Beelzebub’s Silver Spoon

The year was 1987. This wasn’t a trinket I picked up myself, I was a child and more focused on climbing trees and playing with my friends than solving mysteries. All I’m about to tell you comes from the personal testimonies and news articles my father had in his notes.

By all accounts, the Jones seemed to be perfect. They set the bar for most idyllic family on the street. The mother Deborah stayed at home, the father Daryl worked at the bank. They’d just had their son Mark two years prior. Their eldest child was a sixteen year old daughter named Heather. Heather was an overachiever in every sense of the word. She had the best grades of her class, was the captain of the debate club, and was already entering pageant circuits. She’d gotten the silver the year previous in the Rose Little Princess Pageant.  

But I believe it was getting ‘only silver’ that broke the floodgates for something that had been building up for some time.  

It was spring time. The talent competition for Heather’s highschool. Heather was going to sing the Star Spangled Banner. She was a real shoe in for victory until she hit that final high note and dropped into a dead faint. She was immediately rushed to the hospital where it was discovered that Heather was dangerously underweight. In the last forty eight hours, all she’d eaten was two crackers and a few sips of water.  

The whispers about Heather’s anorexia became a deafening roar. Deborah Jones was initially mortified about this shocking reveal. A nurse overheard their argument in the hospital, which ended in Heather begging her mother to take her off the IV-

“I’m going to get fat if it stays in!”

That shocked Deborah back to reality. Her little girl was starving herself to death, all in attempts to be beautiful. Deborah was the main support behind Heather’s recovery, but it was an uphill battle. Heather was checked back into the hospital two more times after the initial emergency room visit.

A receipt shows that Deborah bought a few antiques at the local shop about two months before the incident. Deborah had never made a purchase there previously, but Heather was there practically every weekend she had the time.  

It appears this is when Heather’s health began to improve. She was finally eating the normal amount a teenage girl should. People say they saw Heather and her family enjoying pizza at the local place, going out to restaurants every day that they could. Heather seemed much healthier, her face regained its glow and she didn’t always wear layer upon layer of clothing.

Sure, some people noted she went back for seconds more often than one would expect for a girl Heather’s size, but it was better that she was eating rather than dying, right? And it wasn’t like she was suddenly going to the opposite side of the weight spectrum either, she appeared to be healthy.

Heather’s personality took a turn around this time though. A rather bizarre turn. Initially a rather generous girl with a big heart, Heather became far more selfish and focused on herself. A friend recalls a specific incident where after school they all went out to get ice cream. Heather initially promised to buy one friend a vanilla cone but suddenly changed her mind when they ordered.  

Instead, Heather kept both cones for herself. This led to a loud argument and it ended with Heather storming off after calling her friend, and I am quoting here, a ‘grubby bitch that wants what she doesn’t deserve.’

Heather’s desires didn’t extend to just food. There are two separate reports of Heather buying an article of clothing just because her friend wanted it. The clothing wasn’t even Heather’s style. Heather preferred dresses with pastel shades, one of the articles of clothing she bought so her friend couldn’t have it was a denim jacket two sizes too large. It would be found later in her closet, along with many other pieces of clothing her family didn’t know she possessed. It appears Heather didn’t even wear it.

There were rumors that Heather was also starting to shoplift, but this wasn’t confirmed until after the arrest. Several of the stolen items still had security tags on them and there certainly wasn’t a receipt to be found.

It wasn’t truly horrible until Mark went missing though.  

No doubt that Heather doted on her little brother before she came into possession of that certain trinket. Everyone talked about how Heather loved her little brother. Would die for him.  

Mark was last seen with Heather, taking a walk around the block. Heather would claim that an old van suddenly pulled up beside her, the door opened and a black man just snatched up her little brother before zooming off. There wasn’t any license plate or any other distinguishing marks.  

Despite there not being any vehicles seen in the area with that description, a man named Anderson Grey was arrested for the crime. The only thing going against him was his appearance and the fact he worked for a plumbing company, where he’d have plenty of access to this kind of vehicle.  

That’s when my father got involved in the case. Anderson’s wife put the house up as collateral to pay him so he could prove Anderson’s innocence. My father pulled apart the case and found so many holes in Heather’s story that Swiss cheese appeared more complete. He described Heather as a pretty little thing with eyes like a devil’s. She didn’t even react as he pulled her lies apart in front of her, only waited for him to finish speaking before bursting into the most overdramatized tears and having her mother tear my father a new one before Heather was dragged home.

Later in the week my father went to the house while he knew both of the parents were out and he smelled it.

It was like ribs, he’d tell me. Barbecue ribs. He felt his mouth start to water as he walked to the backyard to follow the smell.

That’s when he saw Heather at the grill, cooking away while her little brother’s head sat rotting on the table next to her.

The rest of the body was just bones by that point. Over the course of two weeks, Heather had consumed his organs and most of his flesh. She’d hid him in the big freezer in the shed out back, her parents never went out there and since the abduction supposedly took place away from the house, the cops never bothered to look. She’d made soups, burgers, even a meatloaf out of his brains.  

And although Heather insisted that she wasn’t going to share, Deborah had managed to sneak a slice of that meatloaf. It was apparently quite delicious.  

During the interview, many questions were asked.

How did Heather kill her brother?

“I took him out to the backyard and crushed his head with a rock. I washed away all the blood before my parents got home.”

Why did Heather kill her brother?

“I wanted all my parent’s love for myself. He took up too much of their time and I wanted all it for myself.”

Why did she eat him?

“Because I didn’t want anyone else to have Mark. He was all mine too. My sweet, delicious little brother.”

The remainder of the family fell apart after that, of course. Five months after they buried their son, Daryl and Deborah divorced. Daryl became an alcoholic and ended up dying almost a decade later in a drunk driving incident that killed the young couple in the other car as well.

He outlived his wife though, it was a year to the day after Mark vanished when Deborah overdosed on her medication. In her note, she said how she just couldn’t forget how her own son’s brains had tasted.

How had this all happened? How could such a sweet girl, struggling with loving herself, turn so much evil out?

It’d been an accident that my father stumbled across the spoon. It was in the items that had been taken off of Heather when she was arrested. He remembered looking over each of them, he figures he must’ve placed the spoon in his pocket before leaving. Didn’t even realized he did it.

It’s a small sugar spoon with ornate silver detailing on both handle and back, an imperial topaz pressed into the bowl. I believe it’s meant to be decorative rather than serve any real function.  

My father said when he found the spoon in his jacket, he knew how evil it was the moment he touched it. He always had a sixth sense for evil, he said. So he did the best thing he could and locked it away in the safe, only telling me when I turned eighteen that I must never let that spoon leave my possession. Unfortunately he passed away later that year from lung cancer.  

I’ve followed in his footsteps, I suppose, becoming a private investigator. Like father like son. It’s really not as fun as you’d think it would be… for the most part.

About a decade ago though, I found another curious trinket. With a backstory just as morbid.

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