Jazz music fills my ears as I ride the trolley on Canal Street. Jazz music keeps the city alive during the roaring twenties but deep down everyone is terrified. The citizens of New Orleans are terrified to sleep at night. Not even policemen are helpful at this point. There is a slasher running wild through the streets of New Orleans. In the night The Slasher murders citizens while they sleep. The Slasher is in everyone’s thoughts. I have trouble sleeping at night, fearful of The Slasher entering my home. I live with my mother on the corner of St. Charles Ave. and 2nd street. It’s hard to imagine such a horrible crime taking place in such a beautiful surrounding. The beautiful trees of the Garden District reach out to provide shade when the Sun’s rays are too hot to bare.
As I hop off the trolley I see two men discussing an article in the morning newspaper. I overhear one of the men say we need more secure homes. The other man argued that we need better policemen. They agreed that either way, a change must take place. I then boarded the riverfront trolley and made my way to Jackson Square. As I stared into the great Mississippi River’s waves crashing on the bank from the tugboats I wondered, what could I do to make a change? How could I contribute to helping my city? There are hardly any clues on The Slasher, only patterns. No one has ever seen The Slasher, for the ones who have were slain. The scary slashing Slasher could be a man, a woman, a child, or even something other worldly. As I find it so hard to imagine a human could be so evil. I see a man sitting a few feet away from me reading what seems to be the same newspaper the men from before were discussing. I read “Slasher slays two in bed on Saratoga Street.” That was only a few blocks from my home. Just hours ago, while I slept nearby, two people were murdered.
I tried to enjoy my breakfast which consisted of French Toast and coffee, but I could not clear my mind. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. I am the only protection my mother and I have. I figured I could stay up all night to keep watch, but that doesn’t help any other innocent civilians. I couldn’t just hunt The Slasher down, especially by myself. I would be far too vulnerable. I would need a partner or two to go through with that. The only friend I have is Stephen, who lives about a block from me. We found ourselves on the St. Charles trolley at the same time quite frequently. The idea of two teenagers hunting down a ruthless killer still doesn’t sit comfortably with me.
I presented the idea to Stephen and he thought it sounded good. I could picture us stopping The Slasher. He is almost always by my side. Many people assume we are brothers, we have the same dark brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. Except Stephen has freckles unlike I do. We are both built about the same, five foot eleven and good sized muscles. I got my muscles from working them at my job down by the port. I mainly just load and unload boxes and crates. Stephen is a cook at Café Beignet. We are both sixteen years of age, Stephen being only nine days younger than me.
We were both anxious to help our community but were clueless on how to do so. We knew we would need adult help, and we knew just the right person. Stephen has an uncle who is a police officer and also served in The Great War. The very first chance we had we went and spoke to him. Stephen’s Uncle Jerry was easy to talk to, fun, and nice, but very intimidating. He stood about six foot two, was burly in structure and had a large beard and mustache. Uncle Jerry called Stephen and I The “Dynamic Duo of Randall and Stephen.” We walked into his office and were hit with the smell of coffee and donuts.
“How’s the duo doing?” asked Uncle Jerry.
“Worried, and in need of help.”replied Stephen while rubbing his hands nervously.
Uncle Jerry was obviously aware of The Slasher. Stephen and I explained that we wanted to keep the citizens of New Orleans safe. Uncle Jerry seemed concerned. His thick eyebrows and large eyes were scanning us up and down.
“You two are just boys, and this is very dangerous.” He said.
“We need to grow up sooner or late, and we want to help our city” I exclaimed. Uncle Jerry said he would allow us to go with him during his nightly patrols on foot. He also allowed me to look into the details of the case. I was searching for any clue or pattern I could possibly find. No identity had been given, no evidence was left behind besides the bodies and the injuries that were inflicted upon them. However, there were a few details that were consistent in each murder, which is how everyone knew this is all one persons doing. All bodies were found in bed, all injuries were done by blades, and all crime scenes were within the Garden District.
We concluded on patrolling the Garden District at night in search of a single man walking the streets, going door to door in search of an entry. After dinner, Stephen and I took the usual St. Charles trolley to go see Uncle Jerry. When we asked him what do if we find The Slasher, he gave us a simple answer. He handed me a baseball bat and handed Stephen a police baton.
“Use these” he said with a grin on his face.
We decided to start patrolling shortly after sundown. I was nervous, but Stephen appeared brave. I didn’t want to look scared so I had to be brave as well. Uncle Jerry was used these type of situations, he appeared calm. We began to patrol at the intersection of Jackson Avenue and St. Charles Avenue. Then Uncle Jerry told me the last thing I wanted to hear.
“Alright let’s split up,” he demanded. Stephen and I weren’t ones to argue so we did as he said. He gave us whistles to blow in case of emergency and then we split up one street down from one another. From there, we patrolled deeper into the Garden District. I wondered how suspicious I looked myself, walking down the street at night with a baseball bat, but I was just trying to help. This baseball bat was justice. The city was the most quiet it had ever been. I could hear nothing but the thump of my heartbeat. After patrolling about five blocks, I only felt boredom and fear. As I approached Sixth Street, I stopped dead in my tracks. I saw a dark figure moving about on a back porch. I began to creep closer and closer, trying to get a better look. I was shaking nervously, trying to stay calm as my palms were sweating. As I observed closer, I discovered the figure was just a man going through his keys to open his own door. I wondered why I man would enter his own home from the back door. Before I could finish my thought, I heard a whistle.
It sounded about two blocks from me, therefore it had to be Stephen. I ran to the whistle as fast as I could. I saw Uncle Jerry running as well. There was a a quiet house with a wide open door, Stephen must be inside. We heard a loud bang just before we entered the home. As I ran I I saw Stephen being attacked. The attacker was something like I had never seen before. He looked as if he had come from the deepest darkest shadows of the Earth. It had to be The Slasher. He had no distinct figures, it was far too dark. Stephen was throw to the ground as we ran to help. As I was charging The Slasher, he pulled a hatchet from what seemed to be his trench coat. The Slasher started to swing downward onto Stephen. I dove at The Slasher. I hit him and we fell to the ground. I reached to grab the hatchet from his hand but it wasn’t there. I turned around to see a horrific sight. The hatchet was buried into Stephen’s chest. Uncle Jerry ripped the hatchet out, possible doing more harm than good. I could see the sorrow I felt in my heart in Uncle Jerry’s eyes. That sorrow quickly turned to anger for the both of us. I turned back to attack The Slasher but I was hit by a force so great, that I had only seen white. As I lay stunned, I was startled by the sound of three rapid gunshots. I sat up to see Uncle Jerry standing to my left, pointing his pistol. He was fueled with anger, his face and eyes were as red as an apple. I looked to my right to see The Slasher fall to the ground. The thud of that monster hitting the ground shook the house. I was relieved but still worried. I approached Stephen and to my horror, there was no movement, no breathing, and no life in his eyes. All I could see was the deep cut into his chest. Uncle Jerry searched the house to find another dead body in the bedroom. We had come too late to stop The Slasher from doing his work. At least now, The Slasher can not hurt anyone. Stephen had died helping his city. We were heroes. I had lost my one true friend. Uncle Jerry had lost his nephew. We had suffered a loss, but restored safety to the citizens of New Orleans by overcoming evil.