7. Starla
Chapter 7
Starla
I t's a new day, so why do I still feel so uneasy?
I sit up in the bed, the light of the sun streaming through the still closed drapes.
It takes a second for me to remember what I was so scared about last night. The knife I brought to bed with me is still safely placed in my palm. Gently, I lay it down on the side and look in the direction I heard the noises coming from last night.
I'm happy that nothing came from it but I'm still pissed that someone would try and scare me like that. Quickly my tiredness disappears and it's replaced with anger. What if they vandalized the house? Could that be what all the tapping was?
"Goddamit!" I jump out of the bed leaving the knife right there on the side. Surely noone is going to be waiting for me outside in the day time. I don't need it.
I throw on my robe and make my way outside to where I heard the tapping coming from last night.
A wave a relief washes over me when I get outside and see absolutely nothing on the outside wall. I don't even see any footprints.
How strange.
My eyes take in the surrounding area and I watch as a stiff breeze rocks one of the large shrubs from side to side. It grazes the back wall.
"You silly girl." I reprimand myself and chuckle slightly. All that fear and panic over a little tree. How ridiculous is that.
That's what was making all that noise last night, it wasn't anyone out here to get me. It was just the wind.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way back into the house. Even though I know what was making the noise last night I'm still a little uneasy like there's a new entity in the fabric of the home I'm staying in. I'm praying once I get my day started I can shake the severe case of the willies I seem to have gotten.
Getting into my morning routine, I move a little faster as I realize that I'm already late to get to the library. I'm sure no one is going to care but I still like to make sure that I keep things professional.
When I get to the library I notice that everyone's already here. I'm super late.
I push open the heavy library door, the familiar scent of old books wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My heels click against the polished floor as I make my way to the back, where the dim light barely reaches. I’m lost in thought about the upcoming event when?—
“Boo!”
My heart jumps into my throat as I spin around, eyes wide. I scream, the sound tearing from my lips before I can stop it.Liora stands there, her face obscured by a replica Scream mask. She pulls the mask up and I see her grinning like she’s just pulled off the best prank in history.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I yell, my voice a mix of anger and fear. Laughter bubbles up around me—everyone thinks it’s hilarious.
But my heart races, pounding in my ears, drowning out their amusement. I can’t shake the adrenaline coursing through me, the remnants of shock still clinging to my nerves.
“Starla, come on, lighten up!” Liora giggles, pulling off the mask.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it’s impossible. I can still feel the jump scare pulsing in my chest. Braylon steps closer, concern etching his features.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and steady.
I shake my head, frustration boiling over. “This isn’t a joke, Braylon. We’re supposed to be focused on the documentary and what the people in this town are dealing with. They need to take what we're doing here seriously, not as a haunted house.”
He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. “I get it, but we need these guys to feel comfortable here. A little fun never hurt anyone, right?”
He’s right. I know that. But it doesn’t make the anger dissipate. I take a moment, letting the reality settle. Sighing, I turn to Liora, guilt creeping in. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you. I just... I didn’t expect it.”
She nods, her smile returning, and I can’t help but feel a little lighter. Maybe I need to let go just a bit. After all, this is supposed to be an opportunity of a lifetime. What's the point of going through all this if I can't have a little fun while I do it.
"So what's on the docket for today, Boss?" Max walks over to us, his clipboard already in his hand.
"Right, let's get to work." I call everyone over and go over what we're supposed to do today.
I finally got word from the father of the third victim. He's willing to be part of the documentary. It's a welcomed change. He's one of the only people in the town who actually agreed to be part of the documentary without me having to twist his arm.
Within minutes me, Braylon, Liora and Amber are all in the van and on the way to the victim's childhood home. The surrounding area is nothing but open lands and even some farms. It's picturesque. I'm sure to get some great images from here.
"We have to make sure to get some footage from over there." Braylon points out the window in the direction of the dump yard that surrounds the house we are about to get to.
"Yeah, that could be a great backdrop for some reenactments." It amazes me how much talent Braylon has. I'm sure I'd have picked the same area to take some images it just would've taken me a while longer.
Finally, we make it to the house and the father walks out. A bright smile on his face and even though I can see the grief playing in his eyes.
"Howdy, yall. I trust you made it out here okay?" Mr. Krillan says as he walks down his steps and meets us as we start to walk up.
Instantly my home training kicks in and I take his hand in a shake. "Yes, the directions you gave us were perfect. Thank you for having us. I know this is tough."
"Yeah, well, I hate the fact that no one is doing anything about what happened to my Gilly. She deserves the world to know about her." He smiles before he gestures to the house. "You guys want to come on inside. I don't have much it's just me living here now."
"That's fine. Thank you." I smile and we all follow him up to his place.
As we step inside Mr. Krillan's house, the air shifts, thick with memories and the scent of aged wood. I scan the room, taking in the eclectic mix of furniture, pieces that look like they’ve survived decades of stories, each with its own history. It’s cute, in a way, though overcrowded. The walls are adorned with mismatched frames, and an old grandfather clock ticks steadily in the corner, a heartbeat in this quiet space.
Mr. Krillan, despite his years, moves with surprising agility, navigating through the maze of furniture as if he knows every inch of his home. I follow closely, my crew fanning out behind me, capturing the details with their cameras.
“Make yourselves at home,” he says, gesturing to a worn couch that looks like it could tell tales of its own.
I nod, moving deeper into the living room. My gaze lands on an old photograph on the wall—a black-and-white image of a girl with bright eyes and a wide smile. My heart sinks as I recognize her: Gilly, the third victim. The reality of her absence washes over me, heavy and suffocating.
“Mr. Krillan,” I say, my voice steady but laced with sorrow. He turns to me, his expression shifting as he follows my gaze. “Is it okay if I use this picture in the documentary?”
He glances at the photo, his eyes softening. “That was Gilly… such a bright light,” he replies, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “She loved this place. If it helps tell her story, then yes, you can use it.”
I swallow hard, the weight of his words settling within me. “Thank you,” I say, feeling a sense of responsibility wash over me. It’s not just a picture; it’s a piece of someone’s life, a moment frozen in time. I want to honor that, to share Gilly’s story with the world, to remind everyone that she was more than a victim.
As I continue to look around, I feel a mix of gratitude and sadness. Mr. Krillan’s home, filled with remnants of a life lived, stands as a testament to the love and loss that lingers in the air. I can’t help but wonder how many more stories are hidden in the nooks and crannies of this place.
"We should get started, no? Don't want to lose the light." Braylon pipes up and I nod my head. I take a seat but Mr. Krillan still looks as if he's a bit anxious about everything.
"You don't need something to drink. I've got some tea here." He gestures to the kitchen. It's clear in his motions that he truly isn't looking forward to this. His bravery is amazing to me. I don't know if I'd ever be able to tell the story of how my child died.
"Sure, some tea would be great." I smile at him and he's off like a bumblebee in the direction of the kitchen.
He walks off and gets us the drinks while my attention falls on the people with me. Everyone looks somber. Everyone except for Liora who looks absolutely awestruck. More and more her demeanor about working on this project is starting to worry me. I know all about people who idolize serial killers, I only hope she's not one of them.
Mr. Krillan sits across from me, his hands folded so tightly they’re shaking. His knuckles are white, his fingers twisted together like he’s trying to hold himself in place, to stop himself from unraveling right in front of me. His eyes are red-rimmed, hollow, but there’s something harder beneath the grief—something sharp and jagged, like glass just waiting to slice open the next person who tries to tell him it’s going to be okay.
I don’t tell him that. I know better.
Instead, I let him talk.
“Gilly was never easy,” he says, voice rough, like every word is being dragged out of him. “Not even from birth. She came into this world screaming, fists swinging. Wild as hell. We tried… we did everything we could to rein her in, but she wasn’t a fan of the word no.” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just exhaustion. Just pain. “She’d fight anyone. Anything. Didn’t matter if she was three years old or twenty-three. If she didn’t like what she heard, she made damn sure you knew it.”
I nod, staying quiet, letting him work through it.
“She was strong,” he continues. “Stronger than most men I’ve met. I made sure of it. Taught her how to fight. How to hold her own. How to put a man twice her size on the ground in under three seconds.” He sucks in a breath, hands curling into fists on the table. “I thought that would be enough. I thought—” His voice cracks, and he swallows hard, shaking his head. “I thought she was untouchable.”
I reach across the table, resting my hand over his. “Mr. Krillan, this isn’t your fault.”
His eyes snap to mine, dark and furious. “Then whose is it?” His voice is a growl, low and dangerous. “Because someone took my baby, and I couldn’t stop it. Someone—” He stops himself, sucking in a breath, forcing himself back under control.
I don’t know what to say. Nothing I tell him will fix this. Nothing will bring her back.
After a long moment, he exhales, his whole body sinking under the weight of something invisible, something heavy enough to crush a man.
“They found her in the back of the dump yard,” he says finally. His voice is quieter now, but no less brutal. “Laid out like a goddamn piece of art. Arms spread. Legs twisted wrong. Her face—” He stops again, blinking hard. “They took her eyes.”
A shiver crawls up my spine, but I don’t dare look away.
“Whoever did it… they wanted her to be seen. Wanted us to find her like that. Like she wasn’t a person anymore. Just a warning. A message.” His jaw tightens, his fists trembling. “There were cuts everywhere. Deep. Precise. Not just some animal tearing into her. Someone did it on purpose. Took their time.” His voice turns into a whisper, thick with something like horror. “She fought. She fought so goddamn hard.”
I squeeze his hand, trying to ground him, trying to ground myself, but his eyes are somewhere else now. Somewhere dark.
I can feel it too—that cold, creeping thing curling around us. The kind of evil that doesn’t just take life, but revels in the destruction of it.
“I should’ve been there,” he says.
“You couldn’t have known,” I tell him softly.
He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s the problem, Starla.” His gaze finds mine again, something deadly burning beneath the grief. “I should have.”
By the time the end of the interview is over I can feel the weight Mr. Krillan felt and even though I know it's not the same as what he feels but I can only imagine.
"Did you need anything else?" Mr. Krillan asks, clearing his throat.
"No, this is perfect. We have more than enough for this segment of the documentary. I'll make sure to send you a copy before we let anyone else look at it." I nod and stand from my seat. We say the formal goodbye's ready to go out back to take some footage of the dump yard out back. I don't even need to look for the precise location. I know what it looks like from all the police pictures.
The air is thick with the smell of rust and decay as we step into the dump yard behind Mr. Krillan's house. He gave us permission to explore, his casual wave and nod brushing off any unease we might have felt. But I can’t shake the weight of the past that lingers here, the ghost of a violent murder hanging like a fog.
Braylon immediately whips out his camera, the lens clicking and whirring as he positions it to capture every angle of the forgotten debris and twisted metal. I glance at him, a mix of admiration and irritation bubbling in me. He’s always been eager to document everything, but this? This feels different.
In the background, Liora’s voice pierces through the heavy silence. “You know, a place like this is just perfect for a serial killer. All this junk... It’s like a playground for someone with a dark imagination,” she gushes, her tone almost gleeful. I don’t respond; I can’t. My stomach twists as I listen to her, the way she practically dances around the idea, her words weaving a tapestry of horror that makes my skin crawl.
I cast a glance at Liora, watching her as she twirls with exaggerated gestures, mimicking what she thinks the killer might have done. Her movements are playful, yet there’s a chill in her laughter that sends shivers down my spine. I can’t help but wonder: what goes through her mind when she entertains these thoughts? Is she just playing a part, or is there something darker lurking beneath her cheerful exterior?
A cold knot forms in my stomach. What if the cops never considered that the killer could be a woman? I swallow hard, my thoughts spiraling out of control. Liora’s enthusiasm feels too intense, too eager. I want to shake it off, to convince myself that it’s just a joke, but the way she leans into her performance makes me question everything.
“Starla, check this out!” Braylon calls, gesturing excitedly at a pile of rusted metal. I force myself to look away from Liora, shaking off the creeping paranoia. I step closer to Braylon, but I can still hear Liora in the background, her voice bubbling over with delight as she spins yet another gruesome scenario.
I grit my teeth. This isn’t just a dump yard; it’s a reminder of something that shouldn’t be ignored. As Braylon captures the scene, I can’t help but steal glances at Liora, half-expecting her to turn those playful antics into something sinister. The thought unsettles me, and I can’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, there’s a hidden darkness in her that mirrors the shadows of this place.
It doesn't feel like very long but by the time we finish getting the footage we need the sun is already setting.
"We should get out of here. I'm not really looking forward to trying to find my way out of a dump yard in the darkness." Braylon jokes but he's right. There's nothing more that we can get out here anyway.
Slowly the four of us make our way out of the yard but I'm surprised to see that we're not the only ones out here.
The second we get to the opening of the yard I notice the sheriff's car at the opening.
At first I'm nervous, but I shake the feelings off. We're not doing anything illegal or anything like that so there's no reason for me to feel like I'm about to get in trouble.
Before we can make any more movements, a bright light from the top of the car illuminates making it impossible for me to see anything around me. I put my hand up to block the light but it doesn't do much use.
"Hey, what the hell?" Braylon barks and grabs hold of me as if he were about to protect me from some unseen danger.
"Do you all have permission to be out here?" The cop booms out.
"Yes, Mr. Krillan said it was fine." I answer trying hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice.
A second later the light is shut off and I watch a tall but somewhat lanky man coming in my direction. "We've had too many kids running around back there. Getting hurt." He continues but he's not looking at anyone else, just me, "Especially with the sudden interest in what happened here years back."
That was a dig at me if I ever heard one. I guess it's safe to say the local police definetely doesn't want me looking around at what's going on.
"Thank you for your concern." I bite out and take a step to the side ready to get back in the van and back to the library.
"Hold up a second. I need to have a word with you."
Braylon looks at me for a second. His eyes asking if I need him. I wave him and the rest of the guys forward. I'm safe. It's not like the town cop is going to do something right here to hurt me. Right?
"How can I help you, Officer..."
"Sheriff Alden." He replies sticking his hand out for me to shake.
"Sheriff, how can I help?"
"You can help by not doing what you're doing." His voice is gritty and angry.
"Why would I do that? I'm not hurting anyone." I shake my head and cross my arms over my chest.
"How would you know who you are or aren't hurting. You should let sleeping dogs lay."
I knew I'd get some push back but I didn't think anyone would be this brazen. "I'm sorry I can't do that. These victims need the world to know their story and that's exactly what I plan to do." This time I do step around him.
Sheriff Alden catches my arm and stops me from moving,"Miss, I'm telling you if you don't stop this now you're going to end up going down a road that only leads to trouble. Do the right thing, stop it. If you know what's good for you, this will be the last time I see you around here sniffing around for things."
I'm not sure if he means to scare me but he does a good job at it. I don't know why he's so interested besides the fact that I might uncover something the police force missed. Maybe he just doesn't want to be embarassed.
With that, I walk off toward the van only to hear Liora and the rest of them inside talking about what's going on.
"Hey, are you okay?" Braylon asks when I get in the front seat next to him.
"Yeah. He was just trying to scare me off." I shrug.
"Why? It's not like we're hurting anything. That's silly."
"That's what I said." I whisper back but then something Liora says captures my attention.
"Sheriff acts like this is the first time anyone has looked into the Date night killer. I mean I've got a whole shrine of information back at my house. Besides the killings and stuff the date night killer was the most exciting thing to happen to this town. Why wouldn't people want to know more."
"You're a strange girl aren't you?" Max jokes but the comment has already rooted in my brain.
She's got a shrine? That's not normal. It can't be.
I don't know much about Liora besides the fact that she's nineteen years old and dresses in all black most of the time. I want to call her goth but I don't know if that's the correct term in this day and age.
She's morbid. I guess someone would have to be in order to take interest in what we're doing here. She was one of the first people to volunteer for the documentary and I was so excited to finally have someone want to work with me that I didn't do much background on her. Maybe I should've.
The drive back to the library was long and by the time we got there both Max and Liora are sleep in the back. We're not going to be able to get any good work done tonight.
"Are you going to stay and do some work?" Braylon asks trying to hide the yawn behind his fist.
"No, I'm going to do a little driving around and then we can pick up first thing in the morning." I smile at him and pat his arm.
He doesn't exactly smile but I can see the relief in his expression. It's been a long day for everyone but I'm still keyed up.
We all go our seperate ways and I check the library real fast only to see that everyone else has gone as well. I lock up the equipment and go to my car. I only intended to drive around for a little while trying to scope out any good places to get some footage but by the time I'm finished it's well past midnight when I get home.
I've never been so ready to just drop into bed than I am right now.
Just as I get my night clothes on and am ready to crawl in the bed I hear the faint sound of tapping again.
"You can't be serious." I groan and walk over to the window. I don't see anyone outside so I instantly remember about the shrub that was blowing against the side of the house. The only issue is the sound doesn't seem like it's coming from the same place.
Terror ignites inside of me. I don't know if it's because I've been trying to get inside the mind of a serial killer all day or just because I'm so tired but I can feel the panic steady increase inside of me.
Panic and anger.
I'm not going to be scared in my own place.
"If there's someone out there you better cut it out. I don't have time for this shit tonight." I yell out to anyone who can hear me.
The tapping doesn't get any louder but it doesn't stop, "If you don't go away I'm going to call the cops." I yell louder. This time the tapping does stop. I wait for a couple of seconds to make sure that whatever it is out there making that noise is truly gone.
Feeling the relief finally settle over me I take a step toward my bed.
Another step sounds behind me.
Someone's -
Before I can even turn my head something thick and plastic is wrapped around my face. I fight with all I have in my body but whoever is behind me is strong. I can't turn. Can't get away. I claw at my face trying to get air but it's impossible. I'm suffocating.
I scream loud but it's muffeled by the plastic over my face.
My lungs scream for air and all too soon I can feel the darkness taking over. I fight until my arms and legs are too fatigued to move and slowly I drift off into unconsciousness.