When it was finished, the girl watched the body until he left—the man that had done it. She did not know what to do other than stare, completely prettified at the lifeless figure in the middle of candles. The flames had mysteriously flickered out after that man was done chanting in some other, weird language. What little Britney Bayward was doing there so late at night, she would later regret. It was a greedy move—sneaking into an old antique shop to allow her fingers the satisfaction of holding that doll forever. That doll her Mama had told her she could not possess. No fit would have solved the girls problem. But perhaps stealing it would….

As sated before, it was the mere, foolish move of a young soul, but this child would never forget the events of tonight. Every sickening detail would be forever engraved into her memory, locked behind bars that relentlessly held it in place.

Her chest heaved and every bone in Britney’s body quivered. A cold sweat arose. She should’ve stayed behind the little bookshelf, instead of looking. It was odd, the scene she witnessed—she wanted so badly to move, to run, to scream. Yet, every muscle in her body refused to work. They were as frozen as she was.

Outside, flashing lights and distant sirens were the furthest of her concern. She knew the police would find her, and she was well acquainted with the punishment she would endure from her mother later. But her dilated pupils stayed steadfast. Fear held her still, kept her quiet. Maybe more quiet than she should have been in that moment. What was she supposed to do, though? She was only six.

The dust from the many aged artifacts provided the shop with an odd smell. It was eerily satisfying to her. Tang, was the scent of must and many years passed of neglected items. Old clocks that chimed at wrong times. Books so frail some of their skeletons were slowly, yet surely, peeling away.

Then there were the doors that were forced open. The boots and flashlights that consumed the blur around her, and the dust that the wind from outside lifted from the wooden panels of _Peglegs Corner Antiques_.

Finally, she was able to tare her eyes from the body. They focused onto the bright light of the cops flashlights. When the first one caught sight of the dead man, he cursed under his breath.

Raising a hand to his walkie, he held down the button. He alerted the others.

That was when Britney finally seemed to get a real sense of herself. She sprang up, tears pooring from her eyes, and grabbed onto the officers leg.

“Shit,” she heard him say. “What are you doing here?”

“Damnit, Michaels, what’s a kid doing at a crime scene?” Another voice speaks, more feminine.

“I was wondering the same, goddamn thing, Joice,” he replies.

Little Britney’s fingers dug into the fabric of the man’s work pants. She was so frightened she hadn’t a clue what else to do. School never mentioned what to do in these situations. Nor had Mama.

The other person—Joice—looked to the body, then to the helpless little girl. She sighed and kneeled down. “Hey, c’mere kid. You’re safe, alright?” she felt the woman’s fingers gently urge her off the cop.

When the lady meat Britney Bayward’s eyes, something inside her seemed to break. She probably never thought she’d meet a little girl her first time at a murder scene. But then again, being part of the Police force requires one to always be prepared. The girl’s eyes glistened with fresh tears as the lady cop held her tiny hands. “Hey, let’s go outside, okay?” she said. The girl nodded, her small lip quivering.

Once they were out the door, the child immediately felt overwhelmed. The many flashing colors illuminated off the nice lady’s face and she knelt down once more to speak. Britney was only half paying attention to the cop, though. “What were you doing in there, sweetie?” she asked.

No answer. Bayward was too busy staring at their surroundings. The fire trucks, ambulances and many unfamiliar voices. “Look at me sweetie,” the lady said, “don’t mind them. They’re good people—just here to help.”

She finally looked at the woman.

“Whats your name, honey?” The woman named Joice whiped tears from the girls cheeks.

It took her a moment. Not because she was afraid to answer, but because she was still hung on what she’d seen in the antique shop. “Britney,” she responded. A natural speech impediment that caused the lady who smelled of clean leather, hair gel, and light perfume to smile.

“Do you know your last name, Britney?” she asked her.

_Last name_. She still struggled to wrap her head around the fact she had two names. But this was important to Joice, and Joice was nice so she might as well give it. “Britney . . . Bayward.”

“Alright, Britney. I just have some questions for you, okay? No need to be nervous. You’d be helping us a lot if you answered them honestly.”

With uncertainty, the little child nodded. It wasn’t because she wanted to be helpful—she wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted. Definitely not that dolly anymore. She nodded because she felt like maybe she should. This lady seemed to know what she was doing, and Britney was surprised to see not even a little hint of fear displayed on the woman’s features. There was just calmess and a willing to aid.

“You have a mother?—a father?”

She nodded once more.

“Where are they? Are they here?”

She shook her head. They were not here. “Home,” she said shyly.

“They’re home?”

“Mhm . . .”

Joice looked a bit more worried now. “Did a stranger take you here, Britney?”

“I snucked out,” she answered slowly. Her voice was barely audible, but Joice seems to be able to hear. Joice was nice. She liked Joice. And it was the truth. Small Britney had sneaked out of her house. It was easy. Her parents had forgotten to lock the back door, and she had good photographic memory. Finding _Peglegs Corner Antiques_ was not as difficult as she originally thought. Determination was all it took.

“Ahh, I see. Well what were you doing here?”

“Mm . . .” Britney didn’t like this question. For some reason, she didn’t want to tell Joice she’d come here for a doll.

“It’s okay, Britney. Noeone will be mad,” she reassured.

But the child was still reluctant to answer. She didn’t understand this feeling. She felt like she should hide, but also felt it best to tell the truth at the same time.

Before she could answer, the police officer from earlier—Michael’s—walked towards them. It was the first thing little Britney noticed. The second, was what he held in his hand. The doll Britney had mindlessly dropped, before the bad man killed that other man.

“Found this behind the shelf the kid ran from,” he explained. Then he, too, knelt down to Britney’s level and held the doll out to her. “This yours?” he asked.

Britney shook her head. Her eyes watered in shame. Joice and Michael’s shared a glance, before Joice took the toy from him. “Did you come here for this doll, sweetie?”

She nodded, shamefully. Though the female cop did not seem mad, there was a hint of disappointment. “Okay,” was all she said. Joice looked to Michael’s once more. The man nodded at her. A sadness filled her eyes. It was only brief, before she diminished it. “Just one more question, Britney. Is that okay?”

She nodded for the same reason as all the others—just a feeling. Joice smiled and moved a piece of loose, blonde hair from Britney’s face. The smile didn’t last and the girl wasn’t completely sure why.

“Did you see what happened? Did you see the bad man?”

Britney’s brows came together. She’d been thinking of what she saw this whole time, but having to speak it aloud was different altogether. She didn’t like this, not one bit. “We could really use your help, Britney,” Joice urged. Beside her, Michaels shifted anxiously. It didn’t go unnoticed by Britney, nor the nice woman. When Joice notice, she shot him a look and he stood, reluctantly walked away. “It’s alright, you can tell me.”

“He was scary . . .”

“Did you see what he looked like?”

Britney turned to the shop and pointed. “He said things,” the little kid explained.

“What things?”

“Jib- Jiby . . .” she tried. But the word didn’t sound right. It was something she’d heard her Mama say a few times.

“Jiberesh? He was saying jiberesh?”

“Yes. Candles went gone, when he went.”

“The candles went out when he left?” she repeated, just to be sure she heard the girl correctly. Joice spoke into her walkie, breifly. “Names: Britney Bayward. About six, seven. Parents need to be notified. Over.”

“Yes. An the bad man was scary.” Britney repeated.

“What did he look like, sweetie? He still here?” More questions. More questions, that were hard to answer, but that the six-year-old surprisingly didn’t mind all that much.

She motioned to her head. “Big scary man.”

“Tall. Was he as tall as the nice man that was here a little bit ago?—Mr. Michaels?”

“Yes,” she said. “Bown eyes.”

Joice took out a small notebook and scribbled away. Britney guessed she was recording down the details. Scary Man was obviously very important to her. The kid wondered if maybe Joice knew him. Maybe he sneaked away just like she had. But what was he doing to that person in the middle of the candles. And what was he saying? Something about this whole thing wasn’t right. She couldn’t place it.

“Anything else?” the woman asked.

“Tall. Bown eyes. Bown hair.” She pinched her fingers together. “Lips.”

“Small lips?”

“Yes. Went that way.” Britney made a motion with her fingers to the direction she saw the Scary Man dissapear.

“Perfect, Britney. Thank you.” She spoke into her walkie again: “We have him, over.”

——————————————

Later, Britney’s parents showed up and took her home. Joice told them what happened, and advised they make sure all doors were locked in the house from now on. The girls parents did not punish her. Once they heard the full story, they decided the experience was punishment enough. But they did give her a stern talking to.

The police were finally able to catch the culprit, and condolences were sent to the victims family members. Word was that the murderer was an imfamous Satanic worshiper carrying out some sort of ritual. After many months of court proceedings, it was discovered he would be sentenced to death. This, Britney’s parents did not let the girl hear of (for obvious reasons).

What happened that night was a tragedy indeed. And though noeone would admit to it, if the little girl hadn’t been there, the evil-doer would have never been found and brought to justice.

So, ultimately, the capture was all thanks to the little six-year-old witness, Miss Britney Bayward, who snuck out of her home to steal a little doll from _Peglegs Antique Shop_.