I’ve Seen A Lot Of Sick Things As A Police Officer, But I’ve Never Seen Something Like This

Warning: this story is very disturbing.

This is the final installment of the Tommy Taffy series.

Chiara Cremaschi
Chiara Cremaschi

As a police officer, I’ve seen a lot of things during my time on the force. A lot of awful, sick things. Things that’d make you wonder if there’s any good left in mankind. Things that I’ve carried with me for years, things I’ll never forget. I’ve seen acts of human cruelty that exceed any horror you could conjure. But there’s one incident that stands out above the rest. One that has haunted me for years and has been the cause of many restless nights. An incident that still causes my breath to hitch in my chest at the mere thought of it. Something that terrifies me to this day.

The night I met Tommy Taffy.

July 24th, 1987

“Shit we got a 911 call over on Tenner Street,” My partner, Henry, said, leaning across the driver seat and opening my door.

I steadied the two coffees in my hands and ducked down, sliding behind the wheel. I passed a steaming cup to him and sighed heavily.

“Great. And here I was hoping we’d have a quiet night. What’re we walking into?”

“Dispatch said a young girl called it in, something about a domestic disturbance,” Henry replied, taking a cautious sip.

“Fantastic, I love getting in the middle of arguing couples,” I sighed.

Related

Elias Witherow

Elias is a prolific author of horror fiction. His books include The Third Parent, The Black Farm, Return to the Black Farm,and The Worst Kind of Monsters.

“Growing up reading the works of King, admiring the art of Geiger, and knowing fiends like Pinhead left me as a pretty jaded horror fan today. It takes a lot to get the breath to hitch in my throat and the hair on the back of my neck to stand on end.. My fiance is quite similar, so when he eagerly begged me to let him read me a short story about The Black Farm by Elias Witherow, I knew it had to be good... And I was not dissapointed. Elias has a way of painting a picture that you can feel with all your senses and plays the tunes of terror created when our world meets one much more dark and forces you to keep turning the pages hungry for more.” —C. Houser

More From Thought Catalog