Estimated reading time — 55 minutes

Lincoln Oliver Locray, judging by the crimes he had committed alone, was the living definition of a monster. Having spent his formative years somewhere out in the backwoods of Kentucky, raised by a mother and father who took little interest in ensuring he would be particularly educated, he developed a very specific skill set.

While his neglectful parents would be amongst the first of the great many innocent souls he laid to rest over his decades of bloodshed, he honed his craft more finely with every victim who followed.

How he eluded the authorities for so long, I cannot imagine. As I said, he was not an educated man, nor was he the most organized, given the state of the home to which he would return after months on the road. Regardless of how unkempt his parents’ old house was, every crime scene he left in his wake was immaculate, down to the finest details.

Given that he had no strict modus operandi, murdering anyone from children to men and women alike, even the occasional house pet if he felt the urge, those in search of him remained baffled for far too long. He also did not adhere to any preferred method of slaughter, utilizing bladed weapons for some, firearms for others, as well as far more creative and perverse ways of performing his foul deeds.

Those with whom he would take his time would suffer such unfathomable torment, likely begging for the sweet release of death by the time he was finished with them.

Regina Thatch, a forty-three year old woman from Saginaw, Michigan endured more agony than any who came before her. Though perhaps not as much as those yet to come. He used a rotary tool, an angle-grinder and a jigsaw on the poor woman, removing small sections at a time until there was simply not enough holding her in one piece anymore.

Barrett Moore, a sixteen year old boy from Lebanon, Tennessee, would endure multiple amputations before Locray quenched his thirst. He apparently started simpler, using crudely designed tourniquets to cease the flow of blood from each hand and foot, moving onto the elbows and knees. And so on, until finally removing the head from his neck with a hacksaw.

Some of his victims would die from gunshots to the head or chest, throats cut, and similar ‘quick and easy’ methods. Others would find themselves on the less friendly end of a chainsaw or other such power tools, only suffering for maybe an hour at most. Perhaps it was dependent on what sort of mood he was in at the time–who he would choose, as well as how they would leave this world.

One fact upon which nobody would argue was that Mr. Locray was nothing short of pure evil incarnate–a fact which grabbed the attention of my peers and I, at the time. While I will neither include my name, nor the university at which I am employed, these matters are not important. Not only did my group and I prefer to maintain anonymity. But I simply do not wish to be associated with this truly horrendous creature any more than need be.

Basically, I used to work with something of a research group, for all intents and purposes. While we investigated everything from supposedly haunted locations to revered artifacts, rumored to contain mystical energies, our primary interest was in understanding the concept of good and evil. I have personally been permitted to interview quite a number of both men and women who have committed brutal crimes, as have my associates.

Again, I will not reveal the names of any of those with whom we have spoken with over the years. For one: they have very little to do with this, other than expressing the nature of my work, at this time. Two: while many of these stories have already been told numerous times, we honestly learned very little from any of them.

Truth be told, the most disturbing aspect to many of these individuals is that they did not seem particularly abnormal in any way, other than those more clearly suffering from one degree of trauma or another.

While it is quite intimidating to be in the same room as one who has the blood of countless victims forever staining their hands. It’s almost alarming how average they seem, in many cases. Some show signs of remorse for their actions, while others are quite indifferent on the subject. Locray, though, seemed almost ashamed of the lives he had taken. At first…

This brings me to the point–the reason I felt compelled to share this anyway. Though I have spoken with many sinister and despicable members of this species. I had never encountered what I would consider to be true and absolute evil. Not until the three days I spent in the company of Lincoln Oliver Locray.

While we had to cut through a lot of red tape to be granted an interview with the man, I was the lone member of my group who had actual interest in speaking with him. The way I saw it–if we were ever to get to the root of what is truly considered evil, we must be willing to expose ourselves to it.

Though the research group was my greatest passion and interest back then, I had been in the psychiatric field for several years by this point. With that in mind, the district attorney would consider me a consultant on the Locray case–this being her stipulation in me being granted the interview.

While it began as a one time thing–one in which I would be required to record and share everything about my discussion with the man, once our session was done. I ended up attending a total of three meetings with him. With the agreement of the warden to attend those following meetings, I wouldn’t be required to share my recordings until they were complete.

During my final interview with Locray, I would learn far more about the true nature of evil in a way I never could have fathomed. I witnessed, first hand, that there exists a darkness out there, free of even the slightest glimmer of light.

Another aspect of these meetings, though I may be looking too deeply into things, given the nature of how things went, was that thunderstorms persisted over those three days. Sure, storms aren’t exactly unusual. But the day before the first interview, and the day after the last, there had been nothing but blue skies.

Even down in that…dungeon, or so it felt. Those storms could still be heard, providing something of a fitting soundtrack to…

Yeah…I know, I’m reaching. So many little things, you know? They add up upon reflection…

Enough about that.

While I considered releasing no more than the highlights of my meetings with Locray to illustrate the sort of man he, well…was, I suppose. I feared that it would not fully capture the weight of it. Therefore, I thought it would be more prudent to release the actual recordings of these interviews–to attempt to illustrate to the best of my ability, why I believe that I encountered true evil over the course of those days.

Interview #1
May 5th, 2024

While two heavily armed guards led me down a hallway to a flight of stairs, I was all too aware of my erratic pulse. I was always somewhat nervous before such interviews, but this one had me far more rattled than I would normally be. Yes, this would not be the first serial killer with whom I had spoken, but something about Locray had me shaken.

The taller of the guards, Officer Andrew Harrison–an intimidatingly sizable man, with a shaved head and veined muscles bulging beneath his uniform, regaled me with some tales of the things this particular tenant of the state penitentiary had done since his arrival.

Suffice it to say, this did not exactly ease my quickening heartbeat. Perhaps this was my precursory reward for having made such a fuss to cut through the red tape behind which they had this inmate hidden.

(Recording begins.)

(Multiple footsteps can be heard, walking down a seemingly extended hallway.)

Officer Harrison – “We’re no strangers to new inmates causing some trouble within those first few days. Locray, though–he wasted no time in making his presence known. There’s that long standing rumor, you know, about picking a fight with the biggest guy to let folks know they shouldn’t fu…mess with you, but that didn’t seem to be what he was going for.”

“He didn’t push anyone around or anything–just kept to himself, really. But, a reputation like his was gonna bring him attention whether he was looking for it or not. Dean Stamey–a big old joker, six years into his ten year stretch, strolled up to him with a couple of his boys. Me and some of the guys watched on, knowing full well they were likely looking for a fight. Probably should’ve stepped in, you know, but we figured Locray could stand to be roughed up a bit before we broke it up…um…I’d appreciate it if you left that part off the record…”

(The footsteps stop. Buttons are pressed, before the ‘ding’ of an elevator can be heard. Moments later, the footsteps begin and end, while elevator doors slide shut.)

Harrison continues –”Locray isn’t a big guy, by any means, you know. So me and the boys figured he wouldn’t be able to put up much of a fight, regardless of the fu…messed up things he did. But, we weren’t prepared for what came next. We couldn’t hear what Stamey was saying to him, but his boys seemed to find it pretty funny. Locray didn’t pay them the first bit of attention–not until they swatted the comic book he was reading out of his hand.”

(Fluorescent lights flickering after the door opens again. Footsteps resume, echoing louder than before.)

Harrison – “Locray just looked up at the men with a sneaky smile on his face. It was like he knew something they didn’t, you know? Like he was a little kid keeping secrets. When Stamey went to take a swing at him, I guess to wipe off that grin, what happened next caught everyone by surprise.”

(Footsteps pause again.)

Harrison – “Locray snatched the fist up before it had a chance to knock a dent in his face, whipped his other hand so quickly, Stamey barely registered the bones in his forearm breaking. When he fell to his knees, Lincoln jumped him, and clamped his jaws around his nose. Stamey’s boys tried to jump in, but I fired a warning shot before they ended up bloody too.”

Investigator, almost to himself – “Jesus Christ…”

Harrison – “By the time we got to them, Locray pulled back and to the side, tearing the nose from Stamey’s face. Stamey fell to the ground, wigging out, blood spewing out behind the one good hand he had clamped around where his nose used to be. Locray just leaned over, picked up his comic, and kicked back, started reading again, still chewing on the poor bastard’s nose.”

“After a few more attacks after he got back out of solitary, each one ending about the same way–with convicts bloody and Lincoln coming off like nothing happened, the warden thought it best if we moved him down here. Keep him away from everyone else, you know?”

Investigator – “So, you keep solitary confinement all the way down here?”

Harrison – “Well…regular solitary is a few floors up…I guess this is solitary, solitary. Just for those who damn sure need to be kept isolated. For those who cannot and should not be trusted around anyone.”

Investigator – “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not going to work.”

Harrison – “I’m not trying to scare you, pal. Just preparing you. Even if he’s sealed away, don’t let your guard down. Don’t get close to the glass, and don’t let him get in your head.”

(Footsteps resume again.)

Harrison – “Try not to let him see that, either.”

Investigator– “Huh?”

Harrison –”Your…limp. Not tryin’ to be offensive. Just try to walk…um…normal, if you can.”

Investigator – “I’ve had this since…since I was a child…I can’t just…”

Harrison – “Any sign of weakness…anything he can pray on…just try not to let him see you sweat.”

Investigator – “I’ll…try to…walk normally…”

(Silence for a moment before the footsteps resume again, before stopping some moments later.)

Harrison – “We set up a chair for you…Don’t move it any closer than that.”

Investigator, nervously – “You’re…not staying?”

Harrison – “He don’t care much for any of the guards. If we stay, he won’t talk. You wanna interview him, you gotta do it alone. When you’re done, or if you need us, use this.”

(The clicking of a cb radio can be heard, as though demonstrating that it works.)

(Footsteps resume, distancing, before the elevator can be heard from a distance. One set of footsteps begins again, slowly at first, stopping a few times, before continuing on.)

Locray, from a slight distance – “Ain’t nothin’ to be scared of, bud. Can’t do nothin’ to ye from here. Wouldn’t want to, neither–not to someone who’s here to have a conversation. Ain’t talked to no one for a bit. Not in person, no ways.”

(Recording stops.)

With that, I felt compelled to approach the man I was there to see. My legs were trembling so badly, it was taking everything I had to control my gimpy knee. But I tried to the best of my ability to hide it as I walked to the chair from which I was instructed not to move.

I didn’t look at the glass as I took my seat, pulled my notebook and small recorder from my bag, before laying it, and the radio officer Harrison handed me down on the floor beside my chair. When I reluctantly glanced up to face the man who sat across from me, sealed away behind the transparent wall, I swear I felt the temperature drop a good ten degrees.

There was nothing physically intimidating about him. If anything, he almost appeared harmless and docile. That was aside from hungry the look in his dark eyes. He looked, maybe around five foot, five, if I had to guess, but it wasn’t easy to tell from a sitting position.

He was quite thin, with the arms protruding from the short sleeves of his orange jumpsuit toned and slender. He was only in his mid thirties, but looked considerably older, with salt and pepper hair, cropped almost to the scalp, and slightly darker beard stubble.

His face was gaunt, with crows feet lining his eyes, and sallow cheeks which almost made him look malnourished. His thin lips were peeled back into an eerily satisfied smile, revealing surprisingly, pearly white and perfectly aligned teeth.

Those eyes, though. His pupils almost looked black against the bloodshot whites, beneath the thick and upturned brows. His expression was not unfriendly, but there was something about it which assured me that, regardless of how open he seemed to talk with me, he would not hesitate to leave me bloody on the floor were it not for the divider between us.

Though this area was far removed from ground level, I could hear voices on occasion, likely from the regular solitary, I assumed. Given who I was there to see, and the nature of my research, I can’t deny that this only added to the eerie melancholy of this basement.

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “So, what’s yer name, dude?”

Investigator, with false confidence – “Clarence.”

Locray, suspiciously – “Is that right? Tryin’ to get yer wings?”

(Disturbing laughter erupts.)

Locray – “Y’ ain’t gonna hear no bells down here, friend!”

Investigator, chuckling – ”I…suppose not…”

Locray, still laughing a bit – “Alright then, ‘Clarence’…What’s it you wanna know?”

Investigator – “Well, first of all…do you mind if I record this?”

Locray – Looks like ye already are, bud…I don’t give a fuck, Buck. Whatever makes yer pickle tickle.”

Investigator – “Thank you…”

(The sound of an item being set down, the shuffling of a wooden chair. Faint whispering can be heard.)

Investigator – ”So, I would like to hear your story, from your own words. If you are open to sharing, of course.

Locray – “Ain’t got nothin’ to hide, sport. I figure you’ve already seen the records. Or whatever was made public.”

Investigator – “I have. Yes. But those are just cold facts.”

Locray – “So, You want it from the horse’s mouth, right?”

Investigator – “So to speak. If you’re comfortable with that “

Locray – “You ain’t gotta mind yer manners, friend. I appreciate the respect and all–don’t get much of that ‘round here. But you ain’t gotta pull yer punches. I’m an open book.”

Investigator – “Um. Thank you for that. So…um…”

Locray, chuckling – “Don’t be nervous, bud. I ain’t gonna bite…”

Investigator, nervously laughing – “Okay. Well, to begin…how many have you killed?”

Locray, not hesitating – “Fifty–five, on the money!”

Investigator – “Is there any significance to this number?”

Locray – “Why’s there gotta be significance?”

Investigator – “Well, if you’ll forgive me, you turned yourself in, after eluding the authorities for years…Why pack it all in, if..?”

Locray – “If I could keep on killin’?”

Investigator – “Exactly.”

Locray – “Y’know, ain’t no one even thought to ask why.”

Investigator – “Is that right?”

Locray – “Yessir! All they were concerned about was provin’ everythin’. I guess they’d had a few who claimed to be me, over the years. Y’know how some folks are so desperate to be remembered for somethin’, don’t much matter to ‘em if it’s somethin’ nasty, or somethin’ good. Figure they just didn’t have the gumption to get their own hands dirty. So they just picked someone who hadn’t been caught yet.”

Investigator – “Yeah, people can be…um…”

Locray, laughing – “Crazy? Don’t be shy, bud!”

Investigator – “Um…yeah…um…I’m sorry…”

Locray – “Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, friend. You ain’t gon’ hurt my feelin’s or nothin’…But I ain’t crazy…”

Investigator – “I wasn’t trying to insinuate…”

Locray, still chuckling a little – “Anyways…After I told ‘em where to find the bodies they didn’t know ‘bout. I gave ‘em all the sticky details an’ all. Turns out, they only had me for a little over thirty of my victims! Can you believe that!? They’d tracked me for years, and didn’t even know about almost half of ‘em! No wonder they sorry asses couldn’t find me…”

Investigator, nervously – “Um, yeah…But that’s exactly my point. If they didn’t know about half of your victims. And if they still hadn’t been able to locate you…”

Locray – “Then why’d I come forwards?”

Investigator – “Right! Why stop at fifty-five? If there was no significance to the number…”

Locray – “You’re good…You a shrink, or somethin’?”

Investigator – “I do have a degree in psychology. But that’s not my profession. We…um…my group…”

Locray – “It ain’t important, bud. You ain’t gotta tell me. I don’t care what you do, or why you’re here. You’re bein’ respectful to me, so imma do the same for you. Like I said: I’m an open book. Got nothin’ to hide. Not no more…”

Investigator – “So…why stop at fifty-five?”

Locray – “wasn’t the number as a whole, ye get me? But the numbers in themselves…”

Investigator – “I don’t follow…”

Locray – “1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13…”

(Whispering momentarily intensifies.)

Investigator – “Do you hear…?”

Locray – “Just ignore it, bud…just the nature of this spot…”

(Whispering silences.)

Investigator – “Um…yeah…It’s just…”

Locray, paying no attention – “First one I killed: a boy named Ricky Dupree. Can’t say that wasn’t personal, a bit. He gave me a hard time in school. Killed him quick. Stuck him in the neck, once. That’s all it took.”

“Second. Mom and pop. Wasn’t fully personal, mind you. Yeah, I can’t say I felt much for them. But this was part of the process too–to slay those who gave me life. Wasn’t just about the numbers. Not really. I did kinda wanna take my time with them, bein’ such a ‘special’ set of victims. But I just stuck ‘em both, twice.”

“Third, Suzie Lancaster. Jeffrey Johnson. Timothy Kline. Had to be careful. Took ‘em one at a time, over a week. Had to be within a week of each other, y’see? And I couldn’t kill ‘em with the first stick. They couldn’t die until the third.”

“Fourth, Trevor Wilkes. Jamie McKennitt. Lorainne Jacobs. Lucy Hail. Same deal. One week to take ‘em all. Couldn’t die until the fourth, terminal wound. You get the idea, right? Each group, all within a week. Sometimes, it’d be months between kills. Sometimes years. But when I got to five, there had to be five of ‘em. Five wounds, endin’ on the fifth.”

“You can imagine that, when the numbers got higher, it’d be a good deal more tricky. Each wound had to be significant–couldn’t just give ‘em four paper cuts, and then gut ‘em dry. Naw. It had to hurt. Each stroke had to be brutal. I got the hang of it by ‘round seven, of course. Though the last three weren’t easy.”

“It ain’t no simple thing, to kill nine, eleven, or thirteen folks within a week. Each one, separate from the other. And each wound, brutal enough, but not enough to kill. Had to learn a few things, like tourney…um…tourniquets, and the like. But I had to be careful, y’see? If I’d messed up, even once. Killed even one of ‘em too early, or not finished ‘em all by the end of the week. I’d have to start over, back at one.”

“So, I took my time, learnin’ what I could. I ain’t the smartest feller. But I’d have a rock solid plan set up, just to be sure everythin’ would work out like it had to. Last thing I wanted was to risk fuckin’ up. It had to be done right. Down to the letter.”

Investigator – “What about animals–pets…In one instance, you killed the family dog…”

Locray – “Yeah, I was scared about that too, at first. Damn dog tried to attack me when I broke in…had to put it down. I worried it’d throw off the numbers–make me have to start over. Turns out, it only counts for humans. Still felt like shit about it. But it couldn’t be helped.”

Investigator – “Okay?”

Locray – “We’re gettin’ there bud…”

Investigator – “Alright…But you’ve been killing for decades. Even with all of your victims–if you only killed groups in week-long sessions…um…why?”

Locray – “Why spend so many years on it?”

Investigator – “Um…yes. If so many of your victims were taken in…groups. Why did it take you so long to, well, finish?”

Locray – “Kinda complicated, I s’pose. On one hand…it took me some time to…come to terms with the things I was doin’. On the other…Well, I’ll get to that later.”

Investigator – “But why such an intricate process? If you struggled to come to terms with this, why did you do it? Why did you set such a strict outline of how you should proceed? What is the significance of these numbers?”

Locray, strangely solemn – “The numbers…well…”

(Whispering resumes.)

“Let’s just call that a ritual. And the outline…hell…that wasn’t mine to begin with. Just what I had to follow, to get the job done.”

Investigator– “So…What is the job you were trying to get done?”

Locray – “You’ll see…soon enough…”

(Whispering stops again.)

Investigator – “Okay…that’s…ominous. Alright, what about this: What inspired you to do…um…the things you did, or what drove you to these lengths?”

Locray – “How’d you know I didn’t just like it? Ain’t everythin’ got a reason, y’know?”

Investigator – “Is that what you’re saying? That you simply enjoyed it?”

(Locray pauses, a pensive expression on his face.)

Locray – “Nah…That wasn’t the only reason, anyways. Hell, I didn’t like the early ones at all. Had to clean up my own puke at every scene I left, for a while. After some time, though…well…you learn to enjoy your work…”

Investigator – “So, um, what was the…other reason, or reasons?”

Locray – “Don’t rightly know if you’d understand.”

Investigator – “Try me. I may be more understanding than you realize.”

(Recording stops.)

Okay, I had never even been tempted to do anything close to what this monster had done, throughout his life. But I have seen the darker side of the world, first hand. Maybe that’s exactly what got me into this particular line of work–to try to understand why awful people do the horrible things they do.

My father had been abusive in my youth–something, at the time, I had to believe I had in common with the man before me. Anyone who has endured such things, especially at a young and impressionable age, can be molded into something…grotesque and inhuman.

Were it not for my grandparents, who fought for custody of me, when they learned about the things my mother and father put me through, it’s very possible that I may have found myself locked away at some point. I can’t even say how many times I imagined being big enough to stand up to my old man, and repaying him for all of the agony he put me through, back then.

As it was, the one and only time I attempted to stand my ground, as a foolish child of only nine years old, I ended up with a broken forearm, and a mangled knee which still gives me trouble to this day. If nothing else, that was when my mother’s parents realized what was really going on in my childhood home.

But this intricate method he carried out–numbering his victims, both in the amount of those he would murder each week. And this bizarre ritual he followed with the killings themselves. I just couldn’t fathom any reason for this.

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “Do you believe that some of us got a higher purpose than others?”

Investigator – “Higher purpose?”

(Another pause.)

Locray – “Can’t hide what yer thinkin’ from me, sport. Think I’m blowin’ smoke up yer ass, don’tcha?”

Investigator – “No…um…I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to react to that.”

Locray – “Hmmm…That was a lot more honest than I expected…I’m impressed…’Clarence’…Like I said, I didn’t…enjoy what I did…in the beginning…I was scared, y’know? Didn’t feel right, when I stabbed Ricky, back when I was just a guppie. Even with how he’d treated me, I know he didn’t deserve that.”

Investigator – “Then…”

Locray – “Why’d I do it? Well, that’s the part you might struggle to understand…”

Investigator – “So…um…when did you…I mean…I guess, when did you begin to…enjoy it?”

Locray – “Murder stains the soul, y’know? Did you know that? Yeah, we don’t all start out all pure of heart, and all. There’s always some that’s just born bad…but, when I was just a young ‘un. I didn’t even have a passin’ thought ‘bout hurtin’ nobody. Even when other kids gave me hell at school. Even when the bullies would just lay into me over and over, I didn’t wanna hurt them…just wanted it to stop.”

Investigator – “So…why? Why did you keep going? Why did you keep killing, if..?”

Locray – “I was too clean, y’see? Even with the hell I was goin’ through, bein’ an outcast in this fuckin’ world, I was too pure. Didn’t have it in me, at the time…to ascend…”

Investigator – “Ascend?”

(Another pause.)

Locray – “You been there too, yeah? You been that hopeless kid, who don’t think no one gives two shits about ‘em. You seen the dark, where there ain’t no light shinin’ through, right?”

Investigator – “I…um…”

Locray – “You felt lonesome, didn’t ya? Felt like no one saw ye. Felt like you could just drop dead, and wouldn’t no one bat an eye…What would you have given, to have a friend? To have someone that didn’t only see ya, but showed you a way outta the hell you was livin’ in?”

Investigator, under his breath – “How..?”

Locray – “Some scars are as clear as day, friend. Even the ones that don’t leave a mark on the skin…You might not see it, and your scars are obviously…different from mine. But we’re more alike than you think…”

Investigator, almost caught off guard by his own words, quickly muffling himself – “I would never..!”

Locray, chuckling – “Oh, I know. You don’t share my…well, particular set of skills,” he laughs again, “You seen that movie, right?”

Investigator, reluctant laughter –”Yeah…that was a good one…”

(More whispering.)

Locray – “Y’see…I can see it in your face–those scars left over from childhood…that limp, you try to hide…”

Investigator – “Oh…that…um…”

Locray – “I know. The guards told you to hide any weakness…right? Don’t worry. I ain’t tryin’ to get in your head. Just showin’ you that I know…I know you’ve been there too…”

Investigator – “A…um…difficult childhood…isn’t uncommon…”

Locray – “Sadly so…but it still leaves a mark. What was it for you? Parents? Other kids? Bullies?”

Investigator, reluctant – “Um…all of the above…”

Locray – “Mhmm…yeah…For me, it was a bit of everyone too. Yeah, my folks didn’t hurt me, physically. Just sorta ignored me, y’know? Probably mutual, I s’pose. I never gave them much of my time either. Mom said I was a weird kid…different…special, they say. Cunt told my teachers that on my first school day too.”

“Word spread, as it tends to. Other kids laughed and poked fun. Some pushed me around. Some took it to the next level. From day one, I came home black, blue, and red. Yeah, mom patched me up. Dad told me I need to stand up for myself. But I was so withdrawn, insecure, and quiet. Couldn’t bring myself to do anythin’ but take it. Day in and out. Week in and out. Month to month…I hated life…my life. HATED it! I just didn’t wanna go on, but I was too chicken shit to make it stop.”

Investigator – “That’s…that’s not easy to cope with…My father…he hurt me. Kids at school pushed me around, but didn’t take things as far…as far as he did. Mother turned a blind eye…”

Locray – “They do say ignorance is bliss…I’m sorry, friend…”

Investigator – “Yeah…yeah, I’m…sorry too. But…how did you go from a withdrawn child to..?”

Locray – “Call me lucky, or unfortunate, for what I’m about to tell you. But either way, yer welcome to leave after I say it. You can come on back tomorrow, if ya like. But I know yer itchin’ to break loose. I gotcha…I ain’t mad or nothin’. I just know you ain’t gonna take me seriously on this one.”

Investigator – “I am taking you seriously, um…”

Locray – “Call me Linc…”

Investigator – “Um…Linc…I am taking you seriously. I want to know your story, in your words. To learn both who you were, and how you became who you are. There is no judgement here.”

Locray – “I can respect that. You show me respect, you got mine too…But I can tell you, you ain’t gonna believe this. Not at first, anyways…”

Investigator – “Try me…”

Locray – “Alright then…I was about eight, I s’pose, when…he came to me–the only real friend I’d ever have…You believe in parallel dimensions?”

Investigator – “I…never really gave it much thought.”

Locray – “I think ya might be pullin’ my dick on that one…But I’ll let it slide. Thing is, they’re all connected, y’know? All the different threads and worlds. All of ‘em linked together. In some places, there’s weak spots. The walls are a bit thinner, y’see? You can even communicate through ‘em, if you’re lucky enough to find one.”

Investigator – “What are you saying?”

(Whispering resumes.)

Locray – “My friend…well, he ain’t from ‘round these parts…He found me, y’see? Right in the middle of the woods that were behind my parents house…he found me. And he gave me purpose…he gave me a way outta this damned mess.”

Investigator – “A way out?”

Locray – “I’m close now, bud…closer than I’ve ever been…I’ve waited for a long time…but, now…”

Investigator – “Now..?”

(Another pause. Whispering intensifies.)

Locray, his voice suddenly solemn – “Now, I…I…I think we should stop for now…Go on, now…”

(A chair sliding can be heard. Whispering silences.)

Investigator – “Mr. Locray…Linc…I’m neither judging, nor questioning your story. I’m listening. I want to…”

Locray – “That’s all I got for you, today…”

Investigator – “But…”

Locray – “Come on back tomorrow, if ya like…I ain’t goin’ nowhere…not yet anyways…Go on, now…git…”

(Recording stops.)

With that, he turned his back to me, as he paced to the cot against the back wall, lifting a wrinkled comic from a stack on the floor.

I just got to my feet, cutting my eyes from the slender man laying back down on his bed, no longer even acknowledging me, to the hallway back to the elevator. Realizing that he was truly done with our conversation, I headed back down the hallway, and out of his view. I contacted officer Harrison on the radio he had handed me, to send the elevator back down, and escort me out.

When I arrived back at my hotel room, after the bizarre interview haunting my thoughts over the brief conversation with Officer Harrison, and during the entirety of the Uber ride back to my temporary living quarters. Just about every inch of my body was aching.

With Locray suggesting that we continue our chat the following day, Harrison had to check in with the warden. While it had taken some work to earn this interview in the first place, I was concerned that any follow up would not be granted, especially given those extensive lengths I went through initially.

To my surprise, I received word only ten minutes or so into the ride back to my hotel, that I would be allowed three more sessions, should that be necessary. But no more than that.

From what the guard told me, given that I was required to share with them a full report of our discussions, the warden had grown interested in whatever I may learn from the convicted killer.

Whether the inmate had told them the strange story of his ‘not from around here’ friend. Or that simple, morbid curiosity guided their newfound outlook on this interview, I honestly didn’t care. Whatever the case, this would make things much easier on that end, moving forward.

As I wrestled to sleep that night–the implications of Locray’s story preventing my mind from settling down, I began to develop a sense of unease about this whole thing. With my mind still reeling from that initial meeting, I could almost swear that there were disembodied voices whispering from the darkness–those same eerie voices from Locray’s dungeon.

Yes, I had no doubt that this was nothing more than some residual scar tissue from the visual imagery painted across my mind in the basement of that jail. I knew that Locray was well aware that he was getting under my skin with his recollections. Even with the great many deeply disturbed individuals with whom I have spoken, no one had troubled me like this one.

There was such a strange sort of…sincerity in the way he spoke and carried himself. I almost felt like he was not remotely proud of the awful things he had done. Certainly, the man was just not of sound mind–not exactly a stretch, given the nature of his crimes. But, somewhere within my unsettled thoughts, and overactive imagination–something I wouldn’t admit to myself at the time, I had begun to believe his bizarre ramblings.

Interview #2
May 6th, 2024

Not unlike my previous arrival at the prison, Officer Harrison was awaiting me, the moment I passed through the door. His demeanor was far more friendly than it had been in our last meeting. I almost got the impression that might even respect me a bit, with how radically altered his attitude toward me had grown.

(Recording begins. Footsteps resume again.)

Harrison – “Gotta give it to you…you got some balls coming back for a second go.”

Investigator – “I mean, he’s locked up, you know? It’s not like there’s any real danger.”

Harrison – “Yeah, but you stood your ground with the crazy bastard. I’ve seen some of the biggest sonofabitches back down from that freak, stuttering like they forgot how to speak, just on account of that dead stare.”

Investigator – “Oh, I won’t pretend for a second I didn’t come close to soiling that uncomfortable chair a time or two…”

Harrison – “Still…to have spoken with that…dead eyed…monster, and still come back for another round…not bad, kid.”

(Recording stops.)

As the elevator came to a stop, that darkened and ominous hallway, leading to the only occupant of the lowest level of this prison, I felt far less intimidated than I did the last time. Walking toward the last cell in the row, I glanced back to the guard, giving him a grateful nod upon noticing a far more comfortable looking chair than the one I sat upon before.

Officer Harrison gave me a smile and a wave. But there was something of a reluctance in his expression. While he had appeared more annoyed and dismissive of me on my first visitation. His manner toward me was now more…concerned, perhaps.

Maybe I was reading too much into things…

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “What’s happenin’, Clarence?”

Investigator – “Doing quite well…And how are you today, Mr. Locray…um…Linc?

Locray – “None too shabby, bud. None too shabby at all…and call me Ollie, if ya like.”

Investigator – “Ollie? Not Linc now?”

Locray – “Meh, I was figurin’ on sayin’, only ma friends call me Linc…or Ollie…only ever had the one friend. He didn’t never gimme a choice on what he called me. Still gettin’ a feel for what I like. Love me some Laurel and Hardy…ain’t never cared much for Abe Lincoln. You ever watch the oldies? They just don’t make ‘em like ‘at no more.”

Investigator – “I was always a Stooges guy, myself.”

Locray – “Yeah? Moe or Shemp?”

Investigator – “Come on…Moe all the way.”

Locray – “Hell yeah! That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

(Recording stops.)

For the briefest moment, I saw something reflected in his expression far beyond the inherent darkness of his almost vacant, heartless gaze. In that slip of a second, I looked into the eyes of just some guy. Some guy with whom I may have actually gotten along, were it not for the demon lingering beneath the flesh.

I actually had to snap my senses back to why I was there, and with whom I was speaking. But, I couldn’t deny that, as we shared a chuckle from each side of the tempered glass, it was as though we had known one another for years, rather than just having met the day before.

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “So, what you wanna know today?”

Investigator – “Well, um, I would definitely like to hear more about…well, what you began to speak of yesterday: these ‘weak spots’, and your…well, your, um…”

Locray – “My friend. You don’t gotta be nervous, bud. Like I told you yesterday: I ain’t got nothin’ to hide…not no more, anyways…

Investigator – “Yes. I’m sorry for the…well, my apprehensions. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off yesterday?”

(Subtle whispering begins.)

Locray – “Wouldn’t you rather hear ‘bout my crimes? That’s what you’re here for, ain’t it?”

Investigator – “I…would like to hear your story, Mr. Loc…um…Ollie…It seems that, well, your friend is a substantial part of what you…”

Locray – “What I did to all those folks. Yeah. Might as well go back to beginnin’, I s’pose. Can’t say you’ll buy what I’m sellin’, but I’m game if you are.”

Investigator – “So, you said that you met him as a child, yes? How did that happen?”

Locray – “I spent a lotta time out in the woods, just a ways behind the old house, when I was a young ‘un. S’pose it was my peaceful spot, y’know? My folks didn’t have much time for me, after patchin’ me up after school. They didn’t understand me–didn’t know how to relate, y’know. I didn’t know how to relate to them neither. So I’d just head out, to spend time alone…only time I ever felt at peace.”

“I didn’t get up to much out there, just run ‘round and played, like kids do–even the weird ones, I guess. But I had enough of an imagination to have a good time, just alone with my thoughts and all. Hell, the first time I heard the voice, I thought it was just my own mind gettin’ carried away.”

“I was out there robbin’ banks, ‘tween them trees, my favorite stick playin’ the part of a tommy gun, when I heard a whisperin’ comin’ from somewhere behind me. ‘Course, I spun ‘round, blastin’ off some rounds from the old girl, but didn’t see no one there.”

“I started laughin’ it off, y’know? Figurin’ my mind was playin’ tricks. But, when more whisperin’ came from behind me again, even with my back in the opposite direction it’d been before, I started gettin’ a bit more flustered. I just run back to the house, not givin’ a second thought to the fact that my folks would just roll their eyes when I came in.”

“Sure enough, I ran in, goin’ on ‘bout voices in the woods, still holding my favorite stick, like some kinda shield, soundin’ like I’d flipped my shit, or somethin’. Pop just grunted at me, askin’ what the hell was wrong with me. He whipped that stick from my hand, and snapped it over his leg. He wasn’t always one to raise his voice at me, but I guess he was growin’ tired of bein’ the father of the town’s biggest oddball.”

(The whispering silences.)

“Momma come into the room, to see what was goin’ on. Next thing I know, the two of them were screamin’ at each other. I was still cryin’ about that stupid stick, layin’ on the floor in two parts. I just backed away from them, and headed to my room. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know what was out in those woods…maybe if it was somethin’ bad. Maybe it could just finish me off and be done with it.”

“It was dark out by the time my folks calmed down, downstairs. I didn’t know what time it was, and didn’t much care. I snuck down from my room, seein’ pop passed out in his chair, and no trace of momma. I just crept out the front door, all sneaky like. Didn’t look back, just kept runnin’ when I was clear of the house. Kept runnin’ ‘till I was back in that same spot, that scared me before.”

“I don’t know if I just wanted to know I wasn’t nuts, wanted to find a way to prove to pop that I wasn’t just fuckin’ with him, or just wanted to face whatever was whisperin’ to me–to let it take me away, if that’s what it wanted. Didn’t matter, though. Soon as I got back ‘tween those trees, I heard it again–not just from behind me, but all around where I stood.”

“It told me I wasn’t crazy–that it was a real live person, or was, a long time ago. S’pose, to an adult, that wouldn’t exactly be enough to say you weren’t really nuts, of course. Someone like you would still call it a delusion, or somethin’. But, to a kid who didn’t feel like he had anyone in this world, all I heard was someone who might be a friend.”

Investigator – “Did…um…did the voice have a name?”

(Recording stops.)

Locray just smiled, in a strangely peaceful way. While I had felt so intimidated by this monster on our first meeting, I couldn’t help but to see the man beneath his grotesque and brutal actions as he shared the events of his troubled youth.

Don’t get me wrong, I knew what he was–that, somewhere beyond this lonely, traumatized child, grew a monument to such evil as I had never before witnessed. But, as I gazed into his dark eyes, the ghosts of his past reflecting my own, I couldn’t help but to understand at least a portion of what drove him to the brink of madness, and beyond.

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “He said he knew he had a name once, a long time ago. But, it’d been centuries since the last time he heard it. Said he couldn’t even remember what he looked like, let alone his name. He let me make one up for him, though. I figured it’d make things easier, y’know?”

Investigator – “So, what did you call him?”

Locray, chuckling – “Just called him Stan. First name that came to mind, I s’pose.”

Investigator – “Stan and Ollie, huh?”

Locray – “That’s right! Reckon you do know your shit after all.”

Investigator – “Well, I wasn’t exclusive to the Stooges.”

Locray – “Heh. S’pose I ventured out myself, when I could. I guess I…”

(The subtle, almost whispering voice resumes, only barely picked up by the audio. There is an ominous hum accompanying it.)

Investigator – “Mr…um…Ollie? Are you..?”

Locray, mostly to himself – “Ain’t much longer now…”

Investigator – “Much longer?”

Locray – “I’ll tell you later.”

Investigator – “Um…okay…So, tell me about Stan.”

(The room falls silent again.)

Locray – “We just talked, at first–me and Stan, long before I gave him the name, anyways. He didn’t talk ‘bout himself much, just wanted to hear what I had to say. Took some adjustin’, y’know? Even as a lil tyke, I’d already learned to bottle it all up, I s’pose. Didn’t talk to nobody, really–not at school, or anywhere between.”

“Soon as I threw those floodgates open, though, just ‘bout everythin’ I’d felt and been through poured outta me like a damn jug splillin’ over.”

Investigator – “How did that feel, to speak aloud about what you had endured?”

Locray – “Felt good at first, y’know? But, the more we spoke, the more pissed off I grew. Hell, I’d been bottlin’ so long, I learned to just hide it away, like it never happened. Speakin’ ‘bout it, though…”

Investigator – “You experienced it all over again…almost from the outside, looking in…”

Locray – “Yeah…you get it…Figured you might. Anyways, for months, I s’pose, I’d spend ‘bout every minute I could, out ‘tween those trees, talkin’ with my only friend. He still didn’t talk ‘bout himself much–not before he landed where he was. Only that he was punished for some shit he did in life.”

“After a time, he opened up a bit more. Said he was sent away, stripped of his flesh and bones–just a spirit, cast into the void. Said he didn’t remember much ‘bout his life before. But he learned a good deal ‘bout the nature of the place he was sent…over the centuries…”

Investigator – “The…centuries?”

Locray, chuckling a little – “I know…sounds nuts, right? But that’s how he told it. He said that, back when he was…banished, he called it. Back then, he just knew he’d go mad, bein’ stripped of his body, and lost to a place he didn’t know. But it didn’t take him long to see the beauty of it.”

“The way he told it, after he got over that fear of not havin’ flesh no more, he understood that he could be so much more in that place. He could travel anywhere with just a thought. He’d drink in the glorious cosmos from above, or soar down to the many planets, to witness life he’d never knowed to even exist.”

“Somewhere out there, after just travellin’ for longer than he could even imagine, he come across a planet he’d never seen from the outside before. But he knew exactly what it was, the second he saw it. Yeah, I don’t fully understand how he was able to ‘look’ at anythin’, not havin’ a body to hold no eyes. But he told me it’s hard to describe, really.”

“He said it was like bein’ aware of everythin’ around him, without any effort or strain. He knew what was behind whatever he was now, just as sure as he would be about whatever was before him. And when he blinked down to the land below, bouncin’ from one country to the next, by just makin’ up his mind to do so. He started to remember more about where he come from. And how much it had all changed.”

“He said that colors were different in different spots. When he’d reach somewhere that was more vibrant than anywhere he’d seen yet. That’s when he started to understand. These were the weak spots he talked about–spots where he could ‘leak’ through to the livin’ world again.”

“Some of these spots were in places where there weren’t no people. Others were in places where there were too many–too many to hear his voice, tryin’ to reach ‘em. Of course, it was ‘round that time he realized he still had a voice, even with whatever he was now. But no matter where he’d go, no one could, or would hear him. That’s until he met a young boy, hidin’ out in the woods, one early mornin’.”

Investigator – “So you were the first? The first person he had spoken to since he was…banished?”

Locray – “That’s right. That’s how he told it anyways. Yeah, I figured he might be blowin’ some smoke up my ass–tryin’ to make me feel special and all. And, it worked! I felt like a clean pig in a river of shit, the more he talked to me like I was somethin’ extraordinary. But the way he could get carried away sometimes, talkin’ for hours on end, bouncin’ from one topic to the next, like he had the most ancient form of ADHD there ever was. The more I begun to believe what he told me–that I was as much his first friend in centuries, as he was my first friend…ever.”

Investigator – “So, it was all…everything you’ve done. The people you’ve killed, and the manner in which they died…It was all his idea?”

Locray – “After some time, after seein’ me beaten, bruised, and neglected for months on end. I told him I wished that I could be where he was. That I could leave my broken body behind, and fly through the heavens with him. He seemed unsure at first, tryin’ to convince me that life could get better. But the more I’d come to him covered in more tears and more blood. The more he opened up to showin’ me the way.”

Investigator – “He took his time…waited patiently to rope you in…”

(The whispering resumes, more agitated now.)

Locray, angry – “IT WASN’T LIKE THAT!”

Investigator – “I’m sorry, Ollie. I truly am. I don’t mean to be rude, or disrespectful to your friend. But, it almost sounds like he was grooming an immature mind, twisting it to his own desires…”

Locray, seemingly attempting to calm himself – “I…I see what yer sayin’, bud. I do. I know I was just a gullible kid, back then. But, no. He ain’t like that. It was my idea…I…I’m sorry I got angry…you don’t understand, and I know it ain’t easy to. But I could tell he didn’t wanna tell me how to get to his side of reality. But I wouldn’t let up until he did.”

Investigator –”So, that’s where the numbers come in? The ritual?”

Locray – “You see, even though where he is, is something far beyond anything we mortals can even understand, the ones that sent him there didn’t know that. Even though he couldn’t remember what he did to get sent there, he knew it was bad. He’d been there a long time, and learned a lot ‘bout it. Even communicated with others that were there too…”

Investigator, skeptical – “I thought that you were the first he’d talked to since he was banished…”

Locray – “The first he’d used his voice for. They don’t communicate like us–not there. The way he told it, bein’ that the ones that dwell there don’t have bodies neither, it took a long time for him to realize he wasn’t alone. Didn’t even know he could communicate, even if he did find someone to talk to.”

Investigator – “So…where is it that he dwells? What is it? He has no body, but can still soar through the cosmos? So, is he essentially devoid of form, in outer space?”

Locray – “It’s hard to describe, he said. He’s told me a lot about…what to expect. Said he’d teach me more when…But it ain’t ‘space’, exactly. He’s called it ‘The Void’ or even ‘The Abyss’. Like it exists somewheres between worlds–between realities.”

“It ain’t like nowhere humans can know how to understand, y’see? Beyond everythin’ we’ve been taught about how things work. But it’s special. Out there, ain’t no death. Ain’t no good or bad. No men, women, adults, or kids. Ain’t gonna lie, bud. It sounds like heaven…”

Investigator – “A heaven that you have to mutilate your soul to reach? How can that be something pure?”

Locray, sighing – “I know how it sounds. Don’t make no sense to do evil to reach enlightenment, right? But that’s the thing–those are human constructs. I don’t know if there is a God or a Devil. A Heaven or a Hell. Good or evil. Maybe all of that is just made up.

Investigator – “Okay. I’m so sorry, Mr…um…Ollie. But surely you can’t feel so…indifferent about the things you’ve done! Surely, with this much blood on your hands, so many families torn apart, and so much brutality in your actions…surely you cannot defend those as simple means to an end! If that is what is required to allow you to access this…void…how can it possibly be somewhere pure and enlightened?”

Locray – “It ain’t as simple as that, ‘Clarence’! It ain’t just good and bad, black or white, wrong or right. I know what I’ve done. I know that all of it…was evil. Evil by this reality’s viewpoint. But…”

Investigator – “By ‘this’ reality’s viewpoint!? Evil is evil, Locray! Murder is murder! There is no salvation in that! You cannot ascend to a higher plane of existence through murder! Through torment and torture! Surely you can…”

(Recording stops.)

Yeah, I went on like this for a while. The more I raged about this insult of his claims–the level of his delusion. The more angry I grew. Of course, I also grew more afraid that I had crossed lines with the man. Yes, he was a madman. Yes, he had completely disconnected from reality. And yes, his actions were nothing short of pure evil.

Somewhere deep in places I was not yet ready to admit aloud, though, I had grown a strange sort of fondness for the man. In many ways, I could hardly believe that he was capable of the things he had done. But I knew that he was.

In many ways, as insane as I knew this entire conversation to be, it fascinated me. That anyone could justify such horrific acts by creating this fantastical vision of otherworldly proportions. Even down to the ritual which guided his actions.

Through every word I threw at him, like knives dipped in poison, he didn’t so much as attempt to interrupt me. He didn’t even look angry at my insulting manner. Okay, he was agitated at first. But after a time, he just sat there, unmoving, with a light and friendly smirk painted across his face.

If anything, his expression appeared both understanding, and sympathetic. By the time my scornful words came to a close, my brow sweaty, my skin trembling, and my breath labored, I just knew that I had obliterated the trust I had gained over these discussions. But I would find that far from the case.

(Recording resumes.)

Locray – “It’s alright, bud. You ain’t wrong ‘bout a single word you said. Hell, I can’t tell you how many nights I cried myself to sleep, feeling the weight of the things I’d done. By the time I got up to the higher numbers, I’d feel my heart breakin’ with every slice. But I had to do it. I had to escape this…this world…I don’t belong here…I never did…”

(The whispering calms, but remains constant.)

Investigator – “Ollie…So many of us feel like we don’t belong. So many of us! The search to find our place in this world can feel so desperate and hopeless. So…isolating and painful. But this is not the answer. This isn’t real! You have to see that!”

Locray, unfazed – “No, Clarence. You have to see this! There’s so much more to reality than you understand. You’ve heard it too…you’ve seen it too. Somewhere deep inside…Yeah. You’re afraid. You’re afraid to admit it.”

Interviewer – “Mr. Locray…Ollie…No disrespect intended. But I’m afraid we must agree to disagree on this.”

Locray – “So you do think I’m nuts…”

Interviewer – “I think…I think that you have been misguided. Someone twisted…um…someone preyed on the mind of an isolated, tormented, and innocent young mind. Turned you into…”

Locray, chuckling – “A monster?”

Interviewer – “I’m not saying that. Just…”

Locray – “You ain’t wrong, bud. I know what I’ve done. I know my soul is…grotesque…But that’s why I know this’ll work. It’s almost time, Clarence. It’s so close, I can taste it.”

Interviewer – “ What is so close?”

Locray – “I know you hear it too–the voices…Yeah, I see it in yer face.”

Interviewer – “I…um…The power of suggestion is a…a powerful thing. I can’t deny that your story has…gotten in my head. But I know it’s just…”

Locray – “You are recordin’ this, right? Yeah…Ain’t played none of it back yet, have you? After you leave here today–wherever you’re goin’ back to…you play that back. Listen through it. If you hear your mind playin’ tricks in the background of this conversation. You’ll see what I’m sayin’.

Interviewer – “What is it? Um…I mean…what are you saying?”

Locray – “You asked why I turned myself in–why I just gave myself up, after outrunnin’ the law for years…”

Interviewer – “I did…”

Locray – “Weak spots, Clarence…Some of ‘em are just weak enough to get a glimpse of somewheres else–well, not a ‘glimpse’, I s’pose. But enough to make you feel like you ain’t alone…You ever been alone, somewheres, and felt like you weren’t actually alone? Yeah…there’s that look again…”

Interviewer – “As I said: the mind can play tricks. Especially when we are alone…”

Locray – “Don’t feel like a trick though. Does it? Yeah, you do know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout…I see it. But the thing is, there’s some places that are even weaker…Places that can offer more than a glimpse. See, there are windows all over the place. They call ‘em haunted houses, or cursed forests–spots where things might happen, or folks get a fright. But that’s all it is. Just that shadow or whisper that runs the tip of a knife across your flesh, but don’t break the skin…”

“Those windows are all over, in places you’d never expect. Folks see shit all the time. They hear shit even more. But the windows ain’t nothin’. The doors, though…that’s a whole other thing. Ain’t as many of those. But when you know where to find ‘em…well, they might just take you somewheres else, if you fit the bill to go on through…”

Interviewer – “So…this prison…this place has a door?”

Locray – “Not just any door, bud. Y’see, doors can lead to many places. Some can let just about anyone in. Anyone it wants to, anyways. Hell, folks go missin’ all the time. No tellin’ where they might end up. God knows that some of those doors don’t lead nowhere good.”

Interviewer – “And, how do you know that…this one leads somewhere good?”

Locray – “Cause my whole damn life has led me here. The only damn friend I ever had…led me…here. Right here. Right where I needed to be…”

Interviewer, almost to himself – “But you had to blacken your soul to be able to pass through…And, in the act of blackening your soul…your actions allowed you access…”

Locray – “Two birds, Clarence. Actions that accomplished both of the goals I needed to reach.”

Interviewer – “But how could you be guaranteed to end up at this specific prison? In this specific area of the prison?”

Locray – “Bit of homework on my behalf. Stan told me where the doorway was on his side. That led me to where it was on this side. All I had to do was to make sure I had enough victims in the right vicinity, to be sure anywhere else I spilled blood wouldn’t be able to claim jurisdiction. And they just happen to have solitary confinement in this basement.”

“Ain’t hard to get sent to solitary–regular solitary, a few floors up. Yeah, I spent some time there too. But that wasn’t quite close enough. No, I had to show them that I was far too hazardous to be locked up even in the vicinity of anyone else. So…I just had to spill more blood, until I fit the bill…to end up here.”

Interviewer – “Then why haven’t you crossed over yet? If everything has gone according to your plan…why are you still here?”

Locray – “Ain’t a simple process, from what Stan said. Takes time. Gotta make sure everythin’ is done to precision. But it ain’t much longer now…Ain’t much longer at all.”

Interviewer, voice trembling – “And what if…what if you were moved from this cell…before…”

Locray, chuckling a sinister laugh – “Aww, you ain’t gonna…tell on me, now…are ya, bud?”

Interviewer – “I…um…”

Locray, voice far less kind, but far more arrogant – “I mean, you think I’m nuts…right? This is all a delusion…ain’t it? Ain’t none of this real…”

Interviewer – “But…you believe it…”

Locray – “Ain’t doin’ no one no harm, if I’m the only one who believes it, though…right?”

Interviewer – “Of…of course…

Locray – “I’m locked away from the world, down here…right? Can’t even touch another livin’ soul…Ain’t like I can…get in someone’s head or nothing…ain’t that right…’Clarence’…”

Interviewer, nervous stuttering – “T-that’s…that’s right…But…”

Locray – “Tell you what, bud…I think we’re about done, for today…How ‘bout you come on back again tomorrow…yeah? I know this is happenin’ soon. But not exactly sure when…If I’m still on this side…if you don’t go squealin’ to the guards, talkin’ ‘bout me bein’…up…to somethin’…Well maybe I can prove to you, that every damn word I’ve said is the fact of things…”

Interviewer – “Why…can’t you prove it to me today?”

Locray – “Come on back tomorrow…just one last time. That’s all I ask. You won’t never have to see my face again, after that. Hell, if I’m lyin’ to you…if I am stuck here…you and I both know, it’s just a matter of time until my execution…Come on, Clarence…You wanna know…don’tcha?”

Investigator – “But, if you are…gone, by the time I return…I mean…how will that prove anything? If you just leave your body behind, surely it’ll just appear that you died, right? That doesn’t prove anything.”

Locray – “Nah…ain’t quite as cut and dry as that. Stan said that I won’t be leavin’ behind my corpse. Just somethin’ devoid of a soul…if I’m gone…well. You can see how that conversation goes, yeah?”

Investigator – “Mr. Locray…Ollie…I…”

Locray – “C’mon now, friend…we’re cool…ain’t we? Come on back tomorrow, yeah? If I’m here…if I ain’t here…it’ll be one hell of a story to tell, won’t it?”

Investigator, chuckling slightly to himself – “ Okay, Ollie. Either way it goes…whatever happens tomorrow, I look forward to it.”

Locray – “If this is goodbye, bud…If I’m already long gone by then…Thanks again, friend…Thanks for talkin’ to me like I’m human.”

Interviewer – “You’re very welcome, Ollie. Tomorrow then…”

Locray – “Same bat time…”

Interviewer, laughing reluctantly – “Same bat channel…”

Locray – “Go on, now…”

(Recording stops.)

Yes. I knew that his story was insane. Also, I knew that I was no longer attending these meetings to delve into the nature of evil. Locray’s actions were evil, beyond a doubt. But, compared to even some of the far less…experienced killers with whom I have spoken, every single one felt far more inherently sinister than this man.

No, I was now attending these meetings just to attempt to understand how his mind worked. How he came up with this incredibly far fetched story. And why he dedicated his life to this cause, spilling blood from one side of the country to the next.

The more time I spent with the man, the more I began to feel that there were two very distinct sides to him. At face value, especially knowing about the things he has done–yes, his soul (if there is such a thing) was definitely tarnished. Sometimes, when I looked into his gaze, I could see that darkness behind them. I could feel that underlying evil glaring back at me.

The other side of him, though. I could see an inner conflict with the blood staining his hands. Somewhere within him, I suspect that same, neglected, rejected, and unbearably lonesome child still lingers. This ‘friend’ he invented was simply a way to not feel so alone. To feel accepted by someone–anyone. Whether real, or invented between the trees of his only childhood sanctuary, he just wanted to feel wanted, cared for, and seen.

Before I left the prison that day, I wrestled with whether or not to warn Officer Harrison of Locray’s ‘plans’ to escape this reality. Yes, I knew his story to be a complete fabrication–another creation of his twisted mind. But I could not deny that there was a part of me that was beginning to at least entertain the level with which he believed it.

Of course, I was also of the belief that there would be some sort of security cameras, or recording devices in place, even down in that glorified dungeon. With them allowing me to keep returning, after putting up so much of a fight to keep me away, at first. Surely they were keeping an eye and ear on things, to see what I was able to get out of the prisoner.

Ultimately, given that I personally didn’t buy any of it, I chose to divulge this to neither the guards, nor the warden herself. On one hand, I didn’t want to reveal to them that even a small part of me was being drawn into his delusions. But hidden away within the palm of the other hand, I was curious. Curious to see how far he would go with this. Curious to see if Lincoln Oliver Locray would indeed still be there, the following day.

When I lay my weary bones to rest that night, my bum leg throbbing, and my thoughts erratic, I wrestled to quiet my mind enough to sleep. Be it that lingering lurch in my guts, due to that incessant temptation to endure Locray in his beliefs of what was to come for him. Or just the inherent nature of sharing such company, I feared that the man was beginning to get in my head after all.

That whispering, which had seemed almost a consistent soundtrack within that basement cell had seemingly followed me to the hotel in which I was staying. I even crept from the warmth of the bed, stalking through my room in an attempt to track its source, certain that it must be nothing more than an echo from a neighboring room.

Gently peeling open the door, almost desperate to find those voices louder in the hall, to assure myself that nothing more than fellow tenants provided them, I was met with only silence. Stepping onto the small balcony revealed only the subtle howl of the wind, and the distant flow of interstate traffic. But that whispering seemed to only exist between the walls of my temporary lodgings.

I spoke aloud my bargaining denial, that my mind was simply eduring something of a hangover–mental ghosts left over from the conversations shared with such a sinister creature. When even sandwiching my head between the pillows did not so much as muffle those whispers, I had to believe that they were indeed nothing more than a product of my mind, almost haunted by the memory of shared words.

It was at that moment when I was reminded of Locray’s recommendation: to relisten to the recordings–to witness that whispering behind the audio. To know that it was not just in my head. While I fidgeted with my recorder, tempted to play them back, the still consistent echoes in the back of mind assured me that I could not trust my own senses at the time. I just laid my device on the nightstand, and eventually wrestled my way back to sleep.

By the time I awoke the following morning, my head, ringing from the less than fulfilling rest, and my body, fatigued before even taking the first hesitant step. I found myself both excited and apprehensive about this final interview with the lone prisoner of that deep basement cell block.

My fingers trembled as I dressed myself, my shoe laces proving more tricky to tie than any day before. I could feel my intestines twisting as I limped down the hall, to meet the driver who should be arriving any minute. Even as I took my seat in the back of the spacious, black SUV, my lower back twitched and spasmed, while my guts continued to tie themselves in knots.

This was it; the final interview. The last meeting with the man who brutally murdered fifty five souls before turning himself in for his crimes. The last day I would have to stay in this town, before hopping a flight back home that night–back to the comfort of my own bed, in my own home.

Even as I saw Officer Harrison awaiting my arrival, as I fought to hide my constant trembling to the best of my ability, I could feel that something would be greatly different about this interview. That I would be speaking with neither the surprisingly friendly Ollie, nor the more haunting Mr. Locray.

How could I know that? Yeah, at that point, I hadn’t even admitted that much. But I knew that I felt it–that things would indeed not be the same this time. But I refused to admit that that was anything more than the fact that the man had indeed gotten under my skin. But, even if I had accepted what my apprehensions and nerves meant. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

Interview #3
Final meeting
May 7th, 2024

Once more, Harrison escorted me into the building, through the hallways, and onboard the elevator. We shared a little smalltalk again–nothing worth sharing, really. We had formed at least something of a mutual respect over these three days, so our conversation this time had little bearing or relevance to even what I was there for.

I can say that I had actually grown quite fond of the man, even if he did exude that inherent alpha male quality of those in such positions of power over others. He had settled down a lot of that arrogance, overconfidence, and the need to prove that he was indeed more powerful than me since I returned the previous day, though. Now we were just two guys, walking in the same direction, shooting the shit.

As he had the previous two days, he handed me that same radio, before gesturing toward the chair, still perched in the same spot. With a light slap on the back, and a small smirk, he headed back the way we had come, leaving me glaring down the hallway ahead, which almost appeared to stretch farther than before. That was until I blinked my eyes against my scattered thoughts.

Once more, I tried to control the shivering of my legs, and twitching of my lower back as I strolled toward the chair. But, as I set down my things, turned on my recorder, and took my seat, before focusing on the glass, I almost felt my heart skip for a moment, when my eyes met the far removed, pensive, and cold expression on the face of the man I was there to see.

He was just sitting on the chair opposing the one awaiting me, his fingers entwined where they sat upon his lap. His eyes, far darker than I had seen them thus far.

(Recording begins.)

Investigator – “And how are you today, Ollie? Did you…”

Locray, in a far different, accented, emotionless, and cold voice – “Good morning, Samuel…”

Investigator/Samuel – “Oll–what…did you call me?”

Locray – “Your name, Samuel…and where did you come up with ‘Clarence’?”

Samuel – “Who told you…my..?”

Locray – “…..”

Samuel, growing agitated – “Don’t give me that smile and wink, Locray! Who..!?”

Locray “NO! YOU…do not get to speak to me this way…I intend to honor the request for you to remain unharmed. Do not…inspire me to betray this promise…”

Samuel – “What…what is going on here?”

Locray – “Lincoln did ask me to wait until you were here–he has grown quite fond of you…But, I am afraid that the process cannot be halted, once it has begun. I did assure him that I would bid his fond farewell.”

(A distant, whispered scream can be heard.)

Samuel – “Ah. I see what’s going on here. You are Stan, I assume?”

Locray – “This is the name which Lincoln assigned me. Yes.”

Samuel – “But…why are you here, in his stead? According to Ollie, you were awaiting his arrival. Aren’t you supposed to be showing him around his new surroundings?”

(Locray laughs, a cold and haunting laugh.)

(Another muffled scream, accompanied by agitated whispers.)

Locray – “Yes…that is what I told him…Alas, once the truth was revealed, it was too late to cease the…exchange…But you should be quite honored that his last thoughts in this realm were of you–that his final request was that I do nothing to you, but speak.”

Samuel – “And how could he take your word on this, given that you obviously betrayed him?”

Locray, his voice even colder – “You do not have to humor me…Samuel…I know what you are thinking–I can see what you are thinking…Lincoln had grown to respect you. He had even entertained the idea that you were the first person he had met who was honest with him…Yes. I betrayed his trust. But you betray his judgement, with this…performance…”

(Recording stops.)

Okay. At this point, I was certain that this was nothing more than an act. Even when I entertained the idea that this contrived story of venturing to the other side of the rainbow, to escape this world, I was of the assumption that this would result in seeing nothing more than an empty husk when I visited the prison for the last time.

Whether this was in an effort to leave a lingering, exaggerated story in the wake of a possible suicide, I can’t say. But that’s what I expected–that I would arrive to find Locray dead by his own hand, and always be left wondering, ‘what if?’.

But this!? This just felt like he was playing a part to sell his story all the more. Maybe it was even an attempt at an insanity plea, after the fact. Some last, desperate effort to escape his upcoming execution.

Though his accent was different–a foreign dialect, I couldn’t quite place. His voice as a whole was different. Even his mannerisms, and the way he carried himself were far removed from the man with whom I had met, these last two days. But I was not about to entertain this madness.

(Recording resumes.)

Samuel – “Okay. No humoring. No playing along. And I do apologize for that. And for this. If you will forgive me–I think you’re full of shit. I think you are trying to sell me on this ridiculous story you have attempted to feed me. And, again, I am so sorry, Mr. Locray…it’s not going to work.”

Locray, gently clapping his hands with a chuckle – “There you go…Contrary to Lincoln’s opinion of you, I do believe that these are the first honest words you have spoken in this room.”

Samuel – “Are you seriously going to lecture me on anything resembling humanity?”

Locray – “I have no intention of wasting my time on such trivial matters. You may glare down your nose at me to your heart’s content. I do intend to honor my final promise to Lincoln–it is the least I can do, for what he has gifted me. But…do not…press me…I have betrayed him once, as you said…”

Samuel – “Well, I hope that you will forgive me if I take this threat with a grain of salt. If there was an easy way for you to escape this cell, I imagine you would have taken it already. But, as this is our final appointment. Perhaps we should not waste it, yes? As has been the case since our first meeting–I only wish to hear your story, through your words. Given this new…development. I have to assume that there is more you wish to share?”

Locray – “Very well. But, if you would forgive one last nod to the prior topic, before moving along…Lincoln already found his way out of this cell, in the very method for which he sought to be locked within it. I…have a far more simple method in mind…when the time comes.”

Samuel, sighing – “Well, I very much look forward to seeing that. But, for now…please tell me your story, Stanley?”

Locray, subtly laughing – “I cannot deny, I have grown strangely fond of this moniker. As I cannot…fully recall my own…perhaps I shall continue to use it. Now, I have to assume that, even if you are humoring who you presume me to be, by referring to me by this name, you do wish to hear…my…story…yes?”

(More distant whispering.)

Samuel – “Indeed. Do enlighten me, if you would be so kind.”

Locray – “Before I proceed…you are not interested in how I deciphered your actual name, hmmm?”

Samuel – “Oh, I’m sure that, even in a place such as this, there are ways. But you do understand why I would not be so willing to provide this information upfront?”

Locray – “Freely offering your identity to a killer of men, women, and children alike? Yes…yes I do…Of course…I know far more than this about you, and your family…But…”

Samuel – “Don’t even start…Don’t try to threaten me, my family, or anyone and anything in my life. I can have the guards down here in seconds (the clicking of a radio can be heard). Given that we have built a rapport over the last couple of days, I would rather not participate on such terms. But don’t…press…me…”

Locray – “Oh, you are so confident, aren’t you? So secure on that side of the glass…Very well. For now…my story…”

Samuel – “I’m listening. Still recording, if this is still acceptable…”

Locray – “But of course…And where should we begin?”

Samuel – “Dealers choice. This is your story, after all…”

Locray – “As you wish. I recall little of my life before the void–little, but not quite nothing, as I led young Lincoln to believe. I remember a kingdom made of stone. Robed Nobles. Beautiful women. Sand and grass, in equal measures–things for which I could no longer assign words, prior to meeting my young friend.”

(Another distant scream. Whispering intensifies.)

“Within these foggy recollections, I also recall…blood. Sticky. Flowing. Copious amounts. Twisted figures of my own creation–abominations to those who should briefly witness their…magnificence. I was a man of science, I believe. For even devoid of flesh, I craved knowledge. I desired the pursuit of…perfection. Grace. Divinity. To be worshipped as a God…and feared as a Devil…”

Samuel – “So, the old ‘rule the world’ gambit?”

Locray, chuckling – “No-no…I had no drive to rule, nor to lead. Only to create. To craft a perfect specimen, and have them acknowledge that I was the one to gift them existence. And to know that I could be the one to strip them of it.”

Samuel – “So, what does this have to do with your victims? The only experimentation performed on them were the brutal ways in which they died! How…”

Locray – “THAT…is Lincoln’s story…Samuel…You have already heard his motivations. I thought that you wished to hear mine?”

Samuel, sighing – “Right. Of course. My apologies. Go on…”

Locray – “As I said–I only recall fragments of who I was before the void. Where I was…before…But I do know that such things as sorcery, witchcraft, knowledge of planes and parallels…oh, these were accepted as fact.”

“Those convicted of crimes were not simply executed, or imprisoned–not in the manners more familiar to this new world…No…While the void was reserved for…well, the more deserving of such punishment, as deemed by the Fates. There were far more torments of which they would offer to those poor souls who faced their judgement.”

“The ritual to access the void was complex, you see. It was not quite as simple as just pulling open a door. Perhaps, had they any who had learned the true nature of what they assumed to be a vast nothingness. Not only would they have been less inclined to damn anyone to it. But they would have been able to open that doorway with greater ease.”

Samuel – “The ‘weak spots’?”

Locray – “Exactly! Though it did take time to finalize the relocation of Lincoln, and myself, for that matter. There was not much to it.”

Samuel – “I don’t suppose you would be inclined to share?”

Locray, chuckling – “Apologies…but, no. Of course, time is far less relative…there. It may sound cliché for such tales. But such things are very different on that side of reality. Though I have spent…aeon’s beyond and behind this world. For all I know, perhaps only days passed here. Though, judging by what I have seen of this new world…yes…I imagine there are centuries between who I was, and what I have become.”

Samuel – “So, you were incarcerated for your crimes, and banished to this void? That’s the gist of what you’re getting at?”

Locray – “Well, as I mentioned…it took time. During their preparations, and to ensure that they were indeed making the right decision, or what they saw to be right. They used this time to…persuade me into telling them…everything. By the time they were certain that this was indeed the best course of action–to strip me of my mortal flesh, and send my spirit beyond…there was not much left of my carcass to strip down.”

“Still, they flayed what flesh remained. Tore away the only limb they had left attached to my torso. Peeled the muscles from my bones. And cracked my skull to access its meaty center…”

(The whispering silences.)

Samuel, taken back – “So…being ‘stripped of your mortal flesh’ was…literal?”

Locray – “Oh yes, it was crude in its…simplicity…But, perhaps this part of the ritual was only to guarantee that I could not regain entry to my vessel? In many ways, of course, when I felt my soul transition from one location to the next, I was almost relieved that the agony had subsided…Almost…”

“Though I had no eyes to see, I knew that the endless pitch was not exclusively due to the lack of a tangible shell. I screamed from the mouth I no longer possessed, being aware of sheer nothingness…Emptiness…Vacancy! Devoid of…anything! Or that is what I assumed, from what the senses of my spirit could decipher.”

“Days turned to weeks, which in turn faded to months…years…years to my mortal perception of time, of course. For a time, I fell into madness. Perhaps for centuries, ten fold, and more. No form. No sensation. Nothing with which to occupy a mind which craved knowledge…”

“Some time, long after I abandoned any semblance of reason, though…after I had accepted that this was my reality…I saw a glimmer…”

Samuel – “A…glimmer?”

Locray – “This is the only way I can describe it…something bright, shimmering, near blinding to senses lost to the black. It was as though I subtly understood that I could dial the focus lens of this…vision. I extended the telescope of my mind–my soul…and to my astonishment, I saw life! Not any such life as I had ever witnessed…or ended, in the mortal realm. But swirling vortexes of sentient fog, for the lack of a more accurate term.”

“Over the following…ages…I learned to move myself–whatever myself now consisted of. I grew to evolve what I had become, into what I could become. I basked in this new life surrounding me…and I taught myself how to both transform it…and to end it. Yes, it would seem that my mortal desires had survived my descent into madness. And I found so many new ways of twisting, perverting, and obliterating the beauty of those with whom I shared this endless abyss.”

Samuel – “Even in death, you learned how to kill…”

Locray – “Every artist has their chosen medium…”

Samuel – “So this is how you chose to spend eternity? In an ocean of carnage and despair?”

Locray – “For a time…yes…But as with many aspects of any life…it grew tiresome. Still, I did learn much from my victims. Many secrets of which I had yet to locate of this realm behind reality. Yes, words were not spoken in this place. But thoughts could be shared, with no need of language or translation. Just the pure, unfiltered tapestry of the mind.”

“This is how I came to learn of the weaknesses between the realms. Yes, I dressed up the reality of the void to my associate. I spoke of a vast cosmos, soaring between the planets and realms. But this is far from the fact of things. As it was, the entirety of this endless abyss was located no further from this world than the walls between rooms. The borders between continents.”

“For me, you see–with this once again new perception of reality…I can so clearly see both my old home, and this new one. Even now, just beyond that wall, right over there…I see my dear Lincoln, screaming and cursing my betrayal. Howling his hopelessness of the nothingness he is yet to peel away.”

Samuel – “So, you befriended him, only to curse him with the same madness you endured?”

(The whispering returns, accompanied by more screaming, distant and muted.)

Locray – “I gave him a gift, dear Samuel. He cannot see it yet. He may not see it for a millennia or three. But you cannot imagine the power at my disposal now…He too shall learn as I did. Yes, he may not have it within him to torment his fellow lost souls, as I did. He has not the intellect at his disposal that I did, and do. But, perhaps he shall yet find his way.”

Samuel – “Okay. And what about the ritual ‘you’ had Locray follow? The numbers? Killing a specific number of victims within a week? Over time? Why so specific? If the doors from within this ‘void’ are so easy to open. Why such an intimate ritual?”

Locray, chuckling again – “Well, I had to make it sound good…I did have objectives to complete on my side, before I could so easily pass through. Objectives which may take years on this side. The blackening of his soul–yes…this was necessary. But the numbers? Hmmm. They added a bit of elegance to it.”

“If nothing else, this prevented him from becoming too immersed in his…work. A layer of control, if you will. Even when he began to enjoy it, he could not go too far. Too far may become sloppy. Sloppy leads to capture. Capture leads to incarceration–incarceration, perhaps…not here. And it had to be here. In this very spot.”

Samuel – “Of course. This big old ‘weak spot’. Right?”

Locray – “Precisely!”

Samuel, chuckling – “So…you have mostly forgotten who you were before this ‘banishment’ from reality. Spent aeons surfing the endless abyss beyond this world. And tricked some innocent kid into tarnishing his soul enough for you to claim his body…And, somewhere along the way, you learned to speak English! How convenient!”

Locray – “One can learn much from simply observing…”

Samuel – “Right…Gotcha! Well that was one hell of a story, Mr. Locray. I must say that I am quite impressed by your performance, and your creativity. But I do believe that we are done here…”

(The sounds of items being shuffled and packed can be heard, along with a low, dull vibration.)

(The whispering silences again.)

Samuel – “For what it’s worth, I do thank you for your time. And for indulging me in…

Locray – “Do you truly believe that we are done here? You assume that you may just walk away from me, gazing down your nose upon me…Should you leave…It is only because I allow it…”

Samuel, frustrated – “You know what? I was actually starting to like you! YOU! Harrison warned me that you’d get in my head, but I was so confident! Okay. Yeah. You got me! I actually bought your ‘poor kid’ act. But this!? This ridiculous fantasy!? Come on! You really are just another monster!”

Locray – “Sticks and stones, my friend…”

(The sounds of a chair being slid can be heard. A subtle vibration begins to hum.)

Samuel – “Alright. Nice! Getting to your feet, eh? Hoping to intimidate me one last time for the road, huh?”

(The vibration intensifies.)

(A distant, pain stricken scream can be heard.)

Samuel – “Okay. Very nice. You are really trying to sell the part, I’ll give you…What…um…What are you..?”

(The vibration escalates more. Shuddering, cracking glass.)

(The screaming intensifies, almost constant now.)

Samuel – “What the..?”

(The clicking of a radio, a voice can be heard on the other side.)

Samuel – “Officer Harris…fuck! Um…you might wanna…”

(Glass shatters, the sound of someone toppling to the floor, along with a muffled yelp.)

Locray – “As I said…You cannot imagine the power at my disposal…now…”

Samuel – “This…NO! Mr. Locray…Ollie! STOP!”

(The sounds of footsteps on broken glass.)

Locray – “My name…is Stanley…”

Samuel – “Please!”

(A distant ‘ding’ of an elevator, and doors sliding open, followed by multiple footsteps rushing closer.)

Locray – “I told you…friend…I intend to keep my promise to the former occupant of this vessel. Do not…move…and I shall be less inclined to break it…”

(Footsteps skid to a halt. Guns are drawn and cocked.)

Harrison – “LOCRAY! GET DOWN ON THE…”

(Chaos breaks loose. Gunshots, shattering glass, bodies collapsing, and bones shattering. Sounds of gore, screams, fluids spraying to the walls, echoing laughter.)

“AAAAGHH!!!”

Samuel – “HARRISON!”

(Momentary silence. The screaming relents. Footsteps can be heard crossing broken glass, steadily distancing.)

(Recording stops.)

Somewhere amid the chaos and carnage, I blacked out. Still sitting on that same spot on the floor upon which I landed, when Locray…Stanley somehow splintered the glass of his cell. When I finally came back to awareness, everything was silent. Everything but the haunting, whispered scream, echoing from somewhere beyond…behind that demolished basement.

It took me some time to get back to my feet, my head spinning from what inspired my consciousness to fade. But the second I turned my attention to the hallway down which I had approached this room, I immediately fell to my knees, unable to prevent my guts from spilling over.

The officers I had summoned to put a stop to the escaping convict…were barely recognizable as anything human anymore. Only mounds of gore, blood, and splintered bone were left of what they once were. I had only met a few of them…but they were good men…I don’t…

Again, I knelt in place for a time, before finally convincing my body to move. But only if I averted my gaze away from the carnage before me. I weaved between the torn and broken mounds of flesh, holding my breath, and keeping my eyes fixed on the ceiling–the ceiling which was still lined with gore. But not quite as much as the walls and floor.

To my surprise, the elevator still functioned. The flickering lights around me gave me pause that the power wouldn’t hold up much longer. When I reached the ground floor, the ding of the elevator’s arrival allowed me to release my breath. I once more collapsed to my knees when the doors slid open.

There probably wasn’t even a three foot section of flooring which was free of any viscera and crimson clumps. I tried to run, slipping to the ground, and sliding halfway up the damn hallway, smearing more gore across me. Stumbling and vomiting more with every inch of progress I made, I still fought to keep my eyes from meeting that grotesque sight, left in the wake of the prisoner once locked away in that basement solitary.

By the time I reached the outside world, flickering lights of blue and red blended with howls and threats, and guns being drawn. Of course, I couldn’t blame them, given the consistent mess of carnage lining even the concrete directly outside the prison. A seemingly unharmed man, covered in bodily fluids of varying shades, being the lone, living individual left in that God forsaken place. It’s not a stretch to jump to the conclusion that he had something to do with this.

I was shackled for a time, cursed by many who passed by where I glared out from the backseat of one of the many vehicles parked in that lot. It was as I sat there, attempting to wrap my mind around everything, that I noticed the persistent rain of those few days had finally stopped.

It took them a while to even attempt to make sense of the scene. Fortunately for me, and my well being, though, it would seem that the security footage was intact. I watched on as a few officers literally fled the building, falling to their knees in the same manner which had left my own clothes caked with blood.

A slender officer, whose flesh had turned as pale as mine may have been, beneath the crimson coating crusted to my flesh, released me from that vehicle, and uncuffed my wrists. He escorted me to a nearby ambulance, where a pretty, blonde paramedic treated the wound on the back of my head, where it impacted the wall opposing Locray’s cell. And began the process of removing the glass shards from my face, torso, and arms.

I had been in so much shock, I didn’t even realize I’d been injured. But, while the oozing bump on my head wasn’t quite bad enough to warrant stitches, some of those slivers would require some surgery to remove. It would seem that, when Loc…when Stanley blew the glass wall from his cell, the shattered splinters had to go somewhere, I suppose.

I would go through many interrogations over the following days. Being interviewed by a variety of uniforms, from shades of blue to green. Men and women in suits came to see me at the hotel room I was forced to rent for the remainder of that week. Two at a time, for three days straight.

Naturally, they had no answers to give. Only questions. Questions of which I answered by providing my recordings. Recordings of which I assured them I had not made copies. As can be taken from this, of course. I did indeed have some backups. I had a feeling that they would be confiscated after everything. I wasn’t about to leave myself without any semblance of proof of what I witnessed that day.

It’s been some years now, since those haunting meetings with Locray. Along with whoever it truly was who shared that cell with him for a time. I have never heard another word about the investigation into what happened in that prison. Nor have I seen any evidence that Locray…or Stanley is still out there.

Somehow, I have a feeling that, if they did catch up with him, they had about as much luck at putting a stop to him as the prison guards did. I don’t know. For all I know, this may not be the first escapee from the void they have encountered. Some of those suits did seem especially at ease discussing these matters.

Sure, every time I see something on the news about some especially violent crime, I can’t help but to wonder if Stanley was involved. So, I try to avoid the news as much as possible. I no longer work with the research group, having accepted a teaching position at a nearby university, some months after the incident at the prison.

Given that I truly believe that I have encountered the essence of absolute, pure evil. I honestly had neither reason, nor desire to seek out the answers as to why it exists anymore. Or what motivates it. I am much more content now, with a more peaceful existence.

To this day, only on occasion–only when the world is otherwise sufficiently silent, I still hear those whispers. Not always. Perhaps only in the weak spots. But every now and then–sometimes just for the briefest of moments. I do not only hear those subtle voices. I hear screams. Screams of torment and pain. Desperation and betrayal. Screams I know to belong to the true Lincoln Oliver Locray.

And that’s exactly why I avoid the silence, if I can help it.

Credit: William Rayne

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