I saw the violin case listed for sale online. I browsed the website for fifteen minutes before I found it.

The requirements for buying it should have been a red flag. My curiosity got the better of me. I decided to go along with the necessary steps to complete the transaction.

I am an avid collector of ‘murderabilia.’ If it is an object related to true crime, I must own it. While I am judged for this fascination, I have an unwavering interest in items of that name nature. Potential boyfriends have decided against dating me. Paintings by John Wayne Gacy on my wall have not helped.

I went to the house of the seller, a two-story duplex with a v-shaped roof. I had a print-out of the object.

I knocked and the man answered. He had on a gray sweater, and when he smiled his teeth were white but crooked. I gave him my screen name and reminded him of the email I sent him.

“Oh yes,” he said with a grin. “The violin case was next to the body of a victim. She looked quite a bit like you. It's speculated that it belongs to the killer. The motive behind why he would leave it is unknown. Some are unsure if it’s meant to throw the authorities off, to make them believe he is a musician. Either way, you want to buy it?”

“Yes,” I said. “I know exactly where I will keep it. How much?”

“Six hundred dollars,” he said.

I gave an affirmative nod, and he went into the back of his house.

When he returned he held the violin case in his arms as though it was a newborn. It was rosewood and only had a few noticeable chipped cracks.

The price he gave had not changed from the listing. I brought along the appropriate amount of cash and handed it to him.

He gave me the case.

As I turned around and returned to my car, he snapped his fingers to get my attention.

“One other thing,“ he said. “I would never open up the case if I were you. I’ve heard stories of bad things happening once the seal's broken. Some have stated it's cursed by a necromancer of the olden days. It is difficult to measure based on the weight if an instrument is in there. Regardless of how interesting it might be to look at, I would be grateful for the exterior of it and leave it at that.”

I tried to thank him for the warning and drove back home.

*

The case sat on top of my clothing drawer for at least a week. I displayed it on the stand, with a note below it describing its origin.

On a quiet Saturday evening, I was at home de-cluttering when I received a text from Jason. He asked me if I would go to dinner with him. He had already made a reservation for a fine dining restaurant downtown.

I said yes since we had already been on a few dates in the previous months. They had gone well.

I slipped on one of my nicer black dresses. After I applied make-up, a knock on my door filled the air.

I answered and Jason stood there with roses in one hand and chocolates in the other. He wore a suit and had on a very expensive Kenneth Cole brand watch with a silver and blue band.

“Your gifts couldn’t be any more cliché if you tried,” I said with a smile. I took them and set them down on the coffee table.

“You look amazing,” he said. “I’ll have to tell the waiter to keep his eyes off you.”

I smiled. I invited him in because I needed to find some of my jewelry. I went into the bathroom. I searched around behind my sliding glass mirror doors for one of my old necklaces.

When I walked out, he was gazing at the violin case.

“When did you buy this?” Jason asked. “I used to take violin lessons as a kid. My Mom pressured me into it as a way to rebel against my father. All he wanted me to do was play football and he saw the arts as emasculating. I don’t remember much of what to play, but I know enough to impress you. I know some Paganini.”

“No,” I said, “but thank you. We should get going. I don’t want someone else to take our reservations if we don’t show up on time.”

“We have plenty of minutes left,” he said as his hand graced the case. “Please let me swoon you with a classic song. It would be my honor. You won’t believe the notes I can nail.”

I watched in terror as his hands began to inch towards the clasps to open it.

I lunged at him and grabbed his wrists. My palms clutched his timepiece as I kept his hands together and folded them into mine.

“I’m not ready for anyone to open it yet,” I said. “I know it’s strange, but you have to trust me. Let’s go to dinner. I’m getting hungry and we don’t know how bad traffic is going to be.”

I leaned in and kissed him. His scent was of sandalwood and citrus. After our embrace, we left my apartment.

I did not know until later that he had undone one of the clasps.

*

All I can remember of the rest of the evening is how well the meal went. We had several courses. I drank at least three glasses of red wine, which was more than I intended to indulge in. The couple beside us were elderly people from the East Coast. They were on vacation and talking at a high volume about their stock investments. I could recall having ordered a rum milkshake topped with banana slices.

There was a live violinist who walked between tables and played romantic melodies. He took song requests of everything from classical to top forty.

Jason was polite enough to not mention anything about it. I feel he was disappointed in me for not allowing him to show his musical talents.

I have no recollection of when the bill came, let alone when we departed the establishment. I cannot remember if we took a cab or if he was sober enough to drive. I could not recall if we went back to his place first or if we went straight to mine and made love.

I blacked out.

When I came to I was in my bed. A headache attacked every micro-fiber of my being. Nausea overcame me. I was groggy and felt as though I could have slept for another few hours. The gap of time I had somehow lost disturbed me.

I knew there was not enough alcohol in my system to cause such erasure of my reminiscence.

I checked my phone for new text messages and did not find any.

I squinted in the darkness and noticed the violin case looked different. Someone had left paint marks on it which I knew were not there beforehand.

I sat up and felt lightheaded. I was going to pass out. I turned the lamp on my nightstand to bright.

Once my bedroom was illuminated, I saw strange symbols created with crimson fluid on my walls. Moonlight poured in through my window and gave the redness a shimmering quality.

I stared at the violin case again. It shifted to the left on top of my dresser. What I could only halfway rationalize as not being blood poured from the sides of the violin case. It was also cracked open.

I saw something behind the hinge. It did not look like an instrument or anything mechanical but something fleshy.

I neared it and dropped my phone in a puddle of carmine after I fumbled to try and catch it. The bottom of my feet was slimy with the cherry-hued dampness as I walked towards the case.

I took a deep breath.

I opened it.

A severed human hand was there. The fingers pointed skyward.

Adorning its wrist was the same Kenneth Cole watch I was so familiar with.

Circling the stump were other pieces of jewelry. I was unable to distinguish them as belonging to anyone I knew.

I ran to the bathroom and almost slipped on my way there. I threw up in the sink. I crawled over the messy floor in search of my phone. When I retrieved it I saw that the screen was now scrambled anytime I turned it on.

I went to the next-door neighbor's place and begged them to call the police. An old lady answered the door. For a second I thought I was going to give her a heart attack based on the bloodstains on my skin and dress.

I do not remember if it was five minutes or several hours before the authorities arrived. They cordoned off my room with caution tape. They gave me a full medical assessment in the back of an ambulance that one of the Deputies had called in. They determined I did not have any observable injuries.

A uniform with a badge came in and started asking me questions. Her name tag read S. BROWN.

“Is Jason okay?” I asked.

The Deputy shook her head.

“I'm sorry to say he was under a bridge downtown this morning when we found him,” she said. “His body had washed ashore. He may have been floating out there for two days.”

I began crying.

One of the first things she wanted to know was why I had so much crime scene evidence from other homicides.

“It’s a morbid interest I’ve always had,” I said. “I'm someone with a fascination for the darker side of things. It doesn’t mean I glorify the people who commit the actions.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Brown said as she looked at me with a startled expression. “The jewelry and pieces of clothing found within the violin case. They belong to twenty other victims of the violinist serial killer. Who sold it to you?”

I gave her the address I had driven to the day I picked it up. I even gave her the name of the man who had put the piece up for sale.

After the interview was complete, Brown told me I could stay in the room. I could not believe that no one had cleaned up the scene. She told me they could send someone out to mop up the place, but it would be another day. I told her I would not cross the threshold of the apartment until then. I would stay at a Best Western in the meantime.

There was so much I wanted to ask her. How did the case move on its own? Someone bathed in blood and wrote all those Occultist symbols on the walls. Then they escaped without detection. It all seemed so irrational, but I knew she would look at me like I was crazy if I tried to describe everything.

I had dealt with something inexplicable and paranormal. No one can convince me otherwise.

*

I used the motel business center to Google if they had apprehended the guilty person.

I found that they had knocked on the door of the same house I bought the violin at that day.

It was empty. The belongings were all removed. The man had fled.