Halloween Candy Whenever children die the adults all lose…
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Halloween Candy
Whenever children die the adults all lose their minds. No matter how, natural or otherwise it's just such a tragedy, but I don't think they ever believe they may have deserved it. They always think we're all so innocent, pure or something. Well maybe they don't think that about all of us. The way these cops are looking at me right now, it doesn't feel like they think I'm innocent.
I doubt they can prove that though. You'll never take me alive coppers. "Care to share?" asked Detective Bryant. "Share what?" I asked back, doing my best to look every bit as young as my fourteen years. "What's so funny?" He asked, his anger not hidden as well as he probably thinks it is. "What's funny?" I repeated, trying to sound confused not sarcastic. "You tell me kid?", good. He does see me as just a child.
"You had a little smirk on your face, like you thought of something funny. If you can think of something funny at a time like this, I'd love to hear it." For fucks sake this guy is so dull. So damn serious, "at a time like this" as if it's such a big deal. People die everyday, a lot of them kids. None of these ones were going anywhere in life anyway, not like me.
Not every life is a loss, some people just take up fucking space. I wasn't about to tell him that though. "No sir, I didn't mean to 'smirk'. I'm sorry." I can play the part, I've had to mask as long as I can remember. My mother thought I had some sort of delay, but every pediatrician she took me to always told her the same thing. That I possess above average intelligence for my age. I've always been at the top of my class since I started school.
I guess a mother does know best though. She knows her own child at least. The older I've gotten the more I've grown to understand I'm not like everyone else. The delay is actually just something that never developed at all. And it's in my heart, not my mind. I believe it's evolution, it's made me stronger than most people.
If I saw the right specialists and in light of the current events it's highly likely I will have to soon. I imagine they will diagnose me with something like antisocial personality disorder. Most people with those disorders deny them, they don't want the stigma. Me either, but that doesn't mean we aren't aware. We just don't want the consequences that come with a diagnosis. Everyone around you knowing, being wary of you. Not being able to do the things we want to do because everyone around us is on high alert in our presence.
So we mask and deny. Not out of conscious, obviously, but convenience. Average people think it's a bad thing, that lack of feeling. They don't take into account the other side of it. An ability to do the hard things in life that need done, no one else has the stomach for. Paired with my exceptional mind I'll accomplish things most people can't even conceptualize.
These cops are definitely average people. The detectives in front me and all the cops probably listening to us somewhere else in this dump. I'm willing to bet they don't have any real evidence and are depending on a confession. Otherwise I'd be under arrest in a jail cell, not being questioned in an interrogation room.
"Where did you get all that antifreeze?" Detective Bryant asked. Being carfeul not to ask leading follow up questions like "did you steal it, or stockpile it for a long time" although that was what they suspected. "What antifreeze? I answered. "Jesse. This is serious, it will be easier for you if you tell us the truth." Detective Chance told me. "Nine children are dead, your friends and classmates. Their families deserve to know what happened." Only nine was disappointing to hear. I wonder if some of them are still clinging to their pitiful, inconsequential lives in the hospital.
Of course I couldn't ask that, but it definitely should have been more like thirty kids dead. I miscalculated somehow. Human bodies can be unpredictable like that though. People wake from comas unexpectedly after decades as a vegetable with no explanation. Suffer traumatic brain injuries and start speaking foreign languages they have no way of knowing.
Nine isn't a bad start though, for my first time. Well unless you count that little girl three years ago, but that was only one. The Dawson's baby, not really a baby. She was two years old and I used my hands, gently so I didn't leave any marks. And it worked, just how I wanted it too. As far as everyone knows she died of sids or some mystery medical condition.
They never even questioned me when that happened, they didn't suspect anyone at all. Because people die all the time, even kids. "Were you upset because Natasha didn't invite you to her party?" Detective Chance asked. "No. I don't really like Halloween parties. All the scary costumes." That was mostly true at least, I do think Halloween is stupid. Most holiday traditions are. "Is Natasha hurt?" I asked, wearing my person mask.
\-----------------------------------
"Okay Jesse. Sit tight, we'll be back soon." Chance said, sounding tired. The two men filed out the door, to the hallway packed with officers who had been watching from behind the two way mirror. "What do you wanna do?" Bryant asked Chief Carter.
"For now we just have to wait until that psychologist gets here, let them question him. Hope they know some tactic we don't." None of the officers present was thrilled to hand this case to the feds, but agreed it's necessary. "Graham Pomeroy seemed to be the main target. He had the highest levels of antifreeze so far, but they're still waiting for all the labs, sorting all the tests out." The chief stated as they walked towards his office.
"Why would he target his best friend, his only friend to hear the kids tell it?" Asked Bryant. "Why would anyone do anything like this, let alone a teenage boy from a good family?" The chief questioned, to himself it seemed more than in response to Bryant. "Poisoned Halloween candy, like the urban legend. All these children poisoned by their peer not some evil pervert. It's incomprehensible."
Passing through the lobby the detectives could see Jesse parents. His mother's eyes puffy and red, shiny with more tears. His father, looking stoic but concerned. Not yet admitting to himself where that much antifreeze must have come from. The police would first check local mechanics and factories. Until the medical examination showed that the antifreeze was homemade. That's when it would become undeniable to everyone.
Jesse's father, Dan Young owned a private pharmacy. With a small chemistry lab Jesse spent most of his time in. Nine children dead at a Halloween party, two more fighting for their lives in critical condition. It didn't seem like things could possibly get any worse, but people always underestimate children.
No one could have known, that the worst was yet to come. Or how much worse it would be. Monday morning, when the school served breakfast in the cafeteria. It was not his peers this time, but the grade school. Pre K through fifth grade, every victim under the age of eleven.
Jesse, the Halloween Poisoner, as the papers would come to call him after it made international headlines; would soon surpass his own goal of thirty children dead, by more than double.
\*Dedication: This story is dedicated to my cousin.
Jesse Daniel "Pud" Black
7/18/1995-3/21/2024
Who is nothing like his namesake in this story, but would be very proud and encouraging of me finally pursuing creative writing.
\*Author's Note: This story was inspired by a combination of fears and true crime cases. First, the classic poisoned Halloween candy urban legend. Which was based on a heartbreaking true crime case, rest in peace Timothy O'Bryan and rot in hell his father Ronald O'Bryan. Second, all the children whose classmates brought things to school they should not have and harmed them. I'll never understand why that has become as common as it has and hope someday it isn't. Third, the real life story of Jesse Pomeroy, long may he rot. And finally the real story of Graham Young, who I hope is keeping Rondald O'Bryan and Jesse Pomeroy company.
#entertainment
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Whenever children die the adults all lose their minds. No matter how, natural or otherwise it's just such a tragedy, but I don't think they ever believe they may have deserved it. They always think we're all so innocent, pure or something. Well maybe they don't think that about all of us. The way these cops are looking at me right now, it doesn't feel like they think I'm innocent.
I doubt they can prove that though. You'll never take me alive coppers. "Care to share?" asked Detective Bryant. "Share what?" I asked back, doing my best to look every bit as young as my fourteen years. "What's so funny?" He asked, his anger not hidden as well as he probably thinks it is. "What's funny?" I repeated, trying to sound confused not sarcastic. "You tell me kid?", good. He does see me as just a child.
"You had a little smirk on your face, like you thought of something funny. If you can think of something funny at a time like this, I'd love to hear it." For fucks sake this guy is so dull. So damn serious, "at a time like this" as if it's such a big deal. People die everyday, a lot of them kids. None of these ones were going anywhere in life anyway, not like me.
Not every life is a loss, some people just take up fucking space. I wasn't about to tell him that though. "No sir, I didn't mean to 'smirk'. I'm sorry." I can play the part, I've had to mask as long as I can remember. My mother thought I had some sort of delay, but every pediatrician she took me to always told her the same thing. That I possess above average intelligence for my age. I've always been at the top of my class since I started school.
I guess a mother does know best though. She knows her own child at least. The older I've gotten the more I've grown to understand I'm not like everyone else. The delay is actually just something that never developed at all. And it's in my heart, not my mind. I believe it's evolution, it's made me stronger than most people.
If I saw the right specialists and in light of the current events it's highly likely I will have to soon. I imagine they will diagnose me with something like antisocial personality disorder. Most people with those disorders deny them, they don't want the stigma. Me either, but that doesn't mean we aren't aware. We just don't want the consequences that come with a diagnosis. Everyone around you knowing, being wary of you. Not being able to do the things we want to do because everyone around us is on high alert in our presence.
So we mask and deny. Not out of conscious, obviously, but convenience. Average people think it's a bad thing, that lack of feeling. They don't take into account the other side of it. An ability to do the hard things in life that need done, no one else has the stomach for. Paired with my exceptional mind I'll accomplish things most people can't even conceptualize.
These cops are definitely average people. The detectives in front me and all the cops probably listening to us somewhere else in this dump. I'm willing to bet they don't have any real evidence and are depending on a confession. Otherwise I'd be under arrest in a jail cell, not being questioned in an interrogation room.
"Where did you get all that antifreeze?" Detective Bryant asked. Being carfeul not to ask leading follow up questions like "did you steal it, or stockpile it for a long time" although that was what they suspected. "What antifreeze? I answered. "Jesse. This is serious, it will be easier for you if you tell us the truth." Detective Chance told me. "Nine children are dead, your friends and classmates. Their families deserve to know what happened." Only nine was disappointing to hear. I wonder if some of them are still clinging to their pitiful, inconsequential lives in the hospital.
Of course I couldn't ask that, but it definitely should have been more like thirty kids dead. I miscalculated somehow. Human bodies can be unpredictable like that though. People wake from comas unexpectedly after decades as a vegetable with no explanation. Suffer traumatic brain injuries and start speaking foreign languages they have no way of knowing.
Nine isn't a bad start though, for my first time. Well unless you count that little girl three years ago, but that was only one. The Dawson's baby, not really a baby. She was two years old and I used my hands, gently so I didn't leave any marks. And it worked, just how I wanted it too. As far as everyone knows she died of sids or some mystery medical condition.
They never even questioned me when that happened, they didn't suspect anyone at all. Because people die all the time, even kids. "Were you upset because Natasha didn't invite you to her party?" Detective Chance asked. "No. I don't really like Halloween parties. All the scary costumes." That was mostly true at least, I do think Halloween is stupid. Most holiday traditions are. "Is Natasha hurt?" I asked, wearing my person mask.
\-----------------------------------
"Okay Jesse. Sit tight, we'll be back soon." Chance said, sounding tired. The two men filed out the door, to the hallway packed with officers who had been watching from behind the two way mirror. "What do you wanna do?" Bryant asked Chief Carter.
"For now we just have to wait until that psychologist gets here, let them question him. Hope they know some tactic we don't." None of the officers present was thrilled to hand this case to the feds, but agreed it's necessary. "Graham Pomeroy seemed to be the main target. He had the highest levels of antifreeze so far, but they're still waiting for all the labs, sorting all the tests out." The chief stated as they walked towards his office.
"Why would he target his best friend, his only friend to hear the kids tell it?" Asked Bryant. "Why would anyone do anything like this, let alone a teenage boy from a good family?" The chief questioned, to himself it seemed more than in response to Bryant. "Poisoned Halloween candy, like the urban legend. All these children poisoned by their peer not some evil pervert. It's incomprehensible."
Passing through the lobby the detectives could see Jesse parents. His mother's eyes puffy and red, shiny with more tears. His father, looking stoic but concerned. Not yet admitting to himself where that much antifreeze must have come from. The police would first check local mechanics and factories. Until the medical examination showed that the antifreeze was homemade. That's when it would become undeniable to everyone.
Jesse's father, Dan Young owned a private pharmacy. With a small chemistry lab Jesse spent most of his time in. Nine children dead at a Halloween party, two more fighting for their lives in critical condition. It didn't seem like things could possibly get any worse, but people always underestimate children.
No one could have known, that the worst was yet to come. Or how much worse it would be. Monday morning, when the school served breakfast in the cafeteria. It was not his peers this time, but the grade school. Pre K through fifth grade, every victim under the age of eleven.
Jesse, the Halloween Poisoner, as the papers would come to call him after it made international headlines; would soon surpass his own goal of thirty children dead, by more than double.
\*Dedication: This story is dedicated to my cousin.
Jesse Daniel "Pud" Black
7/18/1995-3/21/2024
Who is nothing like his namesake in this story, but would be very proud and encouraging of me finally pursuing creative writing.
\*Author's Note: This story was inspired by a combination of fears and true crime cases. First, the classic poisoned Halloween candy urban legend. Which was based on a heartbreaking true crime case, rest in peace Timothy O'Bryan and rot in hell his father Ronald O'Bryan. Second, all the children whose classmates brought things to school they should not have and harmed them. I'll never understand why that has become as common as it has and hope someday it isn't. Third, the real life story of Jesse Pomeroy, long may he rot. And finally the real story of Graham Young, who I hope is keeping Rondald O'Bryan and Jesse Pomeroy company.
#entertainment
source
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