Murder Monster (Short Story)

It was an ordinary dull Tuesday morning, just as dull as the day previous. Maria strolled down the water-stricken pavement to the rustling gates at the entrance of Fiona Wood Primary School. Her footsteps where the only sound, no screams exploding from fresh lungs or the patter of tiny feet, just her footsteps and... another pair of footsteps; these much lighter than her own. Heartbeat racing too fast to count, Maria slowly edges her skull clockwise, eyes focusing on the now occupied doorway. Frank Pertons in Year One, Marias once tense body relaxed at the sight of him. She tiptoed towards him.

"What are you doing here so early Frank, where are your parents?" she questioned, smiling brightly at the child in front of her. Frank smiled at her devilishly, "Mummy and Daddy are at home, Miss Johnson" he spoke happily, whilst his eyes sparkled. Maria frowned, Frank was never happy, never smiling, so what changed in the last twenty-four hours.
"How did you get here?" she asked curiously. Frank just stared at her. They stood there for a few brief seconds, until Maria finally gave up searching for the answer; the boy pivoted and skipped into the classroom and sat on the floor, playing with an old wooden train.

As Maria looked closer she discovered blood splatters on the train, she sprinted over to him and pulled the train from his grasp. She then placed the train on one of the warn tables and examined Frank's hands,
"Frank, how did you cut your hand?" she exclaimed as she dashed to the sink to retrieve a damp cloth and the first aid kit. Frank just glanced at this glance and smiled grimly.

Once she had cleaned the boys bloody hand and covered the cut with a plaster, Maria began to wash the wooden train that he had been playing with.
"Music!" Frank exclaimed running over to the radio, "Music!" He pressed a button and suddenly music began to play; he jumped to the beat of whatever was playing, abruptly the music cut off and a man's voice sounded, it was the seven-thirty news.
"A couple by the name of Pertons were found dead in their home in Southampton this morning," Maria froze stiff, "the police have identified the murder weapon as a common kitchen knife. At this current time, there are no suspects. The Tenttons, neighbours of the Pertons, stated seeing Frank, the Pertons five year old son, walking to school at seven o'clock this morning. This has been the seven-thirty news." Maria dropped everything, the train sinking in the water it was being washed in; she spun round, Frank was still there, he had found another toy to play with. Good, he was occupied.

She ran to her handbag and clutched her phone, she dialled the emergency services and waited for someone on the other end to answer her distress call. The cut on Frank's hand was from a knife, a kitchen knife; the murder weapon. Frank was the murderer.
"Hello, emergency services. How can I help?" the lady on the other end of the phone chirped. The words got caught in Maria's throat, she swallowed them and then spoke,
"The murder of the Pertons this morning, I know who killed them. It was their son, Frank; he arrived at school early and he has a cut on his palm of his hand and... " Maria turned around to an empty room. "I'm at Fiona Wood Primary School, the post code is BN12 6HE. Get here as soon as possible, please!" Maria hung up.

Frank had escaped, how could she let herself loose him. He couldn't have run out the door, she would have seen him; she ran to the windows and searched the landscape for the child murderer. Pattering, tiny footsteps sounded from the doorway. She saw his reflection in the glass, his eyes burning through her. A siren sounded and blue lights appeared over the gate outside. The police; she was safe. Before Maria could even think of moving, Frank launched himself at her, the knife in his hand plunging through her spine into her stomach; gurgling came from her mouth as blood spewed over the teal coarse carpet.

The police smashed through the glass door and ran to the open classroom doorway. Their eyes laid upon the limp body, once belonging to Maria Johnson, the knife still lodged in her spine. Frank was nowhere to be seen.