SHERIFF’S REPORT: EVERYBODY WAS FURNITURE FIGHTING! THE HAUNTING.

You never know what’s going to happen when the weekend comes. Every call means a new request for our services. One thing about this gun and badge job is, nothing is ever routine. When you think your walking into routine, it quickly turns to heart pounding life and death seconds.

We hate pursuits. It’s not like TV because life and death does indeed come into the mix. Machines made of metal and plastic accelerating away from other high powered machines with blue lights begins the gamble of winning for the rule of law or losing a life.

Kingston PD was waiting for one that started in Nashville and as luck would have it, the car took the 188 exit and proceeded down toward the old Kingston hotel. Two thirteen year-olds behind the wheel were later delivered to the parents. Young criminals in training?

The burglar alarm call was on Houston Fielder. Deputies showed up to an opened door and hoping a burglar wasn’t waiting. No burglar, just an inebriated homeowner sitting in the floor who was checked out and thanked for staying home.

This has been a strange week with an in home death almost every day. All investigated by CID and EMS medical death investigators and so far, no foul play.

We got the call of a male pushing a big couch down Misty Drive. The couch was slightly damaged by a Lazy Boy recliner that prematurely pulled out of another driveway. Deputy arrived in a motorized Sleep by Number cruiser and told the fighting furniture to exchange upholstery and get a room.

There was an assault call in progress on Thomasville and deputies showed up asap. The victim alleged to be assaulted by his boss and the bosses son. The boss and the victim left the scene before our arrival leaving only the son who “ain’t fired nobody.” A corporate takeover was suspected but later found to be just a disagreement involving who locked who in the tipped over porta-potty and why blue liquid matters.

Deputies are always on the prowl for dealers who dare cross into our county. This week Corporal Ivey and Deputy Mealer followed the vehicle. NATHAN WARREN hated to see those blue lights. WARREN fled off and allegedly threw some out and kept some too. Your servants recovered 13 grams of heroin and 5 grams of meth from “Dr. Let Me Kill You Real Good.”
WARREN was apprehended by your patrolling drug warriors.

HAUNTING: He drove down the long entrance while the wisterias lunged toward his cruiser. The farther he went the darker it seemed. Shifting to park, his boots crunched into gravel as he walked along the tall, dark windows. They were staring at him, he momentarily thought, but whispered to himself to stop it and stay focused…
Climbing up the porch was a struggle in itself to keep his tunnel vision from taking him hostage. The door was partially opened which naturally beckoned his weapon to tactically draw. Then came the rustling. A movement that sounded more like sloshing, something wet. A pause followed with a metal sound, “What the hell is that?” he asked himself.

The hallway offered no clues but invited him to come further. He always hated long houses and his haunted childhood memories didn’t help as he stared into the void. The sound was more defined now. It didn’t seem inside as much but toward the back yard.

Looking down the narrow passage, a dim light barely peeked through an old screened door. A forward breeze heightened his nostrils. “Now that’s decomp” he thought. He knew the smell of rotting flesh all too much and it was somewhere close.

There it was again. A sudden vibration in something thick. It sounded heavy now, struggling, like being trapped and mad. As he drew closer his steel front sights locked tighter for any threat. Looking not so much toward the swinging light, but the blackness surrounding it was rearing his personal dread. He silently struggled with his sanity as his hairs began to stand.

Putrid flesh was closer now and the urgency to move forward or quickly retreat made every heartbeat pound harder in his brain. “Where the hell is my back-up?” he whispered.

He forged slowly and stepped out to the back porch. The dim light bulb slowly swayed back and forth on the dilapidated shed. But that light dared not shine near him. Stepping down, mud greeted his polished boots and so did the quick grasp wrapping around him.

His guttural scream cued a regret of ignoring what his voices tried to tell him.. A “had to investigate” overruled and now sudden survival was the new bitter flavor in his mouth.

As he pivoted, preparing to shoot, unbalance turned to falling into the stench of deep mud. This was not part of his training, firing under overwhelming odds. He never imagined he would be staring at a thing his mind didn’t understand.

Far and deep in the back woods, muted gunshots matched his muffled screams. The tool sheds lonely light bulb slowly dimmed to blackness. And then there was silence.

All of those childhood horrors, his adult nightmares and now agonizing insanity slowly enveloped him into dark matter. Staring into his fixed eyes, the haunting on Jackson Cabin slowly smiled back and hoped his backup would soon join them.

A Belated Halloween Story…Now let’s kill some evil Thanksgiving Turkeys before they attack us all. Think gobble-safe TeamCheatham!