I know this is criminally short, but the rest of the story won't be. I promise!
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Once upon a time, a monster came to the little town of Hangleton. This monster killed a psychiatrist, two men at a convenience store, and raped a diner waitress. He killed the psychiatrist because he was annoying, he killed the men at the convenience store because they were rude to him, and he raped the waitress because he was having a particularly gloomy day and needed a good fuck. This monster was no ghoulie, or ghostie, or long-legged beastie, but Abram Waters was a monster nonetheless.
Frank Shaw worked with the Hangleton Police Department. Frank Shaw was the man assigned to find Abram Waters. Frank Shaw failed. Not because Waters was particularly elusive or cunning, but because he killed himself. There was some shock at first, but was closely followed by rejoicing. A town’s nightmares were buried in Abram Waters’ grave.
For Frank Shaw, however, no rejoicing followed the shock. Only devastation. Even now, when Shaw has his grandchildren curled sleepily in his lap, and he tells them the harrowing story of how Grandpa Shaw took down one of the worst criminals ever to riddle the town of Hangleton, he is denied the satisfaction from seeing his grandchildren’s faces spread with excitement and wonder because he knows the truth. Frank Shaw knows that in a cowardly act of desperation and self-disgust, Abram Waters killed himself, and Frank Shaw knows that after serving thirty years in the force, he has not one heroic act to tell.
So, when you slip into bed tonight, and look out your dark window, if you do not see your tired gaze, but Frank Shaw’s or Abram Waters’, I’ll know I’ve caught your attention. Tell me if I have.
