Ozzie Serial Killer

​Matt peered through the blinds, careful not to make any sudden movements. His eyes were sharp and vigilant in the twilight. The door quietly creaked open, and he turned to see an old lady enter, a friendly smile on her aged, creased face. Her weak, thin-skinned hands held a saucer, a cup on top wobbling slightly as she walked. Back in her glamorous days as a dancer, she would have swanned in with the grace of a ballerina, but the years had taken their toll. Her two cats slinked into the room behind her—a brown and white Maine Coon and a grey Prussian Blue. They watched Matt suspiciously and distrusting.

“I brought you a cuppa, dear,” she whispered.

Matt slid his headphones to one side, nodded and mouthed the words, thank you.

“You think the killer will show up?” she whispered.

“I hope so. We need to stop him before he kills again.”

“I’ll say. All those poor families.” She shook her head, a sad frown on her face. She ran her fingers over her forearm, raw from nervous scratching. A killer in her town. In her neighborhood.  

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Blyth. We have a heavy presence out there. We have streets, alleyways, and the bush all covered.”

Matt’s eyes suddenly shot open as a sound chirped from a speaker. He adjusted the sound, then picked up his radio and held down the button.

“You guys have anything out there? I’m picking up sounds in the bush, footsteps, scratching—hard to make out. It looks like some wild birds were spooked just north of my location.”

A moment later, a female voice came through the radio. “Yeah, Matt, we have a visual. Male, black hair, around five and a half feet. Just stepped from the trees onto Moss Road. Heading your way.”

The old lady scratched nervously at her arm again. Her two cats darted out of the room, conscious that something was not right in the world—a shift in the peace and tranquility that they were used to, and more than just the presence of the strange male intruder in their home.

“Mrs. Blyth, I need the room to myself, now. I’m sorry. I need to focus. This is crunch time.”

“Of course, of course. I need to make sure the cats didn't go outside.”

“Matt, he just crossed onto your street,” came the female voice.

“Okay, have Ruben and Mark come around to the back of Mrs. Blyth’s house. We’ll snag him when he gets a little closer.”

“Be warned, he looks fidgety and hyped up.”

“Copy that.”

Matt spotted the killer creeping slowly along the path, eyes black as coal, back hunched, the smell of hunger in his nostrils. A crow squawked in the trees above, a warning that death walked below. The grim reaper looking for its next victim.

“We are in position,” came Ruben over the radio.

Matt licked his lips, sweat rolling down his back.
​
“Be carful boys, the Cassowary claws are like dangers.”