Both my grandfather and I appreciate everyone’s well wishes, truly more than words can express. Posting these stories has become something he gets excited to do. In his words:
“Knowing I can finally get the word out on all the weirdness that goes on in this world, not having to worry about the department biting me in the ass, it’s good. It feels good. I know I won’t be kicking around much longer, but if these folks really enjoy reading about the cases, I can’t think of a better way to spend the rest of my time until I punch my ticket. Make sure you tell them ‘thanks’ from the old guy with the weird stories.”
So the very first one, the first Impossible One, that was…ah, what, ‘76, 77’? Somewhere in there. Around a year after I made detective. Anyways, I’m sitting at my desk when the Sergeant comes up and whispers something to my partner, this guy Manthe. I think I told you about him before, you know what happened to him. So Sarge whispers to Manthe and heads back to his office; Manthe just kinda hangs his head a bit.
I ask him what’s going on and he stands up and tells me to follow him. We go to the car, and on our way to wherever we’re going, he gives me a little speech. Now, I’m paraphrasing here.
“I’ve been a detective 11 years now, Steve [my grandpa said it was fine if I used his name]. I’ve solved a lot of cases. I’m not the best detective there’s ever been, but I’m damn good at my job. Generally speaking, if there’s a murder, I’ll get the guy, or gal…one time it even ended up being a dog. But you get what I mean.
“But sometimes…” he says. “…sometimes there’s cases you can’t solve, no matter how good you are. Sometimes things just won’t make a lick of sense. The clues will take you to a dead end, the evidence will just raise more questions…
“You know when you do a puzzle, sometimes you’ll have the box there so you can see what you’re supposed to be putting together? It’s like you’re doing a puzzle, you know what it should look like, you got all the pieces on the table in front of you, but they just don’t go together. There’s no reason why. They just don’t.
“The department doesn’t like word of these getting out. You’re not under any obligation to not talk about them, don’t think I’m trying to scare you or anything, they sut prefer to keep them quiet, don’t wanna scare the people, you know? We got a name for em’ around the department, just a dumb little name, we call em’ the “Impossible Ones”, ‘cause that’s what they are, no two ways about it. They’re impossible. You might’ve heard someone mention them before.”
I had. I’d heard the term “Impossible One” in passing, never really knew what it was about.
So Steve says “We’re headed to one now. I knew it was just a matter of time until we caught one. Sarge got the details from some of the uni’s down there.”
We drove out to Oak Creek, you know, the farmland out there? We had to drive down this long dirt road between two giant plots of corn stalks, and finally this house comes into view, got the black and whites parked all around it, yellow tape, the whole deal. We pull up, and the Lieutenant was there, which…you know, I wasn’t used to that. Manthe tells me “whenever we get a weird one, they send out a higher up”.
LT just shakes his head and tells us “good luck”. So, you know, we walk past the tape, everybody’s out there doing their jobs, there’s a group crowded around this big flag pole they have. We’re walking up to the house to talk to the responding officers, and I overheard some folks talking about how “it just doesn’t make sense”, you know, “how is it possible”, stuff like that. So right away, I’m getting that something is off, but I still don’t know why we’re even there.
We get in the house, and a few uni’s are standing in the foyer. This house…it was…it wasn’t a nice place. There were no walls, or, well, no drywall; it was just the slats, like someone had started building the house but given up halfway through. We go up and ask for a rundown of what’s happened, and two of the officers tell us to follow them upstairs.
One of the uni’s says, “I’ve been on the job about 2 years, I’ve seen some messed up things, but this has got to be the worst.”
They take us up to a bedroom on the second floor, and before we turn to go in, the uni says “brace yourself”. I don’t remember what I was expecting, exactly, probably a whole lot of blood, gus, you know, something like that. But there wasn’t any. There was no mess. The room was absolutely immaculate, like they’d gone over it with a toothbrush just before we walked in.
The bedroom was empty except for a small, almost like a TV tray, you know, that stands up? Yeah, there’s one of those, and…there’s medical supplies on it. You know, bandages, wraps, scalpel, scissors, sutures. All of them clean as a whistle.
But the body…
There was a body on the floor, sort of halfway leaning against the wall. The feet…the feet had been sewn on. They were much paler than the rest of his body, you know…like the feet clearly came from another person. Again, there was no blood, but at the same time, there was evidence that…that the…”operation” if you want to call it that, happened in that very room.
Weirder yet, one of his hands had also been stitched on, but just one of them. This body’s right hand, it uh…it belonged to its original owner, ha, and it…it had a stitching needle and thread in it, like the son of a bitch had been doing this to himself. Problem was, his feet and hand, the ones that actually belonged to him, were nowhere to be found.
As…you know, as freaky as this was, it was the smell that was the worst, It was the most rank, putrid dead body smell I’ve ever encountered, and I’ve smelled quite a few.
Now, later, they did an autopsy. The, uh…the cause of death couldn’t be determined, but…the level of decomp on the outside was…you know, hours, by the time Manthe and I showed up on the scene. I don’t remember what the call was, or, you know, how it was found out that there was a potential murder there, but when we showed up the body was still fresh.
They did the autopsy not long after that, and the decomp on the inside of the body, you know, his organs and all that? At least a month. Like he’d been sitting against that wall for a month. Now, I don’t know how much you know about human decomp, hopefully not much, ha, but it happens in stages.
Right after a person dies, first few days, not too much happens. Then they’ll start bloating and all that. After about a week, the skin will start to turn black, and like I said, none of this had happened yet. But on the inside, a little after a week, things will start breaking down, maggots, bugs, insects, all that, they’ll start laying eggs, feeding off the organs. And the organs, they’ll start breaking down, leak outta the body.
Sounds gross, I know. But…so the outside of the body was fine, as far as decomposition, but the inside of the body was just…I don’t know how to put it…it was just…flakes. Like dried fruit, his lungs, spleen, kidneys, bladder, stomach, it was all decomposed, covered in creepy crawlers. It didn’t make any sense. It was…drumroll…impossible.
And even more than that, you know how I said the room was perfectly clean? Not a drop of blood? It’s because the body had been completely exsanguinated. I mean completely. The body shouldn’t have looked the way it did on the outside considering what had happened on the inside. If I wouldn’t have seen it with my own eyes, I would’ve sworn to you it was a, uh, you know, like a wax statue or something.
But that’s not the weirdest thing, not to me at least. So, uh…outside, when we pulled up, there…there was that group of uni’s gathered around the flagpole.
When we were done, you know, looking around the inside of the house, trying to make heads or tails of what happened, the folks that brought us into the house told us to follow them out. We get down to the flagpole, and this thing is big. Must’ve been 25, 30 feet tall, big as the kind you’d see at a school.
We walk up and kinda get everyone to clear a path for us so we can see what all the commotion is about. Manthe was walking ahead of me, and I just hear him say “Jesus fuckin’ Christ”. I look around him and I see what everyone is looking at.
There is a body at the base of the flagpole. I don’t mean next to it, I don’t mean near it. The flag pole had gone through the man’s lower sternum. Blood had pooled around the area, and by the looks of it the man hadn’t been dead longer than a few hours.
Now, after the fact, we had learned that the flagpole had been on that property since the 1960’s. At least on paper, it hadn’t been replaced or anything since then. There were two flags at the top, an American flag and a [Our State] flag. Both of them were blowing in the wind, and they were clean. Besides the normal weather-wear a flag gets, they were both clean.
And so was the flagpole.
A little dirt here and there, maybe, but for a body to have impaled by it, and for it to have slid down the flagpole, both it and the flags should’ve been covered in blood and guts. And there was no way anyone had lifted the flagpole from the ground and then dropped it on him, there was just no way.
Craziest thing about that one? Guy had died from a brain aneurysm.
Ah, and before I forget, the guy on the flagpole was the owner of the property.
The guy inside, sewing on new hands and feet for himself?
Never identified, and neither were his new extremities.
My grandpa then said, “Well, now you know the first one. Next time you come over I’ll tell you about the very last one. Don’t worry though, there’s still a few in between them. I was also considering putting a call out to some colleagues, I’m sure there’s cases in other states and departments even I’ve never heard of.”