The murderers' song, Amy Marvill Sophie Mander [best books to read TXT] 📗
- Author: Amy Marvill Sophie Mander
Book online «The murderers' song, Amy Marvill Sophie Mander [best books to read TXT] 📗». Author Amy Marvill Sophie Mander
got off of the bed and found a pen and paper.
Dear Isla,
I’m sorry I had to go. I have a lot on my mind. I hope you sleep well.
I promise to stop by either later or tomorrow.
Love you,
Mop x
I added the last bit in hope that it would make her laugh, and hurried on off down the stairs. I hurried back home to me maw. I knew Mrs. McDonane would still be there but right now we need to get pa’s funeral over with. I walked through the door to find Maw sat at the table with Mrs. McDonane drinking tea. Mrs. McDonane looked at me and said “You back so soon?” I smiled at her and said “Isla’s fell asleep.” She hugged me and said “Good, she didn’t get much sleep last night. Heard her crying I did.”
Her voice faded away as my eyes wandered absent-mindedly. I made my up to my bedroom and sat on my bed. I looked around my bedroom and caught sight of something on my window sill. I carefully walked over to the window and looked at what it was. Pa’s watch. I remembered it strapped to Pa’s wrist, as the boat rocked and swayed against the wind. I picked up the timepiece, the soaked leather spewing droplets along my fingertips, and read the note that sat next to it.
Sorry
The note slipped through my fingers and gracefully fluttered to the floor as I tried to figure who wrote such an apology. I thought of the watch, sinking into the shadowy abyss that had become Pa’s grave. I thought of the anonymous writer, stood upon the white sand, nestling the watch in their fingers. Who could have possibly found Pa’s watch? The only person that was there at the time Pa died other than me would have been that girl that saved me. Her voice sang from the shallows of my mind as clear as the crystal waters from where she emerged;
You must suffer the sorrows of survival, as I have.
Who was this girl anyway? Why did she save me? How would she know where I live? Was it her that tried to sabotage our boat? I dropped Pa’s watch on the floor and ran. I ran out of the front door and did not stop. I barged past Mrs. Cutler with her knitted shawl and two-wheeled trolley, hearing her cursing the loss of manners amongst the new generation in my wake. Waiting at the bus stop, Cora waved merrily at me, yet only a fleeting glance from the left eye acknowledged her greeting. When I finally slowed, I looked around me, startled by the familiar surroundings of moored, peeling-paint yachts and seagulls plucking scrumptious crabs from the shallow rock pools, cackling like folklore witches. I had run to the docks without even thinking. As my exhausted lungs regained the air lost in the run, the corner of my eye caught an astounding sight upon the tall rocks next to the pier.
A girl was perched precariously on the summit, brushing her long bridal-veil of hair, glittering silver as sterling steel, with her timeless complexion perceiving her no younger than seventeen. She was completely naked, save for a white loincloth disguising her most private parts. I quickly turned my eyes away from the girl only to find them wondering back to her exposed breasts. I had never seen a girl naked; I knew Rose stuffed paper down her top to plump up her ashamedly small breasts, but these were unlike any I’d expected; plump, perfectly rounded and shamelessly lavish. A gust of wind tossed her moonshine tresses into the air, and she raised her lips, savouring the cool breeze. I opened my mouth but the faintest wisp of noise caused her, with a sense of hearing as sharp as a fox, to turn her pretty head in alarm and plunge into the Loch.
“Wait!” I cried after her; “I didn’t mean to scare you! Come back!”
I waded in after her but she swam away with the swift agility of a swordfish. Somehow, the way her sleek, streamlined frame slid with such ease through the seaweed-green shallows reminded me of my sinister saviour. I walked into the village and came across an old building with the sign ‘Seinneadair Times’ hanging precariously in the grimy window. Curious, I went inside and found a bearded reporter sat at the desk, eyeing a magazine on which the cover girl flaunted her topless bra.
“How can I help you?” He asked, attempting to hide the magazine beneath the crook of his elbow leant against the desk.
“Are you John Wiggerman?” I enquired,
The reporter grunted, as if the name was a foul smell; “Yes, Seinneadair Times’ senior reporter, the one and only.” He laughed to himself, “Seriously kid, I am the only reporter here. All the hotshot journalists I once employed suddenly remembered they had bigger dreams than this place and left for the big cities. Ever fancied a career in journalism?”
“Thanks, but no.” I told him, “Have you got any recent newspapers about the deaths on Loch Morar?”
He paused in thought for a second, then smiled. He disappeared under the desk and heaved a stack of papers onto it.
“Here you go; some guy asked me to reserve these about a couple of months ago, but he hasn’t returned since.”
“Thank you.” I took them from him and hauled them toward the exit.
“Oh, and sorry about your Pa, lad.” He called after me. I nodded in appreciation as I passed the window. With my arms sagging under the weight, I sat down on the nearest park bench, took the top one and began to read:
Tragic accident Sunday 12th March 2001
A fisherman from one of our fellow villages on Loch Morar died last night in a tragic accident. 56-year-old Paul McGanner lived alone with his faithful greyhound Guinness, and was reported missing by his housekeeper when she visited his house early this morning. It is believed that his boat crashed into rocks on the east coast of Loch Morar. Death reports show that the cause of death was drowning. A tribute is taking place at our village hall at 6pm. All is welcome to commemorate Mr Paul McGanner and we ask that our fellow fishermen take much care out on the Lochs.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Death shocks community Sunday 23rd September 2001
Married couple Jinnee Langer, 30 and six months pregnant, and Christopher Langer, 34, died yesterday in a tragic boating accident, killing Jinnee’s unborn child with them. The couple crashed into rocks not far from the village docks and their bodies were found washed ashore by Mr Mackenzie who owns the local post office. He immediately called PC Markson who took control of the situation quickly. Both were rushed to hospital but proclaimed dead upon arrival. The funeral for Mr and Mrs Langer will be taking place on Sunday 7th October at the village cemetery.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
I skipped a few papers and read one in 2002.
Parents in Mourning Over Loss of Beloved Son Sunday 18th May 2002
The parents of Tommy Henning are in mourning since the 18-year-old died in a boating accident. A nearby boat reported singing shortly before Tommy Henning crashed into the rocks. Tommy’s parents described him as a ‘lovely boy whose memory shall never be forgotten.’ Mr and Mrs Henning will be holding a grand memorial service for young Tommy on Sunday 1st June at the local church.
John Wiggerman, Senior reporter
Is there a murderer afoot? Sunday 10th August 2003
A family that visited Loch Morar on holiday have possibly been murdered. The family’s hired boat was found tamped with, crashed on rocks close to the village of Pilkington. The police or unsure weather the tampering had anything to do with the crashing of the boat it is believed that one of the family is missing as she was not found at the scene of the accident. Abigail Sinnings is in possession of an amulet with a golden eye on. If you spot Abigail please contact the police immediately.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Is Loch Morar becoming a cemetery? Sunday 28th February 2006
Isobel and Roger Abercorn, parents of Paden Abercorn, recently died on Loch Morar. Their boat crashed into the rocks not far from Seinneadair dock. We ask that everyone gives Paden as much love and support as they can give. Naked girls were seen fleeing from the scene of the accident just as PC Markson arrived. If anyone has any information on these girls please contact PC Markson immediately.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Death of beloved neighbour’s Sunday 2nd December 2008
Mrs Hannah McDonnell and her son Zackary McDonnell recently died on Loch Morar. Their family boat crashed into some rocks near an uninhabited island in the centre of Loch Morar. If anyone has any information please contact the local police.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter.
Shocking interview with Björn Culler founder of www.ManKillers.org
Monday 9th June 2010
John Wiggerman: So, Mr. Culler, tell the readers of the Seinneadair times about yourself.
Björn Culler: I was born and raised in rural Sweden. I studied marine biology at Helsinki University, where I met my darling wife Greta.
Dear Isla,
I’m sorry I had to go. I have a lot on my mind. I hope you sleep well.
I promise to stop by either later or tomorrow.
Love you,
Mop x
I added the last bit in hope that it would make her laugh, and hurried on off down the stairs. I hurried back home to me maw. I knew Mrs. McDonane would still be there but right now we need to get pa’s funeral over with. I walked through the door to find Maw sat at the table with Mrs. McDonane drinking tea. Mrs. McDonane looked at me and said “You back so soon?” I smiled at her and said “Isla’s fell asleep.” She hugged me and said “Good, she didn’t get much sleep last night. Heard her crying I did.”
Her voice faded away as my eyes wandered absent-mindedly. I made my up to my bedroom and sat on my bed. I looked around my bedroom and caught sight of something on my window sill. I carefully walked over to the window and looked at what it was. Pa’s watch. I remembered it strapped to Pa’s wrist, as the boat rocked and swayed against the wind. I picked up the timepiece, the soaked leather spewing droplets along my fingertips, and read the note that sat next to it.
Sorry
The note slipped through my fingers and gracefully fluttered to the floor as I tried to figure who wrote such an apology. I thought of the watch, sinking into the shadowy abyss that had become Pa’s grave. I thought of the anonymous writer, stood upon the white sand, nestling the watch in their fingers. Who could have possibly found Pa’s watch? The only person that was there at the time Pa died other than me would have been that girl that saved me. Her voice sang from the shallows of my mind as clear as the crystal waters from where she emerged;
You must suffer the sorrows of survival, as I have.
Who was this girl anyway? Why did she save me? How would she know where I live? Was it her that tried to sabotage our boat? I dropped Pa’s watch on the floor and ran. I ran out of the front door and did not stop. I barged past Mrs. Cutler with her knitted shawl and two-wheeled trolley, hearing her cursing the loss of manners amongst the new generation in my wake. Waiting at the bus stop, Cora waved merrily at me, yet only a fleeting glance from the left eye acknowledged her greeting. When I finally slowed, I looked around me, startled by the familiar surroundings of moored, peeling-paint yachts and seagulls plucking scrumptious crabs from the shallow rock pools, cackling like folklore witches. I had run to the docks without even thinking. As my exhausted lungs regained the air lost in the run, the corner of my eye caught an astounding sight upon the tall rocks next to the pier.
A girl was perched precariously on the summit, brushing her long bridal-veil of hair, glittering silver as sterling steel, with her timeless complexion perceiving her no younger than seventeen. She was completely naked, save for a white loincloth disguising her most private parts. I quickly turned my eyes away from the girl only to find them wondering back to her exposed breasts. I had never seen a girl naked; I knew Rose stuffed paper down her top to plump up her ashamedly small breasts, but these were unlike any I’d expected; plump, perfectly rounded and shamelessly lavish. A gust of wind tossed her moonshine tresses into the air, and she raised her lips, savouring the cool breeze. I opened my mouth but the faintest wisp of noise caused her, with a sense of hearing as sharp as a fox, to turn her pretty head in alarm and plunge into the Loch.
“Wait!” I cried after her; “I didn’t mean to scare you! Come back!”
I waded in after her but she swam away with the swift agility of a swordfish. Somehow, the way her sleek, streamlined frame slid with such ease through the seaweed-green shallows reminded me of my sinister saviour. I walked into the village and came across an old building with the sign ‘Seinneadair Times’ hanging precariously in the grimy window. Curious, I went inside and found a bearded reporter sat at the desk, eyeing a magazine on which the cover girl flaunted her topless bra.
“How can I help you?” He asked, attempting to hide the magazine beneath the crook of his elbow leant against the desk.
“Are you John Wiggerman?” I enquired,
The reporter grunted, as if the name was a foul smell; “Yes, Seinneadair Times’ senior reporter, the one and only.” He laughed to himself, “Seriously kid, I am the only reporter here. All the hotshot journalists I once employed suddenly remembered they had bigger dreams than this place and left for the big cities. Ever fancied a career in journalism?”
“Thanks, but no.” I told him, “Have you got any recent newspapers about the deaths on Loch Morar?”
He paused in thought for a second, then smiled. He disappeared under the desk and heaved a stack of papers onto it.
“Here you go; some guy asked me to reserve these about a couple of months ago, but he hasn’t returned since.”
“Thank you.” I took them from him and hauled them toward the exit.
“Oh, and sorry about your Pa, lad.” He called after me. I nodded in appreciation as I passed the window. With my arms sagging under the weight, I sat down on the nearest park bench, took the top one and began to read:
Tragic accident Sunday 12th March 2001
A fisherman from one of our fellow villages on Loch Morar died last night in a tragic accident. 56-year-old Paul McGanner lived alone with his faithful greyhound Guinness, and was reported missing by his housekeeper when she visited his house early this morning. It is believed that his boat crashed into rocks on the east coast of Loch Morar. Death reports show that the cause of death was drowning. A tribute is taking place at our village hall at 6pm. All is welcome to commemorate Mr Paul McGanner and we ask that our fellow fishermen take much care out on the Lochs.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Death shocks community Sunday 23rd September 2001
Married couple Jinnee Langer, 30 and six months pregnant, and Christopher Langer, 34, died yesterday in a tragic boating accident, killing Jinnee’s unborn child with them. The couple crashed into rocks not far from the village docks and their bodies were found washed ashore by Mr Mackenzie who owns the local post office. He immediately called PC Markson who took control of the situation quickly. Both were rushed to hospital but proclaimed dead upon arrival. The funeral for Mr and Mrs Langer will be taking place on Sunday 7th October at the village cemetery.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
I skipped a few papers and read one in 2002.
Parents in Mourning Over Loss of Beloved Son Sunday 18th May 2002
The parents of Tommy Henning are in mourning since the 18-year-old died in a boating accident. A nearby boat reported singing shortly before Tommy Henning crashed into the rocks. Tommy’s parents described him as a ‘lovely boy whose memory shall never be forgotten.’ Mr and Mrs Henning will be holding a grand memorial service for young Tommy on Sunday 1st June at the local church.
John Wiggerman, Senior reporter
Is there a murderer afoot? Sunday 10th August 2003
A family that visited Loch Morar on holiday have possibly been murdered. The family’s hired boat was found tamped with, crashed on rocks close to the village of Pilkington. The police or unsure weather the tampering had anything to do with the crashing of the boat it is believed that one of the family is missing as she was not found at the scene of the accident. Abigail Sinnings is in possession of an amulet with a golden eye on. If you spot Abigail please contact the police immediately.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Is Loch Morar becoming a cemetery? Sunday 28th February 2006
Isobel and Roger Abercorn, parents of Paden Abercorn, recently died on Loch Morar. Their boat crashed into the rocks not far from Seinneadair dock. We ask that everyone gives Paden as much love and support as they can give. Naked girls were seen fleeing from the scene of the accident just as PC Markson arrived. If anyone has any information on these girls please contact PC Markson immediately.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter
Death of beloved neighbour’s Sunday 2nd December 2008
Mrs Hannah McDonnell and her son Zackary McDonnell recently died on Loch Morar. Their family boat crashed into some rocks near an uninhabited island in the centre of Loch Morar. If anyone has any information please contact the local police.
John Wiggerman, senior reporter.
Shocking interview with Björn Culler founder of www.ManKillers.org
Monday 9th June 2010
John Wiggerman: So, Mr. Culler, tell the readers of the Seinneadair times about yourself.
Björn Culler: I was born and raised in rural Sweden. I studied marine biology at Helsinki University, where I met my darling wife Greta.
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