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    Chapter 1






    I was always nervous when I drived. Never knew for certain why, but it was mostly probably because of that old, paranoid detective instinct. Always expecting the worst to happen. Always ready for trouble.

    I glanced the window as I drifted past my house's street sign. And I laugh every time I see it. "Doom's Street"...makes you believe you're going to go to some haunted house or something. Thing is, there's nothing really doom-y about it. Just a regular suburban street, with regular families and regular houses.

    Rumors have been floating around about "Doom's Street". Whacked out rumors; rumors only the most supersticious believing people would actually...believe.

    From what I hear, "Doom's Street" was originally called "Blossom Street" in the 70's. But in 1981, an odd incident occured that people are still pondering over. Apparantly, there were several reports of a missing girl; being 15 years of age with long blonde hair. Story goes she wandered off into the woods but never came back. After 10 years of searching, no body was found, and no leads either. By 1992, the case was dropped, and people started making up stories on what had happened.

    "Ghosts!" some said. Of course, it was a minority, but for those who didn't believe it still thought it made a great story, and after awhile the street was called "Doom's Street".

    The rusty old Ford chugged to a stop as I put the pedal down. I was home...and it was 10:30.

    Elizabeth should be home by now, I thought. If she's not, something must be wrong... I climbed out of the car, shut the door, and walked over to the door.

    The door was locked, which led me to be more suspicious. If Elizabeth--my wife, if you haven't guessed--really did come home, it's difficult to believe. She never locked the door after coming in.

    I unlocked the door, and waltzed in. Nothing had changed. There wasn't a glass moved, or a pillow misplaced since the last time I was at home. The lights were off. And at this point, I was pretty certain Elizabeth wasn't home.

    I checked the house, called her name, to no reply. I sighed and plopped myself down on my bed. Something was askew. But what was I going to do? I couldn't call the police. I had no proof yet that anything had really happened. And I couldn't call Elizabeth either. She didn't leave any number to call, and she didn't bring her cell phone.

    I sighed, turned off the lights, and rested my head against my pillow. I flopped my arms across the bed. Suddenly, something dry and cracked pricked at my fingers.

    I jumped, and immediately turned on the lights. I took a closer look at the bed. At first glanced, there was nothing on the bed. But with closer inspection, I saw a small red stain on the corner of the pillow. What, did Elizabeth get a nose bleed in the middle of the night?

    With quivering hands, I flipped the pillow, and I immediately lost my control of breathing.

    Under the pillow was...a large red stain, part of it on the pillow, and part of it on the bed. Elizabeth didn't have a nose bleed. Elizabeth didn't go baby sitting. Elizabeth was murdered.

    ----------------------------------------------------

    I looked at the pillow. It was obviously used to cover the blood...probably to stall for the murderer's get-away. The baby sitting note, too. Just another stall. That's why there was no phone number.

    I shook my head and covered the blood again; covered the truth of what happened to my wife.

    So Charles was right all along. And that crack was probably a gun shot. Question is, why didn't I wake up and here that gun shot? Sure, I'm a pretty fast sleeper, but a gun shot? Anyone would wake up from that, unless they're completely deaf.

    And why'd the murderer let me live? It would've saved a lot of trouble...no witnesses if I had heard the gun shot.

    Gah, too many questions. I looked at the corner of the pillow, where the blood stain was.

    Elizabeth, I thought as I reached for the phone to call the police, I'm gonna find out who did this and make them pay. I promise.