I hopped on the F-train and crossed King’s Bridge over the river into Forest Creek. I had a few private matters I needed to discuss with the doctor, but she seemed to be constantly busy throughout the day, darting in and out of various rooms and operations. The hospital staff spoke highly of her skills—many even regarded her as the best in the city. One nurse even went out of their way to inform me of the unlikely chance of me being able to see her until her shift ended. Hours went by, and as the sun began to set, she flashed me a smile during the brief moments she passed by in the hallway.

It was evident that she was being a busy bee to avoid me. I was taken aback by how much she knew, but her words redirected my attention to the case instead of my own personal endeavors. She provided me with information that confirmed The Piper was alive, out there, and somewhere in this city. No copycat killer, or some fanatic. The one and only.

Taking into account the message she delivering, I headed to the neighborhood I believed was familiar to  Hummings. The address of his home was no use, as it had been seized and foreclosed. My guess is that the former tenant's reputation didn't sit well with future homeowners. Given that, I decided to stick to the surrounding area. Who knows? They say that culprits never stray too far from home.

Forest Creek is the most extensive burrow within the city, with numerous parts to it. But the neighborhood I was heading to held a small jazz club. The Somber Siren—a hotspot for many locals. At least, it was in its heyday two decades ago. Now, it is just barely holding with a few volunteer performers who need a place to earn their living.

Hummings was no different as he use to come here both a customer as well as a part time performer.

The inside looked to be what I expected. There were not many people, some just sitting around, not entertained. A few at the bar. Personally, I would prefer to sit down and listen to the catalog of the lone saxophone performer, but work is work.

“Have you seen this guy?”

“Nope, sorry…”

From the staff to the patrons to the individual taking a break during their performance, I asked whether they had seen the man in the photo I had. All provided similar answers, leading me nowhere. For someone like him, to be hanging around was slim but not impossible. It was the reason I came out here, after all.

With no one having seen him, it was best to cut it short and search elsewhere. I asked around from one venue to another along the block, but nothing came up. 

Hummings was to be in his mid-to-late forties now, thin in build, with a mop of brown to dirty blonde hair.

As I rounded the corner of the block, my sight stumbled on a person with that very appearance sitting by on the sidewalk, his back against the building of an old movie theater. He reeked of alcohol, as well as who knows what. It was clear the man was homeless at first sight but it was hard to get a good look at his face as it hung downward.

“Hey,” I called out to another individual huddled up not too far away. “Is he your friend?”

I got a nervous nod as my answer.

“Can you tell me his name?”

They eyed me for a moment. I wasn’t going to get an answer so straightforward. Reaching into my pocket, I extended a few extra bills to pass.

“His name,” I repeated.

“P-Pistachio…”

You’ve got to be kidding me. 

“You know anything about Pistachio?  Like where he came from, how long has he been here?”

“No. Not really…”

The person knew very little if anything at all. This prompted me to crouch down and get a closer look, carefully moving the hairs out of the way from the sleeping individual. His hair was much longer, and he had an uneven, unshaven stubble along his jawline. Overall, he looked exactly like the photo of the man I was trying to find.

“Hummings…”

Grabbing his collar, I noticed a few bite marks along his neck and turned to the person hanging by. It wasn't apparent initially, but they were standing in my way.

“Move.”

“N-no. H-his blood is delicious.”

The worst thing about junkies is the flies they attract—vampires addicted to the drugs that are in the individual’s blood system. 

“Step aside, or you won’t make it to sunrise.”

The weak vampire hissed and snarled as if to call the few individuals gathered around. It did not bother me in the slightest as I stood firm in place. My gaze grew sharp as I stared at each one. Whether it was that or the fact that their foolish attempt to scare me didn’t have the effect it wanted didn’t matter, as they all seemed to back away and buzz off.

After ensuring I wasn’t followed, I went to the closest motel. The front desk employee eyed me nervously while sneaking a few glances over to the guy I left in a chair.

“Ummm, so for the safari, you can get them hourly, but the underwater sea nest can be taken for a full night…”

“Just give me whatever until further notice,” I spoke. “Keep the change.”

After tossing a few extra bills for discretion, I counted the little I had left. My funds were running low lately due to my recent spending, but they say this is the season of giving. I adjusted hair to cover my ears, tucking them away to keep them out of sight, before picking up Hummings and heading to our room. Without hesitation, I dropped him into the bathtub and turned on the cold water. He jolted awake, instinctively ready to bolt, but it was pointless as I held him firmly pinned beneath the heel of my shoes.

His screams quickly faded away before he settled back down into a slumber.

Whatever he was on left him pretty strong despite his meager frame.

As I checked my watch to see how long I had been dosing him with cold water, Hummings let out another scream, this time clawing at my leg.

“Almost there. Just a few more minutes, and I will let you out.”

He scratched, trying his best to dig his nails into my leg, but eventually, he lost his strength again. When the words that came out of his mouth were finally coherent, I stopped. 

“You all better now? Do you know who you are?”

“Ssu-suuuu-sa”

“Come on, you got it. It’s…”

“Sa, sa, Sam. Samuel Hummings.”

“There we go…”

Planting my rump on the side of the bathtub, I studied Hummings for a moment. His demeanor looked like someone whose life was practically over. Silence filled the bathroom before I retrieved a few photos for him to see.

“Do any of these individuals look familiar to you?”

“Wh-what? Where am I? Who are you?”

“Some motel on Hunting Hills Drive, in Forest Creek. Now, answer me. These individuals in these photos—do any of them ring a bell?”

He was having a hard time, so I took back the pictures of Delilah and Grace from him and showed the ones from the files I had received.

“What about any of them?”

“Ughhh, I don’t—“

“Look at them carefully. And don’t dare tell me you haven’t, or it’s going to get a lot harder from here on.”

He started fidgeting, rubbing his chin while staring long at the images.

“Let me help you out,” I said. “Thomas Melba. Anais Cradle. Noel Thimbleton. Robbie Beswick…”

As I riddled the names of the children in the photos, his shoulders lowered, his gaze growing ever more flat. The gulp in his throat was so loud it was the only thing that broke the ice of silence that sat between us.

There was a heavy remorse written all over his face. This was not a man who got a kick out of his actions; rather, the opposite. Slowly tracing his vision upward, he brought his gaze to mine. His voice was horse. “Are you the devil who comes to take me to my death?”

“No. I am however someone with quite a lot of questions. For example, how the hell did you break out of IronStone?”

IronStone is an island prison off the coast of the southern-west bank of the city. It harbors the most dangerous and insane criminals in Hallow Grove. Rumors said he had hanged himself before his execution, but clearly, that wasn’t the case.

“Are you back to your old ways, Piper?”

“No! No, no, no, no. I-I—NO, no, no. No one wants to believe me, but I did those things because of the flute. The flute made me do it!”

“The flute?”

According to the legends, there is a rumored flute that plays a melody so soft and enticing that it enchants naughty children who ignore their parents. Whether this is true, I cannot say. However, in the police report when they captured him, many mentioned such an instrument. It is strange, though, as none of them could get it to produce any sounds, much less melodies so sweet that they would make you dance in the moonlight without a care in the world.

“Really leaning into the myth, aren’t we?

“It’s true! It has a mind of its own as it takes over yours! You, you c-can’t escape it! Once it picks you as it’s owner, you have to do it’s bidding!”

“Calm down, explain more clearly. What do you mean it picks its owner?”

“That’s how it’s supposed to go. B-but, but not anymore. Not because of her! You’re not supposed to kill—you’re s-supposed to find the lost children! Help, help them back! She is twisting it, making it angry!”

“Hey, look at me! Who is she? Did she break you out of IronStone?”

“SHHHHHHH, you can’t mention her! Say her name, and you too shall be cursed. Even thinking a out… Oh no—now I have said too much! I am dead! Oh god, have mercy on my soul! Forgive me, I have—I am so sorry, I am so very sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Piper—Hummings, you’re not making sense. You need to tell me otherwise I can’t help you. What do you mean by cursed?”

“She has the flute now. She is so mad, so very mad. Turning myself was one thing, but releasing the boy… oh god. Refusing her— I shouldn't have done that! You need to run! She will—“

Hummings’s words were cut off. His tongue was severed, gone to the wind as if never being there. Out of nowhere, he began to cough before clawing at his throat. The sounds he was making were as if he was being choked, his airways restricted.

The coughing got progressively worse in mere seconds. It didn't take long at all before he was coughing up blood, or at least what was supposed to be. It smelled like it, but senses were conflicted on whether it was or not. It was black like tar, putrid and thick. The horrifying liquid began seeping from his nose, ears, and eyes before his body started to seize up. He was going into shock. 

As I tried to help, his pulse flatlined.

Seconds passed, quickly turning into minutes. I lost track of how long I sat there in silence. Was it my fault? I had come looking for him to find answers, but it seemed I was left with even more questions.

I yelled, but, much like a tree falling in the forest with no one there to hear it, it made no sound. 

Calming myself, I rummaged through the dead man's pockets. There was no phone, flute, or anything else—just pocket change and lint. But there was a business card. It was simple, featuring a dark purple hue with an intricate illustration.

“Another cat?”

It might be a coincidence, but I was very doubtful, given what had happened so far. The fact that the Piper's coat pocket contained a business card with an image that looked eerily similar to Delilah's hand-sewn doll rubbed me the wrong way.