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THE CONFESSION OF STANLEY WILLARD – THE GHOST OF RIDGEMOOR DRIVE – PART 2

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It’s been just over a year since Stanley Willard confessed to being a child killer to me.

After his confession from August 2018, I immediately went to the North Hollywood Police Department and handed over the recording. My phone was returned and I went home that night feeling as if I were a character in a Thomas Harris novel.

Days later I received a phone call from the Chief of Police telling me they had picked up Stanley and had him in custody.

“So, that’s great. What’s the problem?”

“He’s refusing to talk to us. He will only talk to you. He demands to only talk to you.”

“Oh…”

The next thing I know, I was sitting in a dark interrogation room at the N.H.P.D., directly across from Stanley, wondering how the hell I got myself into this mess. The Chief, and his two detectives, Billings and Wilson, watched from the other side, through a one-way mirror.

“Stanley… I can’t help you… you know that, right?

“But, I trust ya. I know you believe me.”

“I understand that, Stanley… thank you… but, you’ve confessed to multiple murders. Children that you’ve murdered. That changes everything.”

“Ya gotta help me. I can’t take their voices anymore. The screaming. They’re in ma’ head.”

“Where are the bodies, Stanley? There are no bodies. That’s what they want to know. That’s what they need to know. You’ve confessed to it, described it in every detail, but there are no bodies to back you up. They’ve got to have bodies to pursue this.”

“Ya wanna know what a little boy sounds like when you rape him?”

“Where’s the body, Stanley? Help us help you.”

“I smashed a little girl’s skull in once… or, twice… I can’t remember.”

“Give the parents closure.”

Long pause.

“Would you go with me?”

“Where?”

“To the drainage pipe where I put Lance… his body… I got to get his screams outta ma’ head!”

“What makes you think if the body is found, the screaming is going to stop?”

“Oh, it just gotta! The screams just gotta! They will. They must!”

“The screaming will stop if you take us to where you put Lance?”

“Yes. I’ll take you there… I’ll take you… Just make this horrible crying STOP!”

“OK. We’re gonna get you some help, too. How’s that? Medication. Doctors. A place to sleep. Whatever it takes. How does that sound?”

Stanley began to cry.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I know I need the help. I can’t stop all this wailing.”

At that moment, The Police Chief, and detectives Billings and Wilson came in. “OK, Stanley.” The Chief said, “We’re all going to take a ride to the drainage pipe. How’s that?”

“Oh, Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

——-

It was raining and coming down in thick sheets.

As I rode in the cruiser with the Chief, Stanley in the cruiser behind us with the detectives, I had to wonder, surely, he’s mentally ill, but that doesn’t mean he did it. It could be all a made-up horror tale that he’s just good at telling. Or, he did do it, and Mother Nature is hiding the bodies. Or, he forgot. Or again, he’s leading us all on a wild goose chase. But, he knows so much information… but, no proof or evidence. Also, you can’t rule out the possibility of the Supernatural. Why? In all cases, everything must be considered, no matter how fantastical it may seem.

Some People are Evil. Or, Evil possesses them.

When someone is murdered violently, does the Spirit actually wait till their body is discovered to have closure? And, then, walk into the Light?

Is it their Spirit that somehow catches our human attention, and in someway guides us to the body?

Or, is it just one F’ed up m*ther f*cker?

The cruisers turned on to Ridgemoor Drive. It was late and the headlights against the trees in the darkness played mind-tricks; making shadows seem to literally jump-out and sway at you.

As we made our way up the hillside, I could have sworn I saw movement where the drainage pipe was up ahead, or, perhaps it was the rain and reflections.

“That’s odd…” The Chief said.

“What?”

“I thought I saw something.”

Him, too?

Water cascaded down the hillside from the pipe.

The rain fell in big drops as the wind danced in gusts.

We parked; the red and blue lights from the cruisers flicked hypnotically like strobe-lights across the hill and trees; almost dizzying as we got out of the cars and edged our way up to the piping that was gushing water.

Stanley stayed close to me, his head was lowered like a wounded animal and he was still crying. “I’m so sorry, I’m just so sorry… but, please make it stop.”

When we came to the drainage pipe, the Chief wasted no time, he had Billings change into a  yellow waterproof suit; he then began the process of clearing the brush from the pipe entrance. Wilson shadowed him and pulled the strainer off. This allowed for more water to gush through. Billings cleared more debris out, then aimed a flashlight up into a dreadful darkness.

All of us were on edge. My instincts told me we were just about to un-cover death and be stained for it.

Stanley whimpered. “I’m sorry, Lance, for what I done to you. I really am. I really am. But, ya gotta stop your screaming!”

Billings tied a rope around his waist, slipped a helmet on with a mic attached, then started shimmying his way through the pipe and water.

“See anything?” Wilson asked, holding the other end of the rope steadily.

“Negative.”

There was a long silence. Then, “Oh my God,” Billings said. “ I smell something bad, man. Real bad.”

He was at least fifteen feet deep into the tunneling.

“I think I see something… I’m not sure… moving in deeper to get a closer look…”

He was now about twenty-five feet through … Thirty feet … Thirty-five …Forty…

“I think I see something… Holy sh*t! Something moved! I wanna get a closer look.”

“I don’t like this,” The Chief said. “Tell him to comeback. Abort it…”

“Hey!” Wilson adjusted his mic. “Chief says it’s time to come back! Abort it.”

“Wait!” Echoed from inside, startling all of us, including Stanley. “Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s a cavity… some type of cavern down here… this isn’t on the construction plans… no way…the smell… Hey, I see bodies, but… something’s not right.”

“Bring him back.” The Chief repeated.

Wilson began to reel in the rope slowly.

THERE WAS AN AGONIZING SCREAM FROM BILLINGS!

Suddenly, the rope was being pulled and yanked from the inside at lightening speed. The detective’s screams were guttural and sickening.

We all grabbed for the rope to help Wilson, but it sliced through our hands like a red-hot iron.

Fire blistered & bloody, rope burns are nasty!

Stanley screamed and ran for cover in the cruiser’s back seat. Cowering in a fetal position.

For a moment, I figured him to be a liar for attention.

Billings’ screams stopped. The rope fell limp. The rain and wind slammed us in a high frenzy. No one moved.

“Pull the rope back.” The Chief finally said.

 Wilson reeled in a tattered thread of rope with no Billings on the other side.

The Chief looked puzzled at what was left. “We’re gonna need a lot more back up… I’m sending you back to the station, Waide… you can go from there… we’ll keep Stanley the rest of the night to dry-out…It’s gonna be a long day.”

I didn’t say anything, but I knew it was far from over. I was in bed deep with a self-confessed serial killer/child rapist who knew way too much, no evidence, no proof, lots of facts, something Supernatural, or something else…

Welcome to Studio City.

Waide Aaron Riddle

Author: Waide Aaron Riddle

Waide Riddle is an award-winning author, poet & screenwriter.He is the author of the paperbacks "The Power of Summer!," "Dear Tom Hardy: I Love You!," "The Night Elvis Kissed James Dean," "They Crawl on Walls," "Midnight On 6th Street" and "The Chocolate Man: A Children’s Horror Tale." All available via Amazon.Many of Waide’s poems and literary works are archived at the UCLA Library of Special Collections, USC ONE Institute/LGBT Library, Poets House/NYC, Simon Wiesenthal Center/The Museum of Tolerance & the Bodleian Library at Oxford University.Mr. Riddle is also an award-winning filmmaker. His short films "LOST HILLS, CA.," "Two Men Kissing" and "The Lines in Their Faces" are Official Selections and available via Amazon Prime.He is a proud member of: SAG/AFTRA and Sundance Association for Country-Western Dancing/San Francisco.Waide was born in Kingsville, Texas and raised in Houston. He now resides in Los Angeles.

Waide Aaron Riddle
Waide Riddle is an award-winning author, poet & screenwriter.He is the author of the paperbacks "The Power of Summer!," "Dear Tom Hardy: I Love You!," "The Night Elvis Kissed James Dean," "They Crawl on Walls," "Midnight On 6th Street" and "The Chocolate Man: A Children’s Horror Tale." All available via Amazon.Many of Waide’s poems and literary works are archived at the UCLA Library of Special Collections, USC ONE Institute/LGBT Library, Poets House/NYC, Simon Wiesenthal Center/The Museum of Tolerance & the Bodleian Library at Oxford University.Mr. Riddle is also an award-winning filmmaker. His short films "LOST HILLS, CA.," "Two Men Kissing" and "The Lines in Their Faces" are Official Selections and available via Amazon Prime.He is a proud member of: SAG/AFTRA and Sundance Association for Country-Western Dancing/San Francisco.Waide was born in Kingsville, Texas and raised in Houston. He now resides in Los Angeles.
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