Detective Hamby calmly walked into the police station, a cup of coffee in one hand and a file in the other. The file contained the gruesome details of a serial killer who had been terrorizing the city of Smelding for five years. Six times a year, on the third of every other month, the killer took the life of a young woman. The bodies had never been found, but the patterns were alike. A young brunette woman with light brown eyes. They were taken during the nighttime, always last seen at a bar or club. Social status was of no importance. And of course, they were lost without a trace. Hamby had been working the case for about three years now, but evidence was slim, for the killer was intelligent. They did however have some clues. The women were always taken from different bars and clubs. He only targeted young brunette women. The victims cars were always left behind, which suggested that the killer took them into his car. It had been difficult to gain any other evidence. Thus, the other cops at the station had nicknamed him "The Elusive One". Or, for short, just "Elusive". Hamby, however, was determined to find him, no matter how elusive or mysterious he was.

Mr.Brown was a quiet old man. He lived alone in a little blue house, cushioned by a white-washed picket fence. It was the very picture of an American suburb. His wife, Linda, had died five years before. He could still remember everything about her. Her shiny, multidimensional brown hair. The way her light, almost hazel brown eyes could brighten a room. But she was gone. Gone into the shadowy void of no return called death. Taken from this world by a flick of the knife on her white tender throat. A mugger, the police later told him. Mr.Brown missed her, missed her almost more than he could bear. When he had been sitting by her hospital bedside, as the life slowly left her, he made a promise. He promised he would always remember her, and never let her memory fade into the depths of time. And keep that promise he did.

"Hey, Hamby, you make any progress last night?" Sheriff Hannigan asked.
"Nope. No luck. But I do have a plan. So you know how Elusive always targets the same type of person, in the same type of setting?"
"You know I do. What about it?" Hannigan replied cockily.
"Well, I think it might be his only weakness. He's poised to strike tonight. I say we stake out all the clubs and bars he hasn't been to, set up a bait, and keep an eye on all the women who fit the profile." Hamby thought his idea was brilliant. Why hadn't anyone ever thought of it before?
"No. Do you know how many bars and clubs are in Smelding? One hundred and thirty two. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. Anyways, he's only been to thirty of them. How are we going to get enough cops to cover that? And do you know how many brunettes are in this city? At least about thirty thousand! The chances of catching him are incredibly slim. We don't even know what he looks like!" Hannigan scoffed at his idea. Hamby regarded this silently. There were about a hundred cops in Smelding's police force. Not enough to cover the hundred and two bars. Maybe...maybe if they employed some volunteer policemen or neighborhood watchmen. Maybe then it would work.
"Hey, sheriff, we only need about two more guys. Maybe we can get some neighborhood watch people to help out. Hell, even a desk duty person can help. They can call for back-up if they find him."
"Are you really that bent on the idea? Fine then. Fine. Employ them. Employ whoever you want for Pete's sake! Just mark my words; this plan is destined to fail. The odds are weak, even if he is at one of our stake-outs, how are we going to tell if it's him? Who are you going to tell them to look out for? A guy flirting with a brunette, taking her home? You'd arrest half the male population! How are you going to tell the difference?"
"That's what I have to find out." Hamby said with coolness. He sharply turned away and began to think furiously.

Mr.Brown was sitting in his living room, reading and engaging murder mystery, when he saw an eerie sight. A large lump had began to form under the carpet; it was about the size of a human head. It quivered ever so slightly, and then began to creep slowly toward Mr.Brown. With a start, he leaped out of his chair and gave a hoarse yell. The creature under the carpet slowly gained speed, heading towards him like a high speed train. It soon toppled over his small pedestal table. Mr.Brown leaped out of his stiff wooden chair, lifted it over his head, and smashed it on top of the bump. He hit it again and again, violently, his eyes blazing with a dangerous mix of anger and fear. His broken lamp that had fallen to the floor with the table flickered weakly, casting a faint yellow light upon his glasses. After a brutal round with Mr.Brown's chair, the lump under the floor slowly subsided, getting smaller and smaller with each attack. It appeared to melt like butter on a hot summer day. With a pant, Mr.Brown slowly put down his chair. With a strong look of hate in his eyes, he slowly lowered himself back down, picked up his book, and began to read. The creature under the carpet was no new occurrence to him. It had happened two weeks prior, scaring him to near death. But this time, he would not fear it. He was not afraid of anything. He only felt pure hatred that burst from his soul in an ugly black stream.

Hamby was stuck. The problem that faced him was an irritating itch that couldn't be scratched. How could they tell whether it was Elusive or not? He had his face buried in his hands when his thoughts were interrupted by the slam of his office door.
"What is it Jonah?" He barked at his young assistant.
"It's a y-young woman, sir. She said s-s-she has something urgent to tell y-y-you." The nervous, curly haired youth stuttered.
"Alright, bring her in." What harm could it do? In walked a young blonde woman, incredibly tall and beautiful. She shyly took a seat in front of Hamby's desk.
"What is it you wanted to tell me, ma'am?" He asked.
"I have something you might want to know about my friend's murder." She half whispered in a French accent.
"Which friend, which murder?"
"My friend Adriana. She was murdered almost two months ago. I haven't told you what I saw because I was scared. Scared I might have actually seen her murderer and let her go with him. And I felt so ashamed. I, I should have never let her go with him!" Her mouth quivered, and a silent tear fell down her cheek, escaping without a sound.
"Please Ms...."
"Ms.Valois."
"Ms.Valois, please. I know this must be extremely difficult, but if you want to help Adriana and other women who might be at risk, you must tell us everything you saw." She took a deep sigh, and, with a shudder, began her story.

"It was the third of April, Adriana's birthday. I was her best friend, so i took her to the Sapphire Club; you know, the new one downtown? Anyways, we were just partying, having a good time, when some random old dude came up to us. He totally ignored me, the whole time he was hanging out with us he just talked and flirted with Adriana. He bragged that he owned a company worth over ten million dollars. Apparently he was filthy rich. And, Adriana, she was a good person, she just had a lot of money problems in her life. She dated guys with a lot of dough, people who could supply her needs. And the old man was going to be her next supplier. He looked really smart too, although kinda worn down. Wore corduroy pants, a button down shirt, a red bow-tie, and a cashmere sweater. Looked really old fashioned. His hair was going away; he only had brown hair on the sides of his head. Oh, and he had glasses too. By the end of the night, it was pretty clear Adriana was going to catch a ride from the old man. I saw her walk away from me with him. I saw that stupid man take her!" She now burst into full blown tears, they poured down her face like a salty waterfall, eroding hear makeup and composure.
"Thank you for telling me this. It may be crucial in finding the killer. Now, this is important. What did Adriana look like?"
"She had long, dark brown hair, and beautiful light brown eyes. Her eyes were gorgeous. They were so light, almost a caramel, with shards of green and gold mixed in." Hamby leaned back into his chair with a slight smile.
"Thank you ma'am. You have no idea how much you've helped our case." She nodded her golden head, stood up, and slowly left, wobbling slightly on her stilettos. Hamby knew what to do.

Mr.Brown was excited. Tonight, Linda would come alive again in his memory; radiant, shining, and beautiful. He slowly pulled his thin, brown cashmere sweater over his white button down shirt. A bright red bow tie, the color of freshly spilled blood, was fixated at his collar. His brown corduroy pants that Linda had bought for him six years ago still fit, although they were getting a bit snug around the waist. It was the outfit he always wore for the Day of Remembrance. It was the outfit Linda had loved the most, the one she insisted he wore whenever they went out together. He slowly looked into the mirror. No young woman in their right mind would have gone home with him unless they thought he was a man of means. He stuffed his battered leather wallet into his front pocket and it bulged quite nicely, making it look like he had a lot of money in there. Slowly, he weakly smiled, his bushy eyebrows rising comically. Mr.Brown pulled on his comfortable brown penny loafers, walked out the front door, and closed it with a nice solid thump. He would be back soon.
Hamby fondled his virgin martini possessively; it provided a nice distraction for his hands. His pale green eyes slowly scanned the bar over and over again, making meticulous observations. So far no one had come looking like the man described by Ms.Valois. He had other men stationed at various bars and clubs across Smelding, all looking out for the killer. He soon grew lax in attention, the foggy haze of the bar seeped into his mind. Hamby's eyes slowly wandered onto a young, attractive, dark headed lady. She was sitting by herself at an empty table. An elderly man approached her confidently, the top of his head gleaming under the hazy red and blue lights. He drew his brown cashmere coat around himself, and began to talk and flirt with the young woman. She at first appeared apprehensive, but as time wore on she began to smile and laugh with him. The old man pushed up his glasses and stood up, offering his arm to the lady. She smiled bashfully and accepted it, her long eyelashes flitting over her light brown eyes. With a jolt, Hamby became aware of what was happening. He quickly murmured into his shoulder, "I need back-up immediately, found the suspect and am on my way to his home. Updates to follow." He shrugged on his black jacket and swiftly followed them out. From the bar he trailed them to a little blue house in the suburbs. Back-up was on the way, so he confidently rushed into the house which the old man and the young woman entered. His gun was drawn, the black weapon of death gleamed in his hand, ready to defend its owner. Hamby walked in on a sight that would haunt him forever. The young woman was sitting on the floor, her hands, mouth, and feet bound with clean white rags. Her previously shiny and straight hair was in a knotted mess, and bruises were beginning to blossom on her arms and neck. A bright scarlet line wrapped around her neck like a ruby choker. Mr.Brown was sitting next to her, a blood stained dagger wrapped in his wrinkled hand. A picture of a beautiful woman with long brown hair lay on the carpet next to them.
"Let her go or I'll shoot!" Hamby yelled. The old man just smiled.
"Oh don't worry. I'll let her go." Mr.Brown said as he slit her neck. Hamby was a second too late. His bullet tore through the old man's flesh right after the dagger slashed the woman's throat. With a cry, Hamby collapsed to the floor, consumed with failure. He was too late, too late...

Two weeks later, crime scene investigators found thirty dead bodies buried under the foundations of the house. They were all women, all resembling the late wife of the late Mr.Brown. Some bodies were missing heads. Years later, as the scandal faded away, people moved into the small blue house with the white-washed fence. They say that on the third of every other month, a lump under the carpet begins to creep, crawl, and then melt away. They say it is about the size of a head.