The Taxidermist

a Heavy Rain story

It was a quiet afternoon at The American Tribune, despite the morning rush that had
finally ended a couple of hours ago. Madison Paige, one of the newspaper’s youngest
reporters was sitting at her desk, reluctantly rifling through paperwork and attaching her
freshly printed photographs to typed articles waiting for approval. As Madison neared the
final batch of papers, she noticed a small piece of paper near her telephone, previously
buried under a mountain of articles. It was notes she had written on a man suspected of
being the Origami Killer – the infamous serial killer from the city who kidnapped young boys
and drowned them in rainwater. No one had a clue who he could be. “Damn. I wish this lead
was worth pursuing.”

As if on cue, her telephone started to ring. “Madison Paige?”

“Madison, it’s Sam,” the voice on the other end replied. Madison recognised it instantly –
Sam Hugues, one of her best friends. He worked at the Tribune in publishing. “I got that
information you asked for. The guy’s name is Leland White. He used to be a taxidermist, 40
years old, single, and apparently out of work for the past two years. No criminal record, no
psychiatric history.”

“A taxidermist, huh?” Madison laughed. “That’s pretty original. Do you have his address? I’d
like to ask him a few questions.”

“His last known address was 411 Harbour Street in Lexington. Do you really think this guy
could be the Origami Killer?”

Madison sensed a hint of doubt in his voice. She reassured him. “The only way to find out is
to go and ask him. If he’s not the killer, then perhaps he’ll give me some tips on how to
stuff animals.”

Sam seemed almost reluctant to ask the obvious. “...and if he is the killer?”

“Well, then we’ll have the scoop of the year!”

“Shit, you’re really nuts, you know that?”

“That’s why you like me,” Madison replied, smiling.

“Just be careful, Madison. You never know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Hanging up the phone, Madison organised her desk quickly and turned the lamp off.
Grabbing her motorcycle helmet and her trusty leather jacket, she was out the door and en
route. It took her a couple of minutes to arrive, considering the four-mile distance. She
turned onto Harbour Street and searched the houses for numbers. Spotting Leland’s house
on the right, she slowed the motorcycle, pulled alongside the sidewalk, and turned off the
vehicle.
As she removed her helmet, her soft, delicate hands found themselves running through her
chestnut brown hair, fixing any damage done by the protective head covering. Madison
gazed upon the house as she moved away from her motorcycle, the falling rain hitting her
face gently and trickling south. It was a noticeably old home, the bottom level made of
burnt red brick and the upper level of dirty, white siding. The upper windows of the house
were curiously covered with newspaper.

The brunette removed her mobile phone from her back pocket and started a new voice
memo. Pressing the appropriate button, she began speaking into the device. “Tuesday,
November 3rd, 4:15pm. I’m at the home of the suspect Leland White.” As the pocketed the
device, she took note of the two children playing outside at the house to the left, and two
women chatting under umbrellas outside the house to the right.

‘Hmm, weird atmosphere,’ Madison thought. ‘I’ll just ask Mr. White a couple of questions
and then get the hell out of here.’

She found herself climbing the porch steps and ringing the doorbell, to no avail. She rang it
a second time before knocking on the door. “Hello? Anybody home? Mr. White?” No answer.
She tried knocking again. “Hello?” Madison leaned against the door and peaked through the
keyhole – inside, she noticed several stuffed animals posed about the living room, but no
sign of Leland. ‘It was stupid to come all the way out here for nothing...’ she said to herself
as she went around the side of the house.

As she reached the side yard, she noticed the kitchen window open slightly. ‘The
window...it’s ajar,’ she thought, standing on her toes. ‘Looks too high for me to get in that
way.’ Looking around for something to stand on, she found a small gasoline barrel and lifted
it to stand vertically. Finding another larger one, she wheeled it over to the first and picked
it up. Taking a step back, she was confident that she would be able to reach the window. ‘I
could have a quick look inside...I’m not going to get my article written by hanging around
outside.’ She climbed onto the barrels and had an epiphany. ‘Shit, Sam is right; I really am
crazy.’

Madison reached the window and opened it, carefully climbing inside of the house. She
dropped from the kitchen counter – the window slammed shut precisely afterward, making
her jump and turn around. Breathing deeply, she observed her surroundings. ‘Charming,’
she thought. ‘I’ll just have a quick look, take a few photos, and get out of here fast.’ With
that, she began her investigation.

The young woman found herself wandering through the kitchen, observing the stuffed
animals and the poor hygienic status of the home. Heading toward the living room, she
accidentally knocked over a stuffed owl, but caught it before it hit the ground. ‘Phew. Better
not break anything if I don’t want him knowing he’s had a visitor.’

Finding her way to the living room, she noticed something peculiar in the fireplace. A patch
of pink fabric was lying atop a mound of burned firewood. She examined it and removed her
phone from her pocket. “The remains of burnt clothes are in the fireplace...it looks like
women’s clothes.” Madison thought it rather odd. Why would Leland try to burn a woman’s
clothing item? Seeing nothing else of interest in the living room, she headed to the stairwell
but noticed something interesting behind it. A weight-set lay in the space between the
staircase and the bathroom. ‘So, looks like Mr. White is into bodybuilding. Big muscle man
that guts animals? He must be a very popular guy,’ she joked.
She ascended the staircase and took into account the assorted framed photos on the wall
and the deer heads mounted on plaques. Reaching the top level, she walked around the
corner but stopped when she heard loud creaking. ‘The floorboards creak when I walk on
them,’ she thought. ‘It fits this creepy place.’ Madison continued her search upstairs. In
front of her was a bedroom that was kept neat and clean – she assumed it belonged to
Leland’s mother; she may have lived in the house previously. Down the narrow hallway
were five doors – two on each side and one directly ahead at the end. In the middle of the
hallway on the right wall was a trophy case of a stuffed owl and a ferret. Madison sniffed the
air and nearly gagged. ‘What’s that smell? It must be coming from the dead animals.’

The journalist continued investigating the rooms. On the left, she found Leland’s taxidermy
room – along the walls were mounted templates and storage racks for supplies. There were
also two desks – both equally as messy, one with blood and one with paint – Madison
assumed that he gutted the animals on the first desk and polished them up on the second.

Across the hall was a small room with a window looking into the yard of the house where
the children were outside playing. To the right as another window that looked over the
staircase in the house. Madison deduced that the room was a secondary supply room, hence
the locked storage locker and shelves. She entered the next room on the right and noticed
it was a small bedroom. ‘That’s odd. I thought Mr. White didn’t have any kids.’ She looked
to her right and saw a clothing rack filled with brand new clothes for women. ‘Women’s
things,’ she thought as she browsed the rack. ‘Dozens of dresses and suits.’ Suddenly, a
thought so vulgar and disturbing crossed her mind, courtesy of her intuition. ‘That
smell...might not be from a dead...animal...’

Madison left the room and went to the door across the hall. She slowly reached for the
handle and opened it slightly; a rush of a repulsive, foul odour flew from the room beyond
the door, causing her to groan in displeasure. She opened the door fully and gasped, quickly
falling backward against the wall as she coughed. Madison slowly walked back into the room
and couldn’t believe her eyes. She removed her phone and continued the voice memo. “In—
in the upstairs bathroom—a body in the bathtub. She—she was—cut up with a saw.”

The deceased young woman in the bathtub was completely drenched in her own blood, her
arms and legs dangling over the sides of the tub, a transparent curtain around it stained
with blood, and recently. Inside of the sink, Madison gagged when she noticed the woman’s
inner organs, soaking in more of her blood. ‘Shit, what am I doing here? I’ve got to get out
of here before that psychopath gets back!’ She nearly stumbled out of the room but
remembered the final door. ‘There may be something else...’ she thought.

Moving reluctantly toward the door, Madison heard what sounded like static on the other
side. A television perhaps? She carefully opened the door and gasped as she saw a woman
dressed in a 70’s nurse uniform, sitting absolutely still on one of the couches in the room.
Madison slowly moved toward her, gradually extending her arm as she neared. She poked
her quickly and stepped back. “They—they...they’ve been stuffed!” She looked around the
room and her heart beat faster and faster. To the left of the nurse was a woman lying in
bed on her stomach, the red velvet sheets pulled up to the small of her back, revealing a
mark of stitching going up her side. On the other side of the room, a woman with a pair of
frilled shorts, a red corset, and a cigarette stick holder sat poised on the arm of an armchair
in front of the television making the static. Across the room from the right of the door was a
woman posed inside of a fake kitchen holding a mug in one hand and a pot of coffee in the
other. Next to her in what was supposed to be a separate room was another woman in a
turquoise towel and headdress coming out of the shower.
Madison removed her phone and snapped shots of the women in the room. “This time, I’ve
got my story.” She was about to leave the room when her phone beeped. Looking at the
screen, the battery flashed red before the phone died. “Shit.” She left the room in a dash
and headed for the stairs. She reached the top landing but noticed something through the
window – a white truck pulling into the driveway. She gasped and jumped against the wall,
praying he didn’t see her. A moment later, she heard the front door open and close. Her
worst fear had come alive – Leland White returned home and Madison is trapped inside.

She turned and proceeded down the hallway, determined to find an alternate exit when the
floorboards creaked under her. ‘Shit, the floorboards!’ she thought. Sure enough, she heard
Leland’s voice downstairs. “Oh, we seem to have a visitor. A little weasel come sniffing
round my little secrets?” He laughed violently as Madison crept into the nearby bedroom.
She spotted a phone on the nightstand and grabbed it, crouching by the bed. Dialling Sam’s
number, she prayed he’d answer. “Hello?”

“Don’t ask any questions,” she whispered quickly. “Just send the police to Leland White’s
house right now!”

“Mad, is that you?” He asked. “What’s going—“

“Please, Sam! Just do what I say!” Hanging up, she quickly laid flat on the floor and moved
under the bed. She watched as Leland made his way through the hallway, a sharp and
polished combat knife in his hand. Madison heard him go into another room and quickly
moved from under the bed to behind the door. She heard his footsteps become distant and
heard his raised voice in the bathroom down the hall. “You know you’re not supposed to
barge in on people uninvited don’tcha?”

Madison quickly moved across the hallway and reached the stairs, quietly descending them,
praying he would continue investigating the rooms upstairs. As she reached the final step,
she nearly ran to the front door, but it was locked. She spotted his jacket on the coat rack
next to the door and fingered the pockets for the key. She found it a second later and slowly
unlocked the door, pleading to the powers that be that Leland wouldn’t come downstairs.
Just as Madison opened the door, she heard his footsteps descend the staircase. “There you
are,” he snarled.

The journalist flung open the door and jumped off the porch, sprinting to her motorcycle.
She knocked over her helmet, not bothering to put it on and struggled to start the vehicle.
“Oh shit, start! Come on, please!” Nothing. The motorcycle kept stalling and the engine
wouldn’t turn over. Madison looked to her right and Leland was eerily walking toward her,
gripping the knife in his hand. “Please, start! Start!” Just as he got within a few feet of her,
the motorcycle roared to life and Madison gunned the acceleration handle, narrowly
avoiding the fatal stab that Leland would have delivered. She glanced back over once before
she turned onto the next street; the psychopathic serial killer remained sedentary, watching
her.

Leland White turned back to the house and slowly ascended the porch steps, closing the
door behind him. A moment later, in all the silence and heavy rain falling from the cloudy,
murky skies, a single gunshot was heard, echoing like the sound of thunder.

The following morning, The American Tribune’s front headline read: ‘The End of a
Nightmare. Serial killer Leland White was found dead in his home in circumstances that the
police are currently investigating.’