes ago. I was in the neighbourhood, so I got here pretty quickly."

"Any lookie-loos? Anyone hanging around, paying this place any attention? See anything suspicious?"

The cop shook his head. "Nah, nothing like that. Aside from the kids who found the body, that is."

"And where are they?" I asked as I saw neither hide nor hair of anyone around beside us."

"I let them walk after I took their statements."

A soft growl escaped my throat. "I would've liked to question them myself. Did you at least get their names and addresses?"

"'cause," the cops said simply, before tearing out and handing over a sheet of paper from his notebook.

Taking it from him, I slide it into my jacket pocket before retrieving my half packet of cigarettes. I tapped one out and placed it between my lips, ready to light. I offered one to the weather-worn cop, who gratefully accepted. We stop huddled against the cold as the flick of my lighter sounded out and granted us a spark of flame and nicotine warmth.

After a moment of silence, I let out a puff of some to ask another question that'd been burning my mind on the drive over. "Say, why'd Homicide kick this case my way? It sounds like something they'd be chomping at the bit to solve, what with it being a linked case and all."

The beat cop shuffled nervously beside me, looking about himself as if expecting his captain to be hovering over his shoulder. He took a puff of smoke to calm his nerves before he spoke. "Well, you didn't hear it from me, but I heard they got a big case dropped into their laps that they couldn't say no to. Some son of a politician got himself whacked by one of the local crime families, and now the politician is on a warpath. Head office is now riding their backs to solve it lest they lose funding from the mayor's office."

"So cases like this get tossed to the wayside?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's about the sum of it."

The Dwarf let out a snort of disgust beside me. "Politics."

The beat cop jumped slightly, having somehow not noticed him before now. "Jesus," he muttered before casting a suspicious gaze towards the Dwarf. "Who's this?" he asked warily.

"My associate," I said. "Let me introduce- "

"Detective Inspector Edwyn Brawnbeard" The Dwarf grunted out, interrupting me. He clasped the cop's hand in one of his meaty own. "On loan from Scotland Yard."

The cop looked at the Dwarf suspiciously, but just shrugged after a beat. "Right. Well, welcome to Chicago." Turning to me, he added; "the scene's all yours Detective, Inspector," before turning aside to let us through the gap in the barrier he was guarding. I gave him a polite nod as I passed.

When we were out of earshot, I looked at the Dwarf. "Scotland Yard?" I asked with a raised brow.

He shrugged. "I read it in one o' yer Penny Dreadfuls. It seemed appropriate."

"Clever thinking," I said, before turning to take in the alleyway.

It was claustrophobic, hemmed in on both sides by towering brick buildings, and riddled with trash and grime. Wooden fences bordered the few back-lots there were, shielding the rear of the clubs and businesses from prying eyes. I had little faith that I'd find any witnesses from within those buildings, as even if someone had been back there, they'd have seen nothing.

Stepping around the miniature lakes formed in the potholes and dips of the ill cared for alleyway, I made my way further in towards the body. A white sheet had been placed over it, protecting both the dead girl's dignity in death and whatever clues that might've escaped the downpour.

Under the flickering glow of the streetlights, it looked like a feather fallen from a passing angel, now stained red with the sins of the city.

Kneeling beside the body, I lifted the cloth to get a better look.

Bloodshot eyes filled with terror stared up at me, frozen in asphyxiated horror with blue lips. The body was a mess; unclad and brutalized. It'd been butchered post-mortem; the victim's breasts had been sliced clean off and were missing from the crime scene. Initially, my thoughts turned towards a crime of deviant sexual gratification, but a brief examination proved that not to be the case as there were no signs of sexual abuse pre or post-mortem, aside from the missing body parts, that was.

Was it ritualistic then, I wondered, or something more sinister afoot?

Tilting the victim's chin to the side, I examined the bruising around the body's throat. A striated pattern lay embedded in soft tissue. Clearly, the victim had been strangled with some kind of rope. The burst capillaries in the victim's eyes supported this cause of death. There were similar marks around the victim's wrists and ankles. They'd been bound at some point prior to their death, and judging by the advanced cooling of the body, taking into account the weather, they'd been dumped here after they'd been killed.

"This your girl?" I asked the Dwarf as he stood beside me, gazing at the victim's face with a focused intensity, looking at something only he could see.

After a moment of silent contemplation, he shook his head, letting out a relieved sigh. "Nay, it's not one o' them, thankfully."

"Don't worry. We'll find them."

"Before or after this city kills them?" The Dwarf grumbled.

"Before," I said resolutely.

Just as I was standing up to go, having seen all I needed to see, something caught my eye. Something lay clutched in the victim's hand. Gently prizing open their icy grip, I examined it in the buzzing light of the alleyway. It was a matchbook, slightly crumpled and weather-worn. The Black Cat club, it proudly read upon its marred face. I flipped it open, curious to see if there was anything left inside. To my surprise, I found more than a few matches within - a phone number stared back at me, alongside the words "Call me" in a masculine hand.

Had the killer missed this? Overlooked it as they were dumping the dead girl in this desolate alley?

I doubted it. All other evidence pointed to the killer being meticulous and calculating. This was a taunt - an invitation to find them. "Come and play," it seemed to say, written in the blood of the innocent and the arrogance of its maker.

"Found somethin'" the Dwarf asked, breaking me from my musings. I showed him the matchbook. A queer look passed over his face as he examined the club's name.

Curious.

"Recognize it?" I asked after a moment.

The Dwarf said nothing. He ran a hand through his red beard as he thought. Eventually, he said; "Nay, but I think I know witch o' our missin' friends we're lookin' for now. Provided this all ain't just a coincidence."

"I find coincidences few and far between in my line of work. Who are we looking for?"

"A black cat," he said.

I stared at the Dwarf for a moment, but he refused to elaborate.

"Fine," I said, "keep your mysteries then. Let's get out of here - I've seen all I need to see."

Stuffing the crumpled matchbook in the pocket of my coat, I braced myself against the rain as we made our way back towards the flashing red and blue lights at the head of the alleyway. As I walked, my mind raced. Three dead in the past week; that's what the cop had said. Three murdered girls.

Who would do something like this? Something so barbaric? What kind of monster, what kind of devil in human skin, could mutilate a girl in such a fashion after killing her? And do so again? It wasn't rape. It wasn't a crime of passion. It was cold, calculated murder. At least, that was my initial impressions I'd gotten from the crime scene.

Three dead girls. Three lives cut short. Three dreams gone.

Would there be more? Would the killer's bloodlust be satisfied with this? I doubted it.

On we walked, striding out onto the rain-soaked strip where the flash of neon beckoned. Clubs loomed over us, parading their colors and wild displays. Music bombarded us; jazz, rock and roll, rhythm and blues, pop, and swing all clashed in the air, creating a riot of sound that seemed to flow together into a discordant heartbeat.

And out there, somewhere in the deep, deep darkness cast by those oh-so bright lights, prowled a beast that hungered. Hungered for blood.

It was up to us to kill it.

"... Why'd ya stop walkin'? Weren't we headin' to-"