No Ghosts, Only Guilt

Too far to see her face, but her hair was loose, and her skin looked ghostly pale in the dark. It was like something out of a nightmare.

What got me most was that she didn’t move at all, just leaned against the gate, draped in red, looking like something straight out of a nightmare. I felt a chill crawl up my spine.

I hesitated a few seconds, then gathered my nerve, jumped down, and ran toward the gate. Couldn’t let fear win.

The sound of the gate opening was loud as a gunshot in the silence. I pushed it open, breathless, only to find the street outside empty—nobody there, not even a stray dog. My heart was hammering.

At a loss, I was suddenly slapped hard on the back, almost making me jump out of my skin. I spun around, nerves shot.

Spinning around, I saw Big Tom. Relief flooded through me.

He rubbed his eyes and asked, “What are you doing? The noise woke me up.” He looked half-asleep.

I let out a shaky breath, about to explain, when it hit me—hadn’t Big Tom just slapped me and chased someone out? If he was behind me now, then who was the shadow that ran out? My head spun.

I quickly asked him where he’d just been. Needed answers.

Big Tom looked confused. “Where would I go? I was right behind you, by the chair. I’m old, couldn’t stay awake, nodded off. Then you opened the gate and woke me up.” He sounded annoyed, but honest.

My face went pale. This didn’t add up.

Big Tom had been asleep the whole time? Then who was the shadow that woke me? Who was the woman in red? My skin crawled all over again.

Big Tom saw I was rattled and quickly asked what happened. He could tell I was shaken.

I didn’t answer. I just grabbed him and hustled outside. Only after we’d made it out of the neighborhood and into the police car did I, still shaking, tell him what I’d seen. My voice trembled.

“A woman in red? Interesting,” Big Tom said, his cigarette glowing in the dark. “This is getting interesting.” He sounded almost excited.

I didn’t get it. When I looked back, he was wearing a strange little smile. Like he knew something I didn’t.

Maybe I’d been scared out of my wits, because I slept like a rock that night. When I woke up, Big Tom was gone. No note, nothing.

I asked the local officers and found out he’d gone back to the neighborhood. Seemed like he was onto something. Typical Big Tom.

I said my hellos and hurried over to find him. Couldn’t shake the feeling we were close to something big.

When I saw Big Tom, he was crouched at the gate next to the old house, peering at something, every so often bending lower like he was searching for a clue. He was in his element.

When he spotted me, Big Tom straightened up and shot me a mysterious grin. “Think I’ve got a lead.” His eyes sparkled.

What happened last night, not even the local cops knew. If someone really came by, it wasn’t because of us. That much was clear.

So why did they come? Why risk alerting us? The question gnawed at me.

Big Tom pointed to a raised spot at the gate. “You said someone slapped you—I don’t think so. From this angle, looks more like you tripped somebody. We were hiding in the corner, they didn’t see us, and ran right into you.” Made sense, in a weird way.

“We got lucky,” Big Tom said. “As soon as you suggested a stakeout, we ran smack into our mystery visitor.” He grinned, a little proud.

I thought about it. Someone sneaking around at midnight? Definitely suspicious. No normal reason for that.

Everyone knew about the severed limb and the cops being called in. If someone still risked coming here, they must’ve had something important to grab. That much was obvious.

Big Tom’s smile faded. “That’s why I rushed back this morning. If they came after we left, they might’ve taken the evidence.” His tone was serious now.

What was it? We still didn’t know. But one thing was sure—nobody would risk sneaking in unless it was vital. Stakes were high.

Hearing this, I kicked myself for not sticking around all night. Rookie mistake.

“Don’t worry. I checked the road outside the gate—no fresh footprints,” Big Tom said. “Other than our tracks in the yard, nothing weird.” He tried to reassure me.

“Isn’t that even stranger?” I said. “No footprints—how’d they get in?” The whole thing was getting weirder.

“No footprints in the yard doesn’t mean nobody came in,” Big Tom said, giving me a sly look. Like he was letting me in on a secret.

“By the way, we need to check the house next door again—I already asked someone to dig into it,” Big Tom added suddenly, as if he’d just remembered.

Didn’t we already check? Wasn’t it empty? The officers said the family moved to the city. I was stumped. None of it made sense.

As we talked, Big Tom climbed onto the same high platform I’d stumbled onto last night. That morning, we realized you could see the whole neighborhood from up there. Looking out, it seemed peaceful—who’d guess there was a murder hiding here? Sometimes you never know what’s right under your nose.

After one look from the platform, Big Tom didn’t go up again. When he was stuck, he liked to find a spot to smoke and think things through. That was his process.

It was his routine, so I let him be. Big Tom wandered the yard, then stopped at one spot and said, “Something’s off here.” I perked up immediately.

It was the well. Of course.

When I looked over, he glanced at me, eyes sharp as tacks. I knew that look—he was onto something.

I hurried over. As soon as I got there, he said, “We haven’t checked in here.” He pointed right at the well.

I got it right away. We’d searched every room, but not the well itself. The officers had checked once, and we’d looked again when we arrived, so when Big Tom and I stayed behind, it slipped our minds. Rookie mistake.

The well wasn’t deep—maybe fifteen feet. I tied a rope around my waist and had Big Tom anchor it as I slowly climbed down. My hands were shaking.

Both sides were slick with moss, the smell was sharp and sour, almost burning my nose. Thinking of the severed limb floating here made my skin crawl. I swallowed hard.

I felt along the stone wall, inching downward. It was pitch black, couldn’t see a thing, so I kept kicking the wall for balance. Every sound echoed.

Then something weird happened. My heart skipped.

My foot suddenly got stuck. Just like that.

My heart jumped. The wall was slippery, nowhere to stand—how could my foot get wedged? Panic set in.

Was something grabbing me? For a split second, I almost believed the ghost stories.

Big Tom had handed me his lighter on the way down—thank God for that. That little flame was my lifeline.

My heart was racing as I flicked it open. Hands shaking.

With a click, a small flame flickered to life. Shadows danced all around me.

Nothing but the dark, wet stone around me. Relief and disappointment, all at once.

I finally saw—a little recess in the wall had caught my boot. No monster, just bad luck.

So that was it. I let out a shaky laugh.

I shouted up, and Big Tom let down more rope, lowering me to the recess. I steadied myself.

By the weak light, I saw a plastic-wrapped package stuffed inside. My heart started pounding again.

After Big Tom hauled me up, I sat down, panting and sweating. My shirt stuck to my back.

“Worth it,” I gasped. “We finally found something.” Couldn’t hide the excitement.

Pure luck. Everyone else had checked the bottom, but with moss everywhere, nobody thought to check for a recess halfway down—with something hidden! Judging by the watermarks, the package sat above the waterline. We’d almost missed it.

We went inside, flicked on the lights, pulled on gloves, and carefully unwrapped the waterproof bundle. Fingers crossed.

Photos. A man and woman tangled up together, all sorts of poses, mostly naked. My jaw dropped.

I wasn’t married yet back then. Seeing all that skin, I felt my ears burn and shot a quick glance at Big Tom—he was all business. No reaction.

I was about to crack a joke to break the tension, but he turned to me, deadly serious, and asked if the woman I’d seen the night before was the one in the photos. His tone cut through the awkwardness.

How could I know? It was pitch black, and I was way across the yard—no way to see her face. I shook my head.

“This woman might be the owner of the severed arm,” Big Tom said, tapping the photo. “Can you compare fingerprints?” His eyes never left the picture.

“Fingerprints on the photo? With the arm?” I frowned, thinking it over.

“Yeah, with the arm.” He was dead serious.

But the arm was so waterlogged, the skin had slipped—getting prints would be tough, needed the lab. Still, I was determined to try.

As for the man in the pictures, he wasn’t old—just ask the neighbors, that’d be easy. That was our next step.

I looked over at Big Tom. “Are these two married?” I asked, trying to piece it together.

“Definitely not,” Big Tom grinned. “You’re too young. Married folks might take pictures like this, but hiding them in a well? That’s something else.” He gave me a knowing look.

I got it: “So they’re having an affair?”

“Bingo. Why else hide the evidence? That hiding spot was clever—nobody would think to look there.”

“But for an affair, would someone really chop off an arm? That’s some serious hate,” I said, scratching my head. The whole thing was nuts.

“We don’t know yet. Let’s check those fingerprints first,” Big Tom said, not missing a beat.

Speed was everything. That night, I drove straight to the lab and worked half the night, finally getting a near match. My eyes burned, but I didn’t care.

For a medical examiner, the lab is where you earn your stripes. It’s where the magic happens.

Turns out, the fingerprints from the photos matched the owner of the severed arm. We had our victim.

“That’s it,” Big Tom slapped his thigh. “I asked around—the man in the photo isn’t local, but he owns a house here.” He looked satisfied.

“Next door,” Big Tom pointed at the high fence behind. “Didn’t see that coming, did you? Right next door…” He couldn’t help but smirk.

Right next door! I blinked. “What are the odds?” It felt unreal.

“Odds? There aren’t that many coincidences in this world,” Big Tom chuckled. He always had a comeback.

The empty house next door belonged to an older couple who’d moved in with their son, leaving it vacant. Another piece of the puzzle.

The son, Gary Nolan, was the man in the photos. The case was coming together.

As for the woman, we had no leads yet. But with the photos, we had a shot. Hope flickered.

Field work is tough, but if you keep digging, most things come to light. That’s what I’ve learned.

Following the leads of Gary Nolan and the photos, we soon found out the woman was Julie Harmon, missing for half a year, from a nearby town, married, her husband a rough farmhand. The story was getting darker.

His wife had been gone for months—why hadn’t he reported it? That question nagged at me.

When we asked, he spat on the ground and growled, “That tramp ran off again. Last time I beat her so bad she was laid up for months. This time she took off when I wasn’t looking. Why bother reporting it? I don’t care. Good riddance.”

Nothing useful at Julie Harmon’s place. Not a single clue.

But Gary Nolan’s side was full of surprises. Every answer led to more questions.

It took some legwork to find Gary, but his parents were around—he couldn’t have gone far. We tracked him down.

Sitting in front of us, Gary looked sullen, like a kid caught stealing. He wouldn’t meet our eyes.

“Do you know Julie Harmon?” Big Tom asked, straight to the point. No dancing around.

Gary started acting, denying everything. Typical.

“On August 11 this year, you told your parents you were on a business trip, gone for four days. We checked the cameras—you went to your hometown. The neighborhood has no cameras, but the road does. Old Mr. Reynolds at the street entrance saw you that morning.” Big Tom laid it all out.

“Julie Harmon disappeared that day. Her town is just a few country roads from yours—not far to walk.” The implication was clear.

“So what?” Gary tried to play it cool, but his eyes darted.

“Your father told us something interesting.” Big Tom leaned in.

“He said after you got back, you seemed distracted, changed your clothes but not your shoes, which were filthy. Next morning, you got up early and tossed your shoes in the trash.” Couldn’t make this up.

“Old folks are thrifty—those shoes were new, so he fished them out. Didn’t tell you, didn’t wear them. You never guessed your dad would grab them while you were at work, hide them, and plan to wear them himself once you’d forgotten.” Big Tom grinned.

“Those shoes sold you out! They had blood on them. We checked—it matched the DNA from the severed arm. Bet you didn’t see that coming. These days, we can test even dried blood.” He let that hang in the air.

Yeah, thriftiness can be a blessing. Hearing Big Tom tell it, I was honestly impressed. Never underestimate an old man’s habits.

When Big Tom slapped the photos from the well on the table, Gary’s tough-guy act crumbled. He looked ready to break.

“I killed her! She threatened me, told me to get a divorce. I couldn’t do it, so she said she’d make a scene at my house—she’d ruin me!” He started sobbing.

“Where’s the body? Did you hate her so much you had to cut off her arm?” Big Tom asked, voice flat.

“The body’s buried in the woods outside the neighborhood. I didn’t mean for it to happen. That night, we agreed to talk, but she flipped out, said she had photos of us—she’d taken them in secret. She said if I didn’t divorce, she’d show everyone—my family, her husband, ruin me.”

“I know her husband—he’s nuts. If my family found out, they’d never forgive me.” Gary wiped his face, looking miserable.

“I knew she was serious! I panicked, wanted to kill her. We met in the empty yard next door a lot. That day, I lured her in, planning to push her into the well. She caught on, tried to scream. In a panic, I grabbed a sickle and swung—hit her arm so hard it nearly came off. She passed out from the pain, and I lost it, cut her throat, got blood everywhere.”

“When I came to, I found the well opening was too small—half her body was stuck. I pulled hard, and her almost-severed arm tore off and fell in.”

“I freaked. The well was small, water at the bottom, I didn’t dare go down. So I left the arm there. I figured no one would ever find it—no one went in that house. We met there because it was private. If people hadn’t heard noises later, I’d never have moved out.”

“What about the vengeful ghost in red, seen limping around the house?” Big Tom pressed, eyes narrowed.

Gary’s eyes darted, still trying to deny it, so Big Tom’s face turned cold: he wasn’t buying it.

“If not you, who’d sneak in at night? Julie Harmon must’ve threatened you, said she hid proof of your affair in that house. After the murder, you searched for it but couldn’t find it. When the arm was discovered, you panicked and rushed back at night to destroy the evidence, right?”

“Am I wrong?” Big Tom stared him down. “You didn’t expect us to be hiding there, and in your panic, you ran into a cop! I wondered how someone could disappear from the gate so fast—the only answer is they hid close by.”

“Most likely, next door.” Big Tom finished with a hard look.

“But a house left empty for years would have squeaky hinges. Opening the door would make a racket. So I checked your house’s door—the hinges are bright and smooth, not like old ones. If you’re careful, you can open it without a sound. If someone didn’t come often, would the hinges be so well oiled?” He had Gary cornered.

I remembered that morning, seeing Big Tom inspecting the neighbor’s gate—sharp as ever. He didn’t miss a thing.

“What about the woman in red?” Big Tom asked, voice low.

“It was a paper effigy. I had someone make it life-sized,” Gary said. “When I went to the house, I put it by the gate to scare people. If anyone passed by and saw the effigy, they’d make a noise, and I could get away. If I didn’t want to risk going out, and bumped into someone, I’d realize from what happened that it was the police, and I’d grab the effigy and sneak back next door.” He looked ashamed.

“But I don’t know about the rumors of a woman in red. I only heard the stories and made the effigy to create confusion so I could escape.” He trailed off, defeated.

“I know,” Big Tom said coldly. “But I won’t tell you—you don’t deserve to know.”

Hearing this, I couldn’t help but ask Big Tom what the woman in red was about. My curiosity got the better of me.

“Gary said he carried the body to the woods outside the neighborhood,” Big Tom sighed. “In summer, a woman not wearing much, covered in blood, would look red. At night, Gary carried the corpse outside. In the dark, wouldn’t it look like a woman in red moving?”

“So, most likely, someone saw the killer disposing of the body at night, but superstition blinded them,” he said, taking a long drag, the cigarette tip burning bright. “There are no ghosts in this world, but the human heart is scarier than any ghost.”

“Luckily, we’re here,” Big Tom smiled, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. “As long as we’ve got justice in our hearts, we’ve got nothing to fear.”

The night outside was still and heavy, but for the first time since the case began, I felt a little lighter. Sometimes, the scariest thing in the world isn’t what you can’t see—it’s what people are willing to do, hidden in plain sight.