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If you hear a nursery rhyme called Snippity Snap, you need to read this as a matter of life and death. [Part 3]

Just joining us? I recommend starting at the beginning. Too far back? You can read the previous transcript here.

I sit back down, slowly. Hearing Becca speak, the concept of Snippity Snap being a vengeful spirit is a plausible theory, and one that I make certain to write down in full. Still, it leaves a lingering, uncomfortable question. “What did you offer it?"
She looks up at me then, her eyes and mine, and I see a worry in her expression. “What?” she says.
“You said it knew it wanted an offering. Someone to suffer like it had.”
“Oh,” Becca looks away. “I um, I offered it the only thing that I could." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and then brings a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. "I offered it Heather.”

I clear my throat. “You offered Snippity Snap your friend, Heather?”
Becca wipes the last of the tea from the table, then tosses the rag into the sink. “She was dead anyway. Her arm was practically amputated, and she'd painted the bathroom red with her blood.” She sits down in the chair and puts her head in her hands. “Besides, it wasn’t like any of us were escaping while that... thing was standing in front of the door.”
I write the details down, but each word digs a pit in my stomach. A sickening sadness grows inside of me for that poor girl. It’s difficult to imagine the horror she must have felt. “How did you offer her to Snippity Snap?” I ask quietly. “Was there a ritual involved?”
Becca’s eyes appear from her hands, and her cheeks are wet with tears. “I just told it to take her; take Heather and leave me alone.”
I stare at her, wondering if her terminology was an accident, intentional, or a psychological slip. She asked it to leave her -- Becca -- alone, and not both of them. In that moment, Becca only had regard for her own safety.
I reach for my mug and take a sip, reminding myself not to judge too harshly. Becca was just a young girl herself. To be confronted by a nightmare at her age would drive anybody to act in strange ways.
“After you offered it Heather, what did it do to her?” I’m not sure I want to hear the answer, but I know that it’s important.
Becca shrugs, lowering her hands from her face. Her eyes are red and puffy, and a trail of snot winds its way from her nose to her lip. She lifts a hand into the air, and raises two fingers. She makes a cutting motion. “Snip,” she says.
"Snip?"
“The monster took Heather’s head off.” She wipes her leaky nose onto her sweater sleeve. “It was over so quick, thankfully, but there was so much blood. Both of us -- Fran and I, were drenched in it.” She smiles, but it’s a broken and twisted sort of smile. “On the bright side though, we didn’t have to listen to Heather screaming anymore. Just each other.”
I write her words down, and as I do I realize my penmanship has grown poorer and poorer with each passing paragraph. My hand is trembling. “After Heather was killed, did Snippity Snap leave?”
“Vanished. Like it was never there.”
I lean back in my chair, taking a breath and looking over my notes. That was certainly a harrowing account, but a valuable one. In this interview alone I’ve accumulated a small textbook on Snippity Snap, much more than the Facility’s managed in over two years. Sill, I suspect I’m only scratching the surface.
“I heard about that story, you know,” I say at length. “It was the birth of the Elktorch Slasher. The police believed a brutal killer was on the loose.”
“Yeah. They threw my dad in prison for three months because they were convinced it had to have been him. Who else was at the house, right? It’s not like we have serial killers in sleepy Elktorch.”
“He was exonerated though,” I say. “After two more murders occured.”
Becca’s quiet. She glances back down the hallway and swallows. “Yeah. After two other people were killed, the police finally realized my dad was innocent. They decided there was a serial killer on the loose after all.”
Pieces begin to connect in my mind, and I’m not certain I like the look of the puzzle. “The people who were killed,” I say darkly. “Did that have something to do with you?”
"No shit," she says, rolling her eyes. "Of course it did. My dad was in prison for murdering a little girl, and I knew the only way he was getting out of there, and the only way I’d ever see him again was if…”
“...If Snippity Snap killed again. The presence of identical massacres made them acknowledge your father's innocence.”
“Bingo,” she says with false cheer.
Outside, the sun’s nearly set. Its last rays cast shadows across the room, filtering in through the narrow openings in the blinds. The way they play across Becca's face, it's difficult to discern her expression. Is there a sadness there? Or an indifference?
“You traded people’s lives for your father’s freedom. They didn’t die peaceful deaths, you know.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” She slams a hand on the table, shooting up out of her chair. “You really think I don't know just how horrible each and every one of their deaths were? You don’t think that shit keeps me up at night, hating myself and wishing I had the courage to just let Snippity Snap take me instead?”
“Take you instead?” I say quietly. I speak my next words with a measured calmness, though my heart’s beginning to race in my chest. “Did you make some kind of deal with that creature?”
She glares at me, one side of her face draped in shadow, the other bathed in shrinking sunlight. We sit in a tense silence, and the corners of her mouth twitch with unsaid words, but she keeps her lips pressed together.
I ask again, this time more forcefully. “Becca, did you make a deal with Snippity Snap?”
“I did what I had to do.”
“What does that mean?”
She closes her eyes, runs both hands through her dark hair, and groans. She doesn’t want to speak. She doesn’t want to tell me this next part, but then her mouth opens, her voice cracks, and it all spills out. “I summoned it. When I mutilated my finger. When I said the rhyme and brought it through the veil and into our world. I created it, and it wanted me. Never Heather. Always me.”
My pen scratches at my clipboard, my eyes straining in the waning light, and I’m beginning to believe Becca Galdun isn’t the girl I thought she was. There’s a cunning to her I didn’t account for. I assumed she was like so many other children who’d encountered entities or spirits. Enamoured. Perhaps believing themselves special for having had the experience. Pulled into their orbit like a macabre cultist.
Becca wasn’t manipulated though. She wasn’t pulled into any ideological orbit. She chose to commit the murders. She chose to massacre innocent people, multiple times, all to save herself.
“Would you mind if we turned on a light?” I ask. “It’s getting difficult to write.”
“Sure,” she says, walking over to the wall and flicking a switch. A dim light flickers on the ceiling fan above us. “Better?”
“Much.”
She settles herself back into her chair, and I'm beginning to think I should be leaving about now, but I still have one question I need to ask. One of incredible importance.
“How does it work, then? Your deal?”
She pays me a joyless smile. “I give it life. Blood. Pain. And in exchange, it lets me live a little longer.”
“Why does it want you though? I understand that you summoned it, but that doesn’t explain--”
“Are you fucking deaf? Or were you just not listening? I didn’t just summon the thing, I fucking created it. I pulled Hope Delvine’s twisted soul out of the ether, and ripped it six ways to Sunday.”
She reaches a hand up and grips a clump of her air, pulling at it with a pained, manic glint in her eyes. I notice her teeth nervously chewing on her lip, and a thin trail of blood snakes its way down her chin.
“I didn’t mean to," she says, her voice strung out. "I didn’t realize it would create that monster. But I did it. I did it, and now Snippity Snap wants me to pay. Blood for blood. Agony for agony.”
My pen scratches across the clipboard, and as it does I hear something else. Something in the hallway. I pause, focusing on the sound, and it’s unmistakable this time.
It’s scissors. Opening and closing. Snip. Snap. Snip. Snap.
My heart thunders in my chest. A primal part of me screams that it’s time to leave -- that it was time to leave ten minutes ago, but my curiosity got the better of me.
I clear my throat, pocketing my pen and rising from the table. “I think that should do for now. I’ll take this information and do some research at my hotel, and hopefully tomorrow I’ll have a solution worked out for freeing you from this situation.”
I say the words quicker than I should. I let my unease slip into my voice, and I hope she doesn’t notice.
“I’m not finished telling you my story though,” Becca says, and this time the tears are gone. Her expression is cold. Calculated. She stands up from the table and there's a hunger in her eyes. “Stay awhile longer. We’re just getting to the good part.”
I lower a hand to my side, where my service weapon is holstered within my jacket. “I think the good part can wait until tomorrow." I give her a curt nod and a false smile, and turn around to leave. As I do, something presses against my throat, and I freeze.
Ryan Halflow is towering in front of me, a pair of scissors in his hand. He's holding the cold steel flush against my neck. “Don’t move,” he says. “And I won’t kill you.”
There’s the squeal of a chair sliding on linoleum, and a moment later Becca strides in front of me, just behind Ryan. “I honestly didn’t expect it to be this simple, but it was,” she laughs. “You actually walked right in here after hearing Ryan’s sob story, and now I’ve got a perfect offering that nobody is going to be looking for or talking about.”
“My employer knows precisely where I am,” I warn her. “We’re GPS tracked at all times.”
“Sure you are,” she says in a singsong voice. “But the Facility isn’t going to risk revealing itself to the public in the name of avenging some stupid intern. In the meantime though, you’ll keep Snippity Snap satisfied for another few months.”
She smirks, her tongue sliding across her teeth. “Think of it this way, your death will save another life. Isn’t that what you wanted? To help people suffering from these mean old legends?”
“Listen,” I say, and with each word I can feel my adam’s apple dig against the scissor blade. “I can help you. I wasn’t kidding about that. I have enormous resources, more than you can possibly know and--”
“I know all about your resources,” Becca snaps, grabbing me by my hair and pulling my throat against the edge of the shears. I feel a thin trail of warmth trickle down my neck. “All you’ve managed to do at that Facility is fuck things up. You think I’m going to risk pissing Snippity Snap off, just on the off chance some fresh out of Orientation dimwit can solve a nightmare I’ve suffered with for a decade?”
She lets go with a violent jerk, and I wince as the blade slides across my flesh, drawing more blood. Her face contorts in a mixture of revulsion and glee, and I realize this is the real Becca. Everything before this had been an act.
“No,” she says. “I’m better off doing what I’ve been doing all along. Keeping Snippity Snap satisfied. Offering it people that nobody’s going to look for. People nobody gives a fuck about.” She steps away, and a moment later the dim, flickering kitchen light goes out.
Then, from somewhere in the darkness I hear her voice. “Do it, Ryan.”
Ryan grabs my hand in a flash, pulling the scissors down from my throat and closing them on my index finger.
"Snippity Snap,” Becca chants beside me. “You’ll come back!

[x.x]
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