Murdered Fame

The Haunted Photograph

His eyes followed me as I dragged my luggage into the drab hotel room. How could a toddler look so terrifying? I gazed at the historical photograph hanging at the foot of the bed.  It featured a crowd of upset adults standing behind two children. One was a baby swaddled in a basket. The second, a toddler with haunted eyes and an evil smile. Below a placard that said these were the only survivors of the famous Mill Town slaughter of 1898. I shook my head. Weird photograph to put into a hotel room.

Unloading my files, I shook my arms hoping to rid myself of the prickling sensation running up my back.  I opened my files for tomorrow’s court case. Javin DeJain may have killed six children, but due to one overzealous detective’s misconduct, I would likely win an acquittal. 

I loved this kind of cut and dry proceeding. But this one was slated to be my breakout case. The news coverage was already constant. If I won, I’d get to make the announcement to all the reporters. That would keep my name in the news. Hopefully, it would bring in more high-profile cases, and more money to boot. I’d finally be rich and famous. My dank apartment would be a thing of the past. 

Sitting at the cramped desk, I poured over my notes, just to be sure I was ready. Judge Packit was hard on the defense in cases like this. I read until my notes became blurry and my head began to bob. 

Hours later I awoke in a pool of my own drool. Groggily, I lifted my head and saw that some of the files were wet—likely from the aforementioned drool.  Grabbing a tissue, I carefully blotted up the dampness before shoving them back into my briefcase.  I yawned and dragged myself across the small room and landed on the floral comforter. 

Even in the dark, I could see the photograph at the foot of my bed. The whites of the child’s eyes glowed, He stared at me with his horrifying grin. Closing my eyes, my body shuttered. Shaking my head, I forced the thought out of my mind. 

BANG

I tried to sit up. A heavy weight pushed on my chest. My arms and legs flailed. I continued to fight.  I tried to see who or what was holding me. The darkness blocked my view. I struggled, trying to slide out from under the weight. Jerking my head to one side, I caught a glint of light. It shone on the edge of a knife. The weight lifted briefly as a plunge of pain struck my left shoulder. The sound of the blade plunging through my skin was deafening. A second and a third stab hit different areas of my chest. The pop got louder as a quiet laugh cut through the air. With each stab, the wetness of my blood became more apparent. I continued to battle for my life. As I became weaker my resolve died. Was the knife in the photo?

Silence. 

Sucking in my breath, I jumped to my feet. That nightmare felt so real. I rubbed my eyes to clear my vision. In front of me, I saw my bloody corpse on the bed. On my right stood the adults I recognized from the photograph. Their horrified expressions now made sense. We were now trapped inside the image.  The baby remained asleep in front of us and the child with the knife grinned at me still holding his bloody knife. My wish of fame would be realized, wrapped in the shroud of murder that was unfortunately mine.