The Corduroy Killer

“The Corduroy Killer strikes again” The newscasters voice echoes around the empty storefront, the shop is barren like a dystopian wasteland. Ever since March 19th, 1974 the corduroy industry has come apart at the seams (Literally).

The 70’s were a time of growth in the fashion industry, and Chicago-a frigid city was no stranger to Corduroy. Shops, unable to keep the suede material off the shelves, that was, until March 19th, 1974.

“The latest victim” The woman on the Television continued. “24-year-old Bethany Haze…” The voice drones out as two men enter the shop.

“I think that’s just ridiculous” the men enter “the idea of wearing something so senseless.” One say’s to the other. They both laugh at the joke as they pilfer the store. The man behind the counter rolls his eyes and turns the volume up.

The woman, still discussing the murder, is interviewing the victim’s friends and family. A young woman, appearing to be in her early twenties is a sobbing mess before the camera. “The noise still haunts me” She cries “I wake up every night in a cold sweat hearing it”

“The noise” The reporter interjects ushering the girl out of the spotlight, no doubt to a box of tissues, what a mess. “Is the all too familiar phft phft of corduroy, yes corduroy."

The men have made their selections by now and are making their way to the counter. The worker grunts before moving the scan the items. Corduroy go figure.

“Most people don’t buy these anymore” The man conversates nodding at the pants on the counter, a velvet black pair of bellbottoms. The men share a look and then burst into a fit of laughter.

“You really believe that mess?” the clerk questions the men. they shrug and he folds the item and places it in a bag before handing it to the man.

Once outside the two men say goodbyes and part ways. The shorter of the two men, making his way across the street a local inn; The Palmer House hotel. He checks himself in and situates himself in his room. The corduroy pants neatly folded on the bed. Something about the texture, velvety smooth, encompassing everything good about the era of fashion.

The man, seats himself opposite of the pants, pulls a cigarette and takes a long drag. He watches the sun slip below the horizon basking Chicago in a soft orange glow. He takes in another lungful and blows it towards the celling before stubbing out the cigarette.

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On the corner of Belmont avenue, a woman in rummaging through her purse for keys. She’s unaware of her surroundings, she’s new, fresh to the Chicago scene. A woman of her age never taught to watch the news.

The familiar phft phft rings through the otherwise quiet night. The woman pays no mind and continues looking through her purse until she pulls out a set of keys. “thank goodness” she laughs triumphantly holding the keys up with a sigh of relief.

Before she can crawl into the safety of her car a hand comes around her mouth with a cloth and her vision blurs.

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Back at the Inn the taller man from the store paces anxiously in the hotel corridor checking his watch every few seconds. “Damn it” He harshly whispers trying the room door again. It’s still locked.

Behind him the elevator door dings, and he lets of a sigh of relief seeing the younger man emerge from the elevator with a grin on his face.

“Where have you been” The taller questions shoving a fist into the shorter man’s shoulder. The shorter just laughs and unlocks the door ushering the other inside.

“There was another murder” Taller tells him sitting on the bed. “The call came in around 2am at the station”

He runs his hands through his curls defeated. The murders, three to be exact, all happen after the sun has sunk below the city. With crime being at an all-time high the station has been busting with calls about possible killings. They’re no closer to solving this mysterious case than they are the robbery on 5th street.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out” the shorter man comforts him “They wouldn’t have put you on a case you couldn’t handle”.

The words seem to lift the other man’s spirits and he picks his head up and offers a gentle smile. He gazes to the clock above the Television. Its past 5am now, the city will be waking up soon, a press meeting will be held with the mayor to create a plan to catch the killer.

“I should get home before Susan gets worried” he picks himself off the bed and pats the other man on the shoulder “be careful out here” he tells him “We have no idea who could be next”.

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On the street the older man passes a familiar brown beetle parked outside the hotel. As he’s passing, he notices the black corduroy bellbottoms neatly folded in the back with a small, folded handkerchief sitting neatly on top. His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s seeing before him.

Phft phft the haunted sound starts towards him.

“I’m sorry Dave”