Wax and Wane

Our town’s annual wax art competition was just two weeks away and I was getting excited. This was going to be my first time taking part in it, so I was daunted at the same time since the competition was dominated by Logan Marvin. Logan had won the competition three years in a row, starting with the first one he took part in.

My friend Corbin and I both hated him. He bullied us for years in school since he was older than us. As Logan was always so smug about being the “unbeatable champion” on his socials, the same as he was back in school, if either of us could snatch that title and erase that obnoxious smile he always wore, it would have been a delight.

When Corbin and I were signing up for the competition, Logan made a snide remark about us never being able to reach his level of skill. He soon came to regret those words. I was awarded first place at the end of the competition, while Logan named the runner-up and Corbin came in third. The look on Logan’s face when it was announced was priceless.

In the coming weeks, Logan spread rumours in our town, saying that I had slept with the judges and stolen first place. He had a large following on social media, so his words spread fast. A few reporters kept following me, trying to get any scoop they could. They kept asking about the rumours and allegations to the point where I lost my temper and said I wanted to see Logan dead. That was poor timing…

Logan was found dead in his apartment the next morning—someone had poured hot wax down his throat and melted his insides. The police suspected me based on what I had told the reporters, but there was no evidence against me, so they could do nothing. With Logan being the bully that he was, it was no surprise that someone would eventually take out their frustrations on him, but this timing was awful. The number of reporters approaching me skyrocketed over the following two weeks; I could hardly go anywhere without being questioned. I couldn’t even hang out with Corbin like I usually did.

Things soon escalated. The reporters who questioned me the day I made the statement about wanting Logan dead were also found dead in their apartments; they had been forced to choke on their severed tongues. Things weren’t looking good for me. I wondered who could be doing this. If they were on my side, they were inadvertently doing more harm than good. The police visited me again, and once more, they couldn’t link me to the murders. I vented to Corbin about it and he calmed me down by saying it’d all be old news eventually since there was no evidence against me. His optimism was reassuring, but I still had my doubts.

The next day, I got a call from my boss. He said he had to let me go because of the recent developments. I was furious, but I understood. I found myself freelancing online a week later. At this point, I noticed that I was being surveilled by the police; I figured they had no other choice since the bodies were piling up while all logic pointed to me being the killer. Before I knew it, the police were at my door again. My former boss had been murdered. They said he was hung upside-down and bled dry with his throat slit open. This time, however, the cops’ approach was different: instead of trying to force a confession out of me, they wanted to know if anyone I knew would have the motive to commit these crimes. I told them I had no idea. Many people hated Logan, but who would go to these lengths for—it couldn’t be…

The police dropped me off their suspects list and continued their investigation, but after my boss’ death, no more bodies turned up. The killer disappeared into the shadows. Like Corbin said, in just three months, it was already old news. The town had moved on. I confronted him one night about the murders and he admitted to committing them. All of them. He said he was protecting me, although he did admit that taking Logan’s life was cathartic. I kept his confession a secret.