The Taxidermist

A man's family goes missing.

 The Taxidermist

By Ian Perry
Edited by Ryan Sansaricq (me)

The air was cool that autumn day on the lake. The birds sang and the sky was illuminated by the morning sun, glistening the lake and surrounding area. The woods were dense, and not too many people bothered to try and live out there, making it ideal to people of privacy and silence. Nature was truly natural: animals seemed to frolic gaily, the plants were illuminated marvelously by the sun, and in the evening, the night sky was immeasurably resonating. The Schneiders had moved there over forty years earlier, where they had remained ever since.

The kettle whistled vehemently as the water came to a boil, echoing throughout the house. The noise could even be heard from the depths of the basement, from which Francis Schneider emerged, ascending the stairs steadily. The floor beneath him creaked with almost every step; the house slowly deteriorating with age. He sighed as he reached the top, closing the door behind him, and removed the kettle from the stove. Outside, unbeknown to the man, a police cruiser pulled up to his house, driving cautiously up the unpaved road that led up to the old colonial home.

“Are you sure this is the place?” one officer said to the other.

The second officer checked the address, looking back and forth between the house, the hand written description, and the directions displayed on the computer monitor. “Seems to check out,” he replied, “Only one way to know.”

The two men stepped out of the cruiser onto the muddy dirt road, and walked up to the porch. They both hesitated when hearing the eerily long and wining creek created when stepping onto the stairs of the porch. It felt as though it would collapse with the both of them standing on it, but they continued upward, and approached the front door. One officer rang the door bell, and the two waited for a response.

Mr. Schneider heard the door bell and stopped in the process of making himself a cup of tea. He paused a moment to think about who would be at the door. He wasn't accustomed to visitors often, but did occasionally enjoy the company of his family. Elizabeth had always kept him company, but lately she seemed stoic and lifeless. He proceeded towards the door, and opened it gradually, surprised to be greeted by two policemen.

“How may I help you, officers?” he asked.

“We're here to inquire the whereabouts of a mister and missus... squeers?” one officer said, trying to remember how to pronounce the surname “Skweres”.

“It's pronounced, 'squarse',” the other officer told him sternly.

“Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Skweres and their children. May we come in?” the shorter of the two officers explained through the screen door.

“Yes, of course. Please, take a seat in the living room behind me, to the left,” he told them, opening the screen door. The two officers nodded in acknowledgment, and proceeded into the old home, weary as the floor cracked. They looked around at the set up of the home, and took a seat on the well-groomed couch. The air of the house was filled of a sweet aroma of tea, enticing the two officers.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Francis asked, emerging from the kitchen and into the room with a cup himself, “I've just made some.”

“No, thank you, we're fine,” the taller officer answered for  the both of them, fighting the urge to taste the what they had smelt, remembering what they were here for.

Francis moved gradually to the matching chair on the other side of the room, sat down carefully, and placed his cup of tea on the Victorian coffee table.

“Just to confirm,” one of the officers began, “your daughter is indeed Susanne Skweres, correct?” Francis Schneider sat there, staring into nothingness, as if paralyzed by fear.

“Mr. Schneider?” one of the officers asked, hoping to evoke a response.

“Oh yes, Susanne is our daughter, I apologize. Is my family in trouble? Are they harmed?” Francis worriedly inquired.

“Well that's what we're here to find out. Their neighbors grew worried when they hadn't returned home from visiting you. Is your wife gone, as well?”

“Yes, they were going on a small camping trip up north, but I had far too much work to do, so only Elizabeth went along. Just as well, too, she'd wanted to get out of the house for some time now,” he told them, dropping his head with an expression of worry.

“I see. One of the neighbors told us that. We contacted the camp-site coordinator, who said that they had booked a cabin, but they never arrived. When did you last see them?”

“Oh goodness…” Francis exclaimed, “maybe six days ago? It was last Sunday.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Schneider. Is there anything you can tell us about them? Where did you last see them?”

“Right here at this table. They were all eating my Elizabeth’s famous cornbread; they'd arrived Friday evening, and the children were all so eager to go. They left for church just minutes later. I haven’t seen or heard from them since. I had assumed that they all left for the camp-site,” recalled Francis.

“Could you give us their names please?” the officer asked as morning light, dimmed by the dusty porch screens filtered into the room.

“Well there’s Jimmy, the youngest. He just lost his first tooth last month.” Francis’ eyes began to glisten. “I remember the day he was born. Sometimes I just wish they could stay that precious.” The officers glanced at each other and darted their eyes to the floor.

“I’m sorry, sir. Could we please have the names?”

“Oh, yes, yes. I’m sorry. Jimmy, Rosie, and Alex are my grandchildren. Susanne is my daughter, and her husband is James. Then of course there’s Elizabeth.” Francis spoke slowly, his voice shaking with worry, his hands beginning to shake in fear.

“That's everything that you know, then?” one of the officers asked gently.

“Yes, I'm sorry I cannot be of much help. I don't know where they could possibly be. You will find them, won't you? They are all that I have... all that I am,” Francis explained, expressing his vehement worry and fear for their safety.

“We’ll do our best, Mr. Schneider,” said the taller officer standing up, prompting the other officer to follow suit. They moved to the door, Francis following the two, and the officer opened the finely painted wooden door.

“We'll inform you if we find anything. For now, it's just best that you remain calm, and allow us to handle it. I'm sure they'll turn up somewhere,” the shorter officer assured the elderly man as he swung open the screen door. The two men stepped out into the crisp autumn air. Leaves crunched beneath their feet as the pair made their way back to the baby blue Crown Victoria.

Francis Schneider closed the door to the sound of the cruiser backing down the winding dirt road, his face expressionless and void of emotion. He moved slowly to the basement door, which creaked as he turned the knob, and opened the old door. His feet, wrapped snug in warm loafers, slowly descended into the darkness of the basement. Francis ventured deeper beneath the house, occasionally fumbling for the hand rail when his foot caught a nail or a splinter of wood. The air was damp and weighted, but it was the smell that one could notice first.

“Hello, everyone,” Francis said jovially, his face brightening with his tone. As he cleared the last step, he added “Yes, yes, they’re gone now Elizabeth,” waving his hand impatiently, as if swatting an irksome fly.

Elizabeth Schneider’s lifeless eyes stared past Francis into the damp, eerie darkness of the basement. Stitches lined either side of her neck in neat rows; the clean cut was flecked with dried blood. Jimmy lied slumped in the arms of his father, both of which were situated next to the boiler; their glue had not yet dried. The others sat around a simple recreation of the living room upstairs, illuminated by the lamps that surrounded their stoic, lifeless bodies.

“Elizabeth,” Francis reprimanded, his voice suddenly stern, “you’ve hardly touched your cornbread! Are you sick of your own recipe?” Tufts of cotton and foam poked from the seams of Francis Schneider’s new dolls as he chuckled and tottered about. The basement smelled of copper pennies, the bread of mold, and Mr. Schneider’s decaying family. Francis looked around appreciatively at his doll collection, donned his apron, threaded a needle, and went to work. 

Author's Note

This is not my sole property; credit to the idea and 60% of content to a friend of mine.

Reviews

[Butters]

Jeepers Creepers! lol. First let me start off by saying that this is very good and a intresting idea. I think it could use a bit of work though. For me it was hard to identify with any of the characters like I was kind of uncertain how they were feeling. For me I'd like to see less description of the surroundings and more on the characters emotions and/or thoughts.Please don't take this in a negative way...if I thought you weren't capable of improving this I wouldn't have left you a comment. This has the potential to be an amazing story, just needs to be tweeked somewhat. Keep up the GREAT work!

[frorizzle2013]

I'd thought about that after uploading it. It was for a competition, and it had a limit, so we didn't have time to add on or anything (in the end, we were too busy to improve upon it). I'll work on focusing on character development with my friend (who designed the characters), and upload a new version. Very insightful critique.

[Chuck Briggs]

I thought this was very good - but perhaps you could polish the first couple of paragraphs a little. As Mark Twain said: "If you catch an adverb, kill it." Instead of "kettle whistled vehemently," "ascending the stairs steadily" and "driving cautiously" you might try to find stronger verbs. You don't have to banish adverbs completely, but you do want to keep an eye on them. Overall: well done. Keep up the good work.

[frorizzle2013]

I'll be sure to keep that in mind when I get around to editing it. Thank you!