Trespassers Guide to Death

He was considered a ghost, simply a figment of your imagination until he some how materialized with in your house and spirited what he wanted away leaving a single white rose. He was known for his unearthly stealth, his cunning escapes, and for the elegant, expensive and well guarded possessions he would acquire. He was an enigma, baffling every annalist, expert and psychologist. He was able to escape unscathed and unobserved from every heist and dilemma he could get himself into. 1

In Russia approximately one week after his last heist in the United States, the police cornered him, at a lavish mansion owned by an elderly woman. A call went out that night around midnight from that house to the police.2

“There is a burglar in the house! He shot my aunt please come he hasn’t seen me yet! I can’t believe he shot her, please hurry. Please, oh no, no, oh no he’s coming!” the phone was disconnected at that point; no one was able to call in or out.3

The police arrived in minutes and surrounded the place fearing a hostage situation. The camera crews showed up soon after the police but spotlights were turned on and the street was secured even as the street filled with viewers hungry for excitement. All entrances and exists were blocked, then and only then did the police lay siege to the house. 4

Interviews with friends of the elderly women that lived in the house as well as family members informed the police that she had no nephews. She had three nieces, one brother, no sons, two daughters and one grandson; he was only one and a half. No one except the corpse of an elderly woman was left in the house, nothing except open safes and a rose signaled a brake in. The corner said she died of a stroke a day and a half before the call went out.5

The family was able to account for her most expensive property, her jewelry, her expensive china, her extravagant cloths, her tasteful paintings, and her many expensive and ornate decorations were all there. In the house there were four safes, all the safes were open when the police came in. Every safe had cash, jewels, gold, and jewelry. Nothing was missing. The only clue beside the white rose was a silk shawl stolen three weeks earlier in Chicago, draped over the old woman’s face.6

The news filtered around the world and within hours the problem of one country became the talk of them all. This new master of the art of thievery was not just contained to the North America. On every news broadcast the world wide uproar was being filmed and discussed. Eyes turned to North America and Russia, the U.S had been dealing with him for months, but Russia had never had such burglaries and neither had any other nation, besides Canada. A new question was whispered around the world; who was next?7

“Damn it.” His rasping voice was the only sound to disturb the calm street blanketed in fresh white. “Damn it!” He said a little harsher. It was closer to morning than night by now, he reflected over his last two sleepless nights and last two sleepless days. He walked past the small houses in the quant little town, past the well spread out cottages on the out skirts and farther still. 8

“Damn it all!” he screamed to no one when he was far from everyone. His mind was racing as the bitter cold bit at his exposed skin. His plan had been perfect, his usual stealth uncompromised. What went wrong! The same question tore his mind apart.9

He heard a slight noise to his left. His narrowed eyes flickered to the side and he tilted his head in confusion as a doe softly trotted out across the otherwise deserted road. 10

“Damn it all.” He whispered once it was gone. He tip toed past the dear prints and walked on the road deeper into the forest every so often stopping to listen to the still night and feel the gentle wind tousle his hair. He felt an eerie calm about the place he simply couldn’t explain, but he liked it. He couldn’t stand being around people after he became so brutally aware of their fragility and simplicity. The sight of the happy people romping around by their cozy houses made him sick.11

The road he was on went directly to the next town; it was about a two and a half hours to drive on a good day, about 12 hours to walk in this snow covered forest. He was the closest to peaceful he had been in months. He heard wolf in the distance baying at the moon, he tilted his head up as he walked. Where ever that wolf and his pack were, they were looking up at the same beautifully mocking crescent moon. He waited for the others to join in with the wolf, but no other songs filled the sinister night. A single tear rolled down his face as he thought of the lonely wolf. Understanding rushed into the man’s mind; this lonely wolf isn’t baying at the moon he is crying out to this spiteful world.12

He heard another small whimper much closer than the poor wolf. He walked on and heard it again, a soft muffled sob. He took a few more steps and stopped in front of a mound of snow where the whimpering was emanating. He bent over, leaning so that his ear was towards the mound.13

He rested his hand upon the mound, and slowly brushed away the layers of snow. Under the mound was a small girl in an unbelievably ornate dress frozen and long dead. He rested his hand on her chest and tried to feel any of the warmth her fragile heart might be releasing; it wasn’t there. He stood back up and looked down at the frail child that had turned a lovely shade of blue, by his feet. She had long golden tresses that were still covered in a layer of bluish white, her eyes were closed and her long lashes were curled with small bits of snow resting in them. A single tear was frozen in place on her cheek, where many little freckles lied. Her lips were so deeply coated in lipstick that they still had a deep red luster to them, the same color as her dress. 14

The dress was deep red, with small diamonds, and rubies and many other stones he had never seen sprawled out in a lovely pattern across her petite bodice. The dress had no sleeves, making her frozen body seem warm some how. The dress had small straps, instead, that joined behind her small neck, where a long golden chain was secured. On the chain was a small gold crucifix with infinitesimal diamonds running along the edge; it was the plainest thing about her. She had black stockings and tiny black shoes that caught the gleam from the moon just like her tiny now frozen face did. 15

What bothered him most was not how young she was, or how alone she was in this frigid weather in a Russian forest near dawn. It was how her tiny smile resembled the moon; both crescents were more peaceful and free than he would ever be. He hated her for it, just as much as he despised the moon for its continual mockery. After taking one closer look at her frail body he stepped over the child and rekindled his brisk pace towards the next town, with a small gold cross in his tight fist.16

Three days after the now christened Phantom Panther broke into Mrs. Agnessa Sidorov’s house, the police could not figure out his identity or his motives. The question that most of the officials charged with the duty of finding him were more focused on was why he had gone to Russia in the first place. Since it was clear that he had not taken anything note worthy, what was the point of leaving the U.S where he had been staying for at least nine months.17

“We found DNA in both Mrs. Sidorov’s house,” and American official said,” and in two places broken into about three and seven months ago and a more random one nine months ago.”18

“Then why don’t we have this suspect in custody.” A bullish elderly police man said to the little official.19

“Because the DNA belong to a man who died nine months ago.”20

“What?” a Russian man turned to the now bright red official.21

“A man kidnapped a young man’s fiancé, the man paid all he had but it wasn’t enough for the kidnapper. The kidnapper shot the wife and the man, but was taken into custody. He’s in court, now facing double murder charges.”22

All he had to figure out was whether Italy, Denmark or Montréal was next, but the cause of the decision brought him more disdain than he had planned to experience for the rest of his some what restricted life.23

Canada was nice I do remember that, but I did come over here for a change. No sense of going back already. Italy was next, that was a simple decision but what should he do there was much more difficult. Three days earlier all he had wanted to do was stay in Russia with its calm, inviting, often deserted forests, and warm blankets of snow. And now he was being forced to move before he could even pull off his next job, and he didn’t even know who was running him out of the country. Was it an angry person he had stolen form, who had some how caught up with him? Did he leave any clues that could lead any one to him? No, of course not. I was meticulous.24

That wasn’t fully true and he knew it. If he had just left the women dead and cold where she lied he would not had had to walk to another town and away from the pandemonium around her house so quickly. He couldn’t think of any possible way that they could have traced him this far, though. Even if they had some how figured out who he once was, he wasn’t the same person. Even if they had physical evidence of him, like hair or blood, the U.S would have a record of his death.25

“It is not possible that they could find me even if they disregard my some what fabricated death. Then who, who on earth could find me or would follow me?” He stepped out into the snow and locked the door of the deserted house behind him. He put the little key back in its hiding place for the owners of the house when they returned and started at a brisk trot to the next town. From there he would start his trip to Italy with a bus that would take him to Minsk, and then he planned to walk toward Poland and find a ride out of there by bus or by plain. It all depended on how far the police had gotten.26

His plans went perfectly, he made it to the next town by night then he was a on a bus lying his head on the cold window within an hour. The bus stopped in Minsk, but he felt it unwise to board a plain so he found another bus that would take him to Poland’s border. He walked into Poland and boarded a train. He was unsure of the names of the places he stopped; he didn’t care as long as he was angling towards Italy. 27

He made it to Italy without any incidences and as a plus he was able to find a small apartment for himself away from the commotion of life being lived. He went to the window and looked out at the water in its calm reverie. He licked his lips slowly and looked up to the moon. It was a crescent; his lips twitched in agitation. He hadn’t seen any other version of that contemptuous moon in nine months, and now a new misery came to his mind as he reflected over the moon.28

He stepped out into the dark sky and walked around the city with a gold chain hanging from his fist. After twenty or so minutes he decided it was time to hide in his new abode before some one took notice of his lonely figure in the dark. He passed by a young couple with there arms wrapped around each other holding onto everything and not needing to fear anything except the intensity of their love. His nose scrunched up in disgust but he simply walked by unnoticed. He climbed the steps to his second story apartment and opened the door. He stepped into the dark feeling something under his foot smother into the hard wood floor.29

He flipped the light switch on and saw under his foot a single white rose.30

An hour later he was on a train from Italy. He didn’t check where this train would take him he just needed to go as far as he could get as fast as he could. When the train stopped he walked off a little shaken but still strong, so he grabbed the small bag he carried his things in and walked until it was turning pink on the horizon after the long night.31

He looked up at the same mocking moon he had seen for nine months straight; it did nothing to comfort him in the abyss he felt trapped in.32

“Our song, one time, twist and twine your fate with mine. The morn is bright, the night is shy, twist and twine your fate with mine. Crying out, singing loud, oh twist and twine oh twist and twine. 33

“Your hand, my heart, death and life oh twist and twine. Good is bad and bad is good so hold my hand and watch us die. The morn is bright, the night is shy, oh twist and twine your fate with mine.” 34

He jumped around to see the small child singing behind, but there was no such figure any where to be seen in the distance. He looked around puzzled, but no one at all was to be seen in the purest part of the day; dawn. He walked on quickly and was happy to leave the voice far, far behind.35

He rented a room in a large city some where north east of Italy, in France he assumed because of the French accent of the bellboy and clerk. He stayed in the room for a few hours but hunger and his new found paranoia forced him to find a place to eat out in the fresh air. He hoped the hustle and bustle of mundane and pointless lives would reassure and calm him if only to a small degree. No such luck. He went back to the room utterly exhausted but he wasn’t looking around the room expecting a small girls figure to sing to him.36

He lied in the bed and fell asleep for the first time since his train ride to Italy. It wasn’t as rejuvenating as he had hoped, because soon after his eyes closed and his mind blanked he found his self in a forest covered in snow. He had the small golden chain and cross in his fist as the cold bit into his skin. He heard a small giggle behind him but was surprised to see nothing behind him; just the ghostly whisper of the wind.37

He heard it again but when he jumped around nothing was there.38

“Our song, one time,” he heard a small voice to the side of him; nothing was there. “Twist and twine your fate with mine.” He jumped around as the small voice giggled sweetly away then back again. 39

“The morn is bright, the night is shy, twist and twine your fate with mine. The dead are weepy, but trespassers can’t be freed. So sing to me sweetly and don’t run to long, cause when I ketch up your song will be done.” He turned but saw nothing in the eerie pure white forest. He turned and turned in circles but nothing was around for miles.40

“Wake up.” His breath caught as a dry soft voice whispered into his ear. 41

He sat up in his bed drenched with sweat. His breathing was just as frantic as his pulse in the darkness of the unfamiliar room. He tried to calm down, and soon he was able to breathe in without gulping air. He smoothed out his dark hair and tried to wipe some of the perspiration off his face. He closed his eyes with his lids barely fluttering shut and his body shaking terribly.42

“Hehehehehehe…”43

His arm flung towards the light and in seconds a crisp white light was in the room, and nothing else was there; except a single white rose by his door.44

He left the room and passed by the clerk without checking out. He didn’t care if it was three in the morning and dawn was far from braking, he needed to get as far away as he could. He walked quickly, without stopping, to the coast of France then hopped aboard the first flight out to Ireland. In Ireland he took a cab to Dublin then walked to the most middle of no where place he could find. 45

Satisfied that he was lost enough he laid down to rest beneath a tree in the lush green grass. He woke up when the sun was falling from the sky and the dark fringes of night were just approaching, so he got up and started his trek to a city he had never heard of. When he got there he rented a room in an inn that was as far from the middle of the small village as he could make it. The innkeeper was a little old woman nearing seventy that was all smiles and was content in sharing her dinner with a stranger; she was simply happy to have a visitor. 46

She showed him to his room and went to bed leaving him alone in the dark; a storm was coming and her electricity was unreliable. He put down the bag but it missed the bed and all of his money spilled out across the floor. He picked it up slowly and put it back into the bag by the crescent moon light. The money sat between a few extra pairs of cloths and underwear, two pictures, a toothbrush, a hat, a sweater, a jacket he never wore and three stolen sculptures.47

He gently deposited the bag on his bed and turned towards the bathroom. He got in bed and slept dreamlessly for the night. When he woke up he grimaced some what pleasantly. He looked towards the door and his grimace became a smirk. He twisted the tiny gold chain between his thumb and middle finger until he heard the women walking around. He packed his things and walked down stairs.48

“Leaving already, dear?” the old women waddled to him obviously miserable about the way the morning was going. He nodded towards her and kept walking.49

“Well then, hope you had a good nights rest. And oh, this came for you.” He turned slowly and in her hands was a single white rose. He crossed the floor to her out stretched hand took the rose and grinned dubiously. He reached into a pocket pulled out a gun and shot her in the head.50

After he draped a nice cloth over her face he walked away from the village, blood on his hands, he thought over his predicament. He stopped dead in his tracks as mulled over every word from the little song.51

The dead are weepy, but trespassers can’t be freed. What could that possibly mean? He remembered what his last dream had said. The little voice he kept hearing sang every word like a nursery rime, and the rhyme was just on the edge of familiarity.52

“Twist and twine your fate with mine.” He mumbled, still standing in place. “Twist and twine your fate with mine?” he repeated. He stepped forward a few times then stopped suddenly as he looked up to the same moon he had hated for months; trespassers can’t be freed.53

“Our song, one time, twist and twine your fate with mine.” He said slowly tears whelming in his eyes.54

“The morn is bright, the night is shy, twist and twine your fate with mine. Crying out, singing loud, twist and twine your fate with mine.” A little girl’s voice sang behind him; but he didn’t dare turn around. 55

“Your hand, my heart, death and life oh twist and twine. Good is bad and bad is good so hold my hand and watch us die. The morn is bright, the night is shy, oh twist and twine your fate with mine. The dead are weepy, but trespassers can’t be freed. So sing to me sweetly and don’t run to long, cause when I ketch up,” it paused and he was able to breathe in again, but he kept his watering eyes tightly held together.56

“Please no, not yet.” He wept and begged as he fell to his knees. “Please not yet, I have money I can pay you! Please not yet.” his eyes still were tightly held together and a gold cross was balled in his fist.57

“Your song will be done.” He screamed and fell in the lush grass as the last line of his song was sung. The tiny golden cross rested on the grass with his fists still tightly clenched around the chain refusing to let go of it in death.58

“I just wonder how he got into this business of thievery.” 59

“It’s simple Mr. Loid, after his fiancé was kidnapped the kidnapper asked for money, but what he gave wasn’t enough. The kidnapper had thought he killed the man but when he told his lawyer the location of the body to make a deal with prosecutors, the body wasn’t there. The police first thought he was just lying but then a near by hospital had seen and treated the man they thought had died. The hospital said after a few days he simply vanished from his hospital bed, and about two months later he broke into his first house like a ghost from the dead. We only found out he wasn’t dead about month ago because the kidnapper hadn’t said anything different and there was no evidence to the contrary. Michel Lewis was dead; at least to all of us.”60

“But why didn’t he just go back to his life how it was before?”61

“He probably went crazy over the death of his fiancé, he had lost everything and the added stress of a near death experience himself; he simply snapped. He might have figured had he had more money his wife would be alive and his old life wouldn’t be dead, so he got more money.”62

“Why Russia I wonder, and how did he end up in Ireland dead?”63

“Is this going to show up in the news paper tomorrow Mr. Loid?”64

“Chris what’s with this ‘Mr. Loid’ business, you worked with my father on the police force how many years?” he paused and looked up at his elder.65

“Too many.” Chris smiled.66

“Exactly I wouldn’t use you like this, and any way my editor has the story he wants.”67

“Fine then I’ll answer, off the record right?” Chris’s eyes narrowed.68

“Of course.” Jacob Loid waved his hand for Chris to go on.69

“Well we are unsure about why Russia but we think he started to get real paranoid towards the end, and started seeing stuff you know. When we found his body in Ireland we were able to trace some other sittings of him, in Italy, France and a few other places. We believe he killed this old in keeper because she caught on to him or heard about the white roses in the news. And he had skipped around so much because he thought some one was following him.”70

“Kind of morbid, white roses.”71

“The man was obsessed with death.” Chris laughed a little.72

“What’s so funny?”73

“Just kind of ironic, it was like he was living on borrowed time. For the last nine months, like some final destination thing.”74

“What?” Jacob looked over at Chris with a huge smile.75

“Think, he narrowly escaped death then nine months later he dies from a stroke. It was like it was his time and he was just borrowing it for those nine months, like a debt onto his life.”76

“You’re right that is kind of ironic.” Jacob looked up at a full moon. “More ironic that the first house he hit in Russia had an old woman that had died from a stroke.”77

“Well I guess I have to agree it was odd coincidences.”78

“When’d he kill that kid, though?” Jacob looked over confused.79

“Well we think he killed that little Russian girl after he got away from the Russian police, strangled her and left her to freeze in the snow. We found her body on a road between the last two towns he was seen in, in Russia. Poor girl looked so calm though, with a single tear on her peaceful face. It was like death made her sad but it wasn’t intruding into her life just gently leading her away, while he died with the greatest look of fear and pain on his face.”80

“I guess when you trespass onto death’s land you can’t just walk out free from it all, hun?81