Scent of Decay Ta n i s Ka l Ka n Scent of Decay a DI Deacon MyStery Tanis Kalkan Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Scent of Decay Scent of Decay Tanis Kalkan A DI Deacon Mystery Tanis Kalkan An Ovi eBooks Publication 2025 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Scent of Decay L ongacre. A town clinging to its past like a child grasping a security blanket, even though it had long since frayed at the edges. Its streets seemed forgotten, its shops selling half-remembered goods, and the occasional glint of a streetlamp felt like a relic of a better time. It had a peculiar kind of charm, but one that spoke more of resignation than nostalgia. Here, time passed reluctantly, like an elderly man making his way across a room, unsure if he should bother to keep going. Detective Inspector David Harper sat in his office, staring at the rain dribbling down the window in lazy streaks. The kind of drizzle that made the world seem smaller, quieter, and more tired. Outside, the town looked as if it had been frozen in amber, unchanging, unmoving. A few pedestrians shuffled down the street with hunched shoulders, lost in their own thoughts, too soaked to care. Longacre had a way of doing that to people. Tanis Kalkan The sound of his pen tapping against the desk echoed in the otherwise silent room. Harper glanced at the file in front of him, thick, yellowing, and dusty, the pages stained with coffee rings and years of neglect. The title read Longacre Manor: Unexplained Deaths . A handful of natural deaths, they said. Nothing to worry about. The old folks had lived their lives, and now it was their time to go. Harper didn’t believe in coincidence, though. He’d learned that the hard way. He rubbed his temple and glanced down at the names, residents of Longacre Manor who had passed away in the last few weeks. The first death was Mr. Thompson, aged ninety-two. Heart failure. The second was Mrs. Parker, eighty- eight, a case of pneumonia. Nothing out of the ordinary. But then there was Mrs. Jenkins, died in her sleep, or so they thought. And Mr. Fitzpatrick, who allegedly slipped into a coma after a “sudden” stroke. It was all too convenient. Too... neat. Harper was a man who trusted his gut, and right now, it was telling him that there was something far more sinister at play. There was something about Longacre Manor that felt wrong, like a badly played note in an otherwise silent tune. Scent of Decay He let out a breath, his fingers drumming on the desk. His mind was already working, shifting, unravelling threads he hadn’t even seen yet. But there was something else that kept nagging at him. The file. The names. A few of them—particularly those who had passed recently—were connected to something buried in Longacre’s past. A wartime tragedy, a bombing raid that had left its mark on this town, and on the people who had lived through it. Harper had seen towns like this before. Places where history wasn’t so much forgotten as it was buried—carefully, deliberately, as if the past had somehow ceased to matter. But Harper knew better. The past had a way of returning. A way of whispering through the cracks in the pavement. The door to his office creaked open, and a young constable named Perkins poked his head around the corner, a nervous look on his face. “Er, sir, we’ve got a problem,” Perkins said, stepping inside. His uniform was too tight across his shoulders, as if it didn’t quite belong to him. Harper raised an eyebrow. “Another one?” Perkins shifted on his feet. “Yes, sir. Mrs. Jenkins. She’s gone.” Tanis Kalkan “Gone?” Harper’s voice was low, steady. “What do you mean, gone?” “She’s... well, she’s dead, sir. But that’s not the problem.” Harper leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. “Then what is the problem, Constable?” Perkins swallowed, clearly uncomfortable. “She wasn’t alone. Someone was with her when she died.” Harper felt a flicker of cold crawl up his spine. “And who might that be?” “Er... it was her cat, sir. Mr. Patches. She had him in her arms, holding him like, well, like she was expecting him to do something.” Harper pushed his chair back, standing up quickly. “Mr. Patches?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you telling me this is some sort of sick joke, Perkins?” “No, sir. It’s just... strange. The nurse found her like that. Cat curled up in her lap, still alive.” Harper was already reaching for his coat, his mind already working a thousand miles a minute. “Where is the body?” Scent of Decay Perkins blinked. “The manor. In her room.” Harper grabbed his notebook from the desk, scribbling down a few quick notes. “Right, let’s not stand here discussing cats, Perkins. Lead the way.” * * * * * * * * The drive to Longacre Manor was quiet, save for the steady hum of the engine and the soft patter of rain against the windows. Harper’s mind kept turning over the details, searching for some clue, some tiny thread to pull on. The manor came into view as they turned a corner—tall, imposing, with ivy creeping up its stone walls. The windows were dark, like unblinking eyes staring out at the town. Harper stepped out of the car, the damp air immediately assaulting his senses. It smelled like decay, like the rot of something long dead. A familiar smell. The kind of smell that gets into your lungs and makes you feel like you’ve been there before. He shivered, although he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the creeping sense of dread that had settled in his bones. “Come on, sir,” Perkins called, looking over his shoulder. “It’s this way.” Tanis Kalkan They walked through the hallways of the manor, the creaking floorboards echoing beneath their feet. The place had an odd charm, but there was a heaviness to it, like it was holding its breath. Harper glanced at the walls, noticing the faded photographs of residents from years past. People with their smiles frozen in time, their eyes somehow too knowing. They reached Mrs. Jenkins’s room, and Perkins opened the door. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with the smell of antiseptic and something else, something that seemed to hang in the air like a cloud, a scent that wasn’t entirely natural. Mrs. Jenkins lay in her bed, her face serene, as if she were simply sleeping. But the way she was holding Mr. Patches, the way her arms were draped around the cat, it didn’t look right. The cat was unmoving, still curled up in her lap, its eyes wide open. Harper crouched down beside the bed, examining the scene. His eyes flicked to the side, to a small object on the floor—a piece of paper, crumpled and discarded. He picked it up carefully, smoothing it out in his hands. It was a note, hastily written in shaky handwriting: “They’re back. And they’ll never stop.” Scent of Decay Harper stood up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He looked at Perkins, whose face had gone ashen. “Perkins, go get me the records. Every last one of them.” As Perkins hurried off, Harper stood there for a moment, staring at the body and the cat. There was something here. Something old, something buried, that had just begun to claw its way out. The ghosts of Longacre were stirring, and Harper had a sinking feeling that they weren’t the only ones watching. Tanis Kalkan I. Detective David Harper had always prided himself on his ability to sense when something was wrong. It wasn’t just the quick flick of a suspect’s eyes or the way a witness fidgeted with their watch. No, Harper’s instinct was a finely tuned radar, honed over years of chasing down criminals, and it was blaring loud and clear now as he entered Longacre Manor. The smell of disinfectant hit him first, an overpowering, clinical scent that only served to highlight the deeper, more insidious odor of decay lingering in the air. He couldn’t quite place it—was it just the age of the building, or something else? He wasn’t sure, but his gut told him there was more to this place than met the eye. The receptionist, Carol, greeted him with a forced smile that barely reached her eyes. She looked like she’d been awake for days, her frazzled appearance matching the uneasy tension that hung thick in the air. Scent of Decay “Detective Harper,” Carol said, her voice too high- pitched, the kind of voice that didn’t seem to belong in a place like this. “We’re so glad you’ve come. I’m Carol, and this is the head nurse, Margaret.” She gestured toward a tall, stern woman standing near the front desk, arms crossed like she was guarding the gates of hell. Harper nodded politely, feeling an uncomfortable shiver run down his spine. Margaret didn’t offer a smile. Instead, she gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, as though she had already sized him up and found him lacking. Harper didn’t mind, he was used to people sizing him up. “Welcome to the manor,” Margaret said, her voice as sharp as a blade. “You’ll have to excuse the disarray. We’ve had a few... incidents recently.” “Incidents?” Harper raised an eyebrow, his tone just the right amount of sceptical. He was already thinking of ways to get past the pleasantries. He needed to dig deep, and that meant he had to get under their skin. Margaret hesitated, glancing at Carol, who looked like she might faint at any given moment. Tanis Kalkan “Unexplained deaths. Natural causes, we thought. But... now we’re not so sure.” Harper’s mind kicked into gear. Unexplained deaths? Natural causes? He didn’t buy it. Not for a second. There was always something more, something lurking just beneath the surface. “Tell me about the first one,” Harper asked, his arms folded across his chest. Carol’s hands twisted nervously in front of her, her gaze flickering toward the hallway like she was afraid someone might jump out at her. “Well, it started with Mr. Thompson,” she began, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “He was 92, had a few heart problems, nothing serious. But one night, he just... didn’t wake up.” Harper’s eyes narrowed. That sounded too tidy, too convenient. People didn’t just drop dead in their sleep without some kind of warning. Something was off. “And the others?” Harper pressed, sensing the hesitation in Carol’s words. Margaret answered this time, her arms crossing tighter as if to protect herself from something Scent of Decay invisible. “There were three more,” she said, her voice growing even more clipped. “All within two weeks. All elderly, all with known health problems. But none of them went out quietly. All of them seemed... strange. Like they were waiting for something. Or someone.” Harper’s pulse quickened. This wasn’t just a case of old age catching up with people. There was a thread here, thin, almost invisible but it was there. And it was starting to tug at him. He paced for a moment, thinking. He had learned over the years that coincidences were often just patterns disguised as randomness. Four deaths in two weeks? That was no coincidence. That was a sign, and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers. “I want to talk to the families of the deceased,” Harper said, his voice steady, but firm. “Get their statements. And I’d like to see the records of the deaths.” Margaret’s lips tightened, but she didn’t protest. She simply gave a curt nod. “Of course. I’ll get them for you.” Her gaze flicked to Carol again, as though trying to communicate something unspoken, something that made Harper feel like he was the unwelcome guest at a very private party. Tanis Kalkan “But I warn you, Detective,” Margaret added, her tone lowering to something almost conspiratorial, “this place... it’s haunted. Not by ghosts, but by memories. Longacre has a history.” Harper raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t every town?” he muttered, though he was already heading toward the hallway, his thoughts swimming with the implications of what Margaret had just said. * * * * * * * * The halls of Longacre Manor were a maze of doors and narrow corridors, the walls lined with faded photographs of long-gone residents. The pictures all had one thing in common: they were black-and- white, and the smiles on the faces of the people in them were stiff, almost frozen. It was as if the cameras had captured them at their happiest moments, but the eyes—those eyes, betrayed a quiet sadness, as though they all knew something the rest of the world didn’t. Harper’s footsteps echoed in the hallway as he walked behind Margaret, who led him to the staff room. The air felt heavier here, like the weight of years of service had settled into the walls. He glanced at the older staff members, sitting around a table Scent of Decay with cups of coffee that hadn’t been touched. They were watching him, silent, their eyes darting between each other, as if Harper had just walked in on a secret meeting. “Detective Harper,” one of the nurses finally spoke up, breaking the silence. She was a short woman with round glasses and a nervous tick. “What are you... what exactly are you looking for?” Harper took a seat, folding his hands in front of him, giving her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m looking for answers,” he said his voice calm but direct. “Four deaths. All within a two-week span. They say it’s natural causes. I don’t buy it.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before the nurse—Sarah, according to her name badge—spoke again. “We didn’t want to say anything. We thought it was just a string of bad luck. But now... now, we’re not so sure.” Harper leaned forward slightly, his instincts telling him that they were on the verge of something big. “What aren’t you sure about?” “The patients,” Sarah said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “They weren’t just... dying. They were... Tanis Kalkan waiting. It was like they were all waiting for someone to come for them.” Harper felt a chill crawl up his spine, but he didn’t let it show. “And who were they waiting for?” Sarah shook her head, her glasses fogging slightly from the anxiety bubbling under her skin. “That’s the thing, Detective. We don’t know.” The room was silent again, but this time, it was a silence thick with dread. “Take me to the records,” Harper said after a moment, his voice sharper now, an edge of urgency creeping in. There was something here. Something buried. And he was going to find it. * * * * * * * * As Harper made his way down the winding hallways of Longacre Manor, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and for a moment, he thought he heard footsteps behind him. But when he turned, there was nothing. Just the quiet murmur of the building settling into the night. The door to the records room was old, its wood Scent of Decay warped with age. Harper pushed it open and the stale air inside hit him like a wall. The room was filled with file cabinets, each one labelled with a year, a name, a case. It smelled like dust and old paper. And something else. Something more... unsettling. “Here,” Margaret said, pulling a file from one of the cabinets. She slid it across the desk toward him. “Mr. Thompson’s file. The first one.” Harper opened it, flipping through the pages. Heart problems. A mild stroke a few months before. Death in his sleep. But then, on the last page, something caught his eye—a small note, scribbled in the margin of the final report: Patient seemed to be holding something in his hand. No object found upon examination. Harper’s brow furrowed. What had Mr. Thompson been holding? And why was it never mentioned again? He put the file down and stared at the papers in front of him. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to form. And he had a sinking feeling that the more he uncovered, the darker this case was going to get. “Margaret,” Harper said his voice low. “Where were Tanis Kalkan the families of these people during the last days? Were they here? Did they see anything unusual?” Margaret hesitated, then gave a tight-lipped smile. “You’ll find all the answers in time, Detective. But you might not like what you uncover.” Harper locked eyes with her. “I’ll be the judge of that.” * * * * * * * * The first pieces were in place, but the full picture was still far from clear. As Harper left the records room, his mind was already racing ahead, piecing together the strange deaths, the whispering nurses, and the eerie atmosphere that hung over Longacre Manor. Something was lurking in the shadows of this place, and Harper was determined to find out what. And why. It was only the beginning. And Harper knew it was going to get a lot worse before it got any better.