When I was younger, I had always wanted to solve a case. And to do that, I needed to become a detective.
When I got older, that's exactly what I did.
If I'm at all honest, even I do not know why I yearn to solve one. In times, when business was quiet, the front door staying shut, I'd sit behind my desk and think back to the times to when as a child. I would sit for hours on end watching Scooby Doo on television. Amaze by all the mysteries that at the time mystified me to no end.
But now, I spend my time playing with what happened to be on my desk at the moment, which is usually the phone, resulting in countless amounts of pizza delivery guys being sent to the wrong address just for the kick of it.
Throughout my dull career choice, I thought that this is the best I'll ever get. That is until, a file landed on my desk with bright bold words reading 'Confidential'. I thought nothing of it at first, my assistant who just happens to be my brother would when the mood takes him, write a report that usually ends up one of two ways. Either I find a missing person who never really was missing considering he never existed in the first place or a wild goose chase to the ends of the earth, usually ending with me in front of a Starbucks in Europe.
But after skimming through it once and rereading it twice, the spark of curiosity ignited within me once again. A news publishing company, finding strange articles in its archives? That is curious. So after putting on the iconic coat and hat, I began heading towards the address listed at the bottom of the file.
The first person to greet me right away was the editor in chief. Distress written all over his face, he shook my hand and began relaying with me the story so far as we walk into the building. Apparently ever since 2011, probably earlier, he wasn't so sure. Random articles would appear literally out of nowhere in the archives. Some of which, were too absurd and abnormal to have ever happened. Most had never happened in the first place despite its contents saying otherwise.
By then, mere speculation and talks could no longer satiate my burning urge to investigate and after a quick coffee in his office. I entered the archives of the building with the intent of solving my first ever legitimate case with the best of outcomes.
I must have been there for what seemed like an eternity, the files on the desk were stacking to absurd heights. Yes, the articles here had never happened as far as I know in real life. Cross-referencing with actual published papers at the time proves it even further. So how could the articles, that had supposedly been published, end up here? Each one growing more and more stranger than the last, some seemed to have been written in a rush... poor grammar, descriptions not adding up, short. But yet, they exist.
The sense of urgency grew stronger within me and after coming up with no possible way to explain this, I brought a stack of files with me back to the editor's office. By then, I was already flustered and irrational. This strange anomaly couldn't have just appeared out of thin air, so where did it come from? That's the reason I headed back to the editor. He must know something about this.
I burst into his office, files on top of files in my hands. He was on the phone with someone, his body movement indicated that it was a talk he would rather not have been a part of. Placing the files on the desk, I took my sit in front of his desk and waited for him to finish.
When he was done, he placed the phone back and took a deep breath, taking his seat behind the desk.
"Who was on the phone?" I asked, initiating the conversation.
"No one." He replied shortly after. "Well, did you find anything?"
I reluctantly shook my head resulting in a look of disappointment. "However, I have a few questions to ask you about these... these files." I took the one on top and began asking him questions.
"This articles here states, that a young boy murdered his family and became a serial killer." He nodded his head and I continued. "But why, why does the following articles about him has him fighting absurd battles with demons and having romantic relationships with other supposedly mentally ill teenage girls? And for that matter, why are the other articles accompanied by pictures of him drawn having err, relationships with a guy in a hoody?"
"I don't know." He muttered.
I wasn't happy with his tired answer but nevertheless, I continued on with the next file.
"This one here says that a teenage youth killed himself after playing a supposedly haunted game he got from a sale."
Again he nodded his head.
"Why was he still playing the game even though strange things started happening? How the hell can he suddenly feel 'Nostalgic' and shortly after finds a sale where all his favorite games where suddenly being sold at a low low price? By an old man no less? Don't you think it's strange?"
But I got nothing from him.
"How could the game even kill him? Why the hell did he not just chuck it out at the first sign of something strange? It states here, he continuously shrugs it of as if it was nothing, even though many would have already been creeped out by it! Is he an idiot?!"
The next file wasn't any better...
"How the fuck did Ben drowned?!"
As I continued, the constant respond of no answers agitated me to no end. Before I knew it, I was already shouting and getting out of my seat.
"This one here is just a picture of a dog! What the fuck does 'Spread the word' even mean?!"
"Normal porn for normal people? What kind of a name for an article is that?! What kind of newspaper company do you run?! What is this shit?!"
"Why are there so many articles about video games all ending up the same way?!"
"Who the fuck goes around taking people's kidneys?! Who wrote this article?!"
"WHAT DOES HYPER REALISTIC EVEN MEAN?! HOW CAN YOU BE HYPER REALISTICALLY DESCRIBED?!"
Files after files, questions after questions, every single one of them unanswered. The editor could only avoid my eyes and stare at the floor.
"Listen here..." Finally having enough, I reached out and grab hold of his tie. "I didn't sit here and read about a fucking cannibalistic pony just to get no answers from it. You know something..."
Again, he turned his eyes to the floor. "I-I don't know anything..."
"Oh yes you do." I took another file off the desk and brought it to his face. "This one here, a whole fucking file about suicides and missing eyeballs. All pretty much saying the same shit over and over again. "Teen found dead, blah blah blah."
"I said I don't know..."
"This one here, is basically the same article as the first one, except it's a girl and fucking hates the guy. Is this an article, or fucking fanfiction?!"
He shut his eyes tightly, his face giving off an expression of pain.
"Play with me, play with me, play with me. This fucking article is basically Saw: The Article, because of how screwed up and gory it is. Who the heck wrote this?"
And then I snapped and screamed at him.
"WHY ARE THERE SO MANY PICTURES OF THESE KILLERS AND MONSTERS TOGETHER KISSING AND BEING GAY?! TELL ME, WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?! WHO DREW THESE?! TELL ME SO I CAN FIND THEM AND SHOW THEM HOW THE FUCK A REAL KILLER ACTS LIKE. SEE IF THEY DRAW A PICTURE OF ME."
I grab hold of one of the last few remaining articles and took a look at it.
"This one just says something about feeling the sunshine over and over again. The hell is this?"
But once again, the tight lipped editor only continues to submit to the verbal abuse.
"Oh and these last few ones..." Saving the best for last, I finally took the remaining files and threw them all over his desk.
"Poor grammar, weak sentence structure, all caps, and finally a buttload of fucking blood. What are these, huh?! These articles here feels like they're mocking the other ones! With their 'HE KILLED ME UNTIL I DIED" and their "I died. Ever since then, I had no idea what killed me." Like give me a fucking break, you're dead! How did you write this then?!"
In the midst of the chaos, his phone came to life and started ringing on his desk. He looks at me as if seeking my permission. I nodded, continuing to stare at him with anger. He picks it up and answered the call.
"H-hello?"
I failed to understand what the voice on the other end what's saying, but from his sudden confused expression, it can't be good.
"Stay away from wha-?"
A second later, he puts down the receiver, and stares at it strangely for a while, then he turned his attention to me, the same confused expression still on his face.
"Who was it?" I asked, a sense of unease crawling at my back.
"It's your Dad... He told me to stay away from you."
Immediately, something hit my heart like a rock, my body suddenly stiffens and a cold sweat appeared at the back of my neck. And slowly, I answered him...
"No, my Dad is dead."
Suddenly, he slams his hands on the table, his once sullen expression now replaced with seething fury and anger as he grabs hold of my coat. And with a loud roaring shout he asks.
"THEN WHO WAS PHONE?!"
Ever since that day, I've never taken another case involving newspapers and articles, and you know what? I don't think I'll ever take a case at all. That mystery would continue to baffle me for the rest of my miserable existence. The articles. The behavior of the editor. The hyper realism. Yaoi anime drawing. And most importantly... Who was phone?