The Silver Serpent Society. Chapter One.

The stench hits my nose as I enter the crime scene.​ Some idiot had left the door open and the July heat had been working on the swollen corpse sprawled across the laminate flooring for days by the looks of it. The rigor mortis had locked the stiff in a pose like he was trying to fend off the devil himself. Uniform cops stand around useless as can be, slack-jawed while CSI techs wander around listlessly in the oppressive heat.

I light a cigarette, drawing in a lungful of bitter calm before storming up to the nervous looking sergeant clutching his notebook like a schoolboy. "What the hell happened here son?" I bark, spewing smoke that mingles with the rank smell of ripe death. "Um...well the neighbours reported a smell so we responded to find the victim, a Mr. Ronald McFadden, aged 61, retired, apparently murdered 3 or 4 days ago based on body temperature and decomposition–"

"That's enough!" I cut off his textbook spiel. "Any witnesses? Signs of break-in, robbery? Where's this man's family?" The nervous lad stammers, "N-no survivors...I mean family members have been notified. They hadn't heard from Ronald for several days it seems. No witnesses have come forward yet." I shake my head disgusted. Useless, the whole lot of them. "And let me guess, no clues except piles of crap you'll send to the lab for DNA testing that I won't see results from for 6 months?" The sergeant's face reddens and he looks down at his shoes, nodding weakly. This case had gone stone cold before any detective had rolled up, I could feel it.

Walking further into the cramped flat I take in the surroundings, piecing together the backstory. "Lived alone ever since the wife left him a few years back eh?" The young cop pipes up eagerly, "Yes sir, neighbours said he'd become a bit of a recluse since then." I continue bluntly, "So no reason to think this retired old-timer had any enemies who would gouge his eyes out and nearly saw his head off?" More sheepish looks all around.

As I gaze at Ronald's mutilated body, a chill runs down my spine.. Something sinister about the positioning, the excessive brutality. My mind flashes back over two decades ago to my first case on the force – three women found in alleys, contorted and ripped apart beyond recognition. The press had called the killer the Glasgow Ghoul; the case was never solved.My hands tremble as gruesome memories resurface. I light another cigarette with shaking hands to calm my fraying nerves.

Just then a petite woman with mousy brown hair in a forensics jumpsuit ducks under the police tape, gracefully approaching the corpse seemingly unfazed by the carnage. As she leans over the victim, I note her slim frame accented by trim athletic curves conforming tightly to her jumpsuit. I hear a cop whistle softly and my cheeks flush with anger...or something else I hadn't felt stir within me for years on this job.

Before I can ponder this further she calls out "Inspector! You need to see this..." Startled from my impure thoughts, I hurry over expecting physical evidence. But instead she takes my quivering hand and places my fingers onto Ronald's cold, rigid claw. "Feel that Inspector?" she asks, her bright eyes gazing into mine intently. Running my thumb across the victim's palm, I feel the crude outline of three letters carved into the flesh: I O T.

Transfixed by those piercing eyes but with dread twisting my guts, I stammer "W-what does it mean?" She answers coolly, "It means this killer has a message for you Inspector...this is only the beginning."

My heart turns to ice in my chest. It looks like they have returned.