I don't think anyone likes a karma Houdini, but one thing I've learned in life is that people often do bad things - sometimes really awful things - and get away with it. I've known people, and have been the victim of people, who never get their comeuppance or just desserts. I'm sure we've all known people like that. One thing about the ending of The 'Cest Kids is that I wanted to convey a sense of unfairness because life is unfair, and even though this story was over the top in ways, many of the themes are grimly realistic. Poverty. Abuse. Selfishness. Rape. Domestic violence. I haven't suffered all of those things, but I have some of them, and while a middle class teenager from the suburbs might dismiss this story as 3edgy5me, all I did was use stage dressing - incest and deformities - to tell the truth as I see it. These types of things happen. Rape happens, abuse happens, people break down and turn cold. I don't dwell on these things constantly - look how many fluffy romances I've written in comparison to dark fics - but I don't ignore them either.

As for Lisa, she died in a lab accident before the events of the story. And Lucy, well, some things are attractive and desirable until we actually have them. Call it The Monkey's Paw Principle.

Guest: You didn't read the author's note at the end of chapter one, did you? I address that topic there.

This epilogue was written and originally posted as a standalone story called An Officer's Horror by the FFN user SizzlR. I was very impressed with it and always said that if I'd written one myself, it would have looked a lot like this. Not too long ago, people were talking about it and The 'Cest Kids, and asked whether or not I considered it canon. I decided that I did. Thank you, SizzlR, for writing this and allowing me to add it to the reupload.

AUGUST 12, 2031, 20:30 C.T.

LOG: OFFICER FRANCISCO GARCIA

ADD: DEPUTY CHANDLER MCCANN

AUDIO LOG-BEGIN:

Hello? Is this on?

It is? Alright then. Guess I have to start the testimony now?

Ok, do I seriously have to do this? I'd rather we did this at a… wait, it's recording? I have to talk?

Well, I guess I got no choice, then. Judge isn't gonna let me out of this room until I talk… even if I don't want to. Tough luck, huh?

I guess I have to answer these questions on the sheet, then… name? Francisco. Stupid, I know. Like this interview… Look, I don't care if it's court ordered, I'd rather not…

-sigh- Alright, what's next… occupation. Police Officer. Formerly Staff Sergeant Garcia of the U.S Marine Corps, 2nd Division. Two deployments to Iraq. Lived in New Mexico for a while, moved back to Royal Woods to start a family.

What is the incident that you… oh, no. No, no, no, you can't just- I'm not talking about it. You can't make me, I won't- I don't give a shit about 2 years in prison! It's better than doing this!

...fine. I'll talk. But you won't get the full story out of me, you hear? I try to bury it nowadays… mostly for my own sanity.

It was what, four months ago? Normal Saturday morning. Got out of bed, drove down to the station, ate breakfast with Chandler… good friend, no matter how big a douche he was in middle school. He smartened up his time as an officer.

I'm never gonna forget that day… as much as I want to. It's tough to talk about, you know? I'm already sweating just thinking about it. But yeah, me and McCann were eating, donuts, I think… stereotypical, but it was true. We got the call at what, Ten? I answered it after a few seconds, which is standard for the force to do. Can't make us seem too alert, now, can we?

I answered, wrote down the issue; request for welfare check. Their neighbor, Owen Grouse, he hadn't seen the family in a few days and was becoming worried. We tried to tell him it was probably nothing, but he insisted. Said the lights were all on, that the kids usually were moving inside, etc. We thought he was batshit, but a call is a call. We had a job to do.

We finished eating, went to the car, drove to the house. Royal Woods ain't like I remembered it… more like another Motown suburb than SmallTown, USA. I have good memories of growing up there. Baseball, my driving test, Senior Homecoming… I'm getting off topic.

Honestly… I'd rather be off topic.

Come on! Not even- fine! I'm almost done anyway! We got to the street and knocked on the door to the house. Grouse answered, middle aged man with longer hair and glasses. Said that his neighbors, the Louds, hadn't been out in a while, thought that something was wrong. We reassured him and said we'd check on it.

I didn't even expect the Loud family to still be living there, to be honest. They had been there since I moved into town… their kid, Lynn, I used to hang out with her all the time. Took her to my… my 8th grade formal…

Anyway… we walked over, me and McCann, and got to the yard. The house was like I remembered, in a little worse shape. Nothing big. Paint chipping, unkempt lawn, loose shingles. Like it was either abandoned or uncared for. I hadn't talked to these guys in a while, but... they didn't keep their house THIS bad.

Got to the porch, and the first thing I noticed was the smell. Damn, it was strong. Kinda like a mixture of waffle batter and metal. It sort of blended in, actually… that's why we weren't immediately alarmed. It seemed normal enough.

Chandler knocked first. Stated his name, purpose, position, everything. No answer. Not even footsteps.

I wasn't too worried. It was still early, people slept in on weekends, yadda yadda. I tried knocking harder, and still nothing. That's when McCann twisted the door handle. It was unprofessional, sure, but it worked. The door was wide open.

We looked at each other, then at the inside. Man… it was TERRIBLE. The place was trashed… garbage everywhere, smell of shit wafting through… the main chair was burned almost to ashes... which looking back, makes more sense now. I remember Chandler gasping, turning to me and saying, "Who the hell lives like this?"

I shrugged. This wasn't the Loud family I knew. I told McCann to search the living room, I'd go upstairs. I… I closed the door behind me. That's when I saw the kitchen.

I… I don't…

I'll admit right now, I vomited. It took a minute, but I did. They were all sitting there at the table. I didn't think anything was wrong at first… maybe they were so into their meal they didn't hear us.

It was only a few seconds until I realized what I was seeing.

They… they were dead. All of them.

I yelled. LOUD. I didn't expect it, NO ONE expects it, but there it was right in front of me. McCann came running, and like me stood paralyzed at the door. We were horrified. Anyone would be in the situation.

There was twelve of them. Five adult women and seven… kids. There were seven dead children at that table. There faces were… oh, God, they were blue. Blue and veined. There were veins jutting out of their faces. That's when McCann fainted. Took me a solid few minutes to realize he was on the floor. I was transfixed.

I only recognized one of them. Lynn. My first crush, my first love… sitting there, her face dead and her eyes glazed. Her lip was cut from her nose down. An expression of pain was written on her face. I'll remember that for the rest of my life…

I'm crying? Get a tissue, then… don't leave me looking like this.

THAT'S when I puked. Right on the linoleum floor, I let my guts loose. It was too gruesome to stomach. When I was done, I radioed the chief… pretty sure he thought I was loco, I was choking on my words. He didn't believe me… he didn't believe me or I wasn't understandable, but he promised to send a car down. I was too weak to argue.

Chandler stood up then. Tears streaked down his face. He turned away and walked outside, he couldn't look at it and I wished I could do the same, but… I couldn't.

I walked into the kitchen and saw immediately what happened. A bowl was on the counter, filled with pancake batter. A can was on its side next to it. Arsenic.

Rat poison.

Whoever cooked that meal poisoned all of them. Mass suicide.

I couldn't do it. I RAN outside, waited until Santana got there. Edgar had been on the force longer than me, knew more, but he wasn't prepared for this. No one could be.

He screamed. Like a bitch.

The rest happened fast. Squad cars piled up, the house was blocked off, news vans… it was the largest homicide in Michigan since 1962. Right there in the Loud House. Biggest domestic child abuse case since the Turpin house of horrors in '18.

Of course, I had to keep going that day. The staff was understocked for different reasons, so we all had to chip in with the house search later in the day. I wish I hadn't… I should have left, but my dumb ass didn't.

Up the stairs was probably the worst scene of carnage in my life. Trash everywhere. Human feces stained the carpet. Dead rats and bugs were piled into corners… NO ONE could live in this. How did they? We had to use masks, the air was so toxic and bad…

There were 5 rooms. Bathroom was a shit storm, absolutely. There was no possible way to tell it WAS a bathroom unless you studied. Next room was… Jesus, it was horrible. The diary in the corner desk said Lyra. Hell if I know which one that was… but the walls were scratched to a pulp by her bed. Lighters… everywhere. Small burns… everywhere. Lemy, the boys name was, had a thing for fire. Must have been the one to set the chair up, then.

Across the hall was the worst smelling room I had ever been in. Loan was on one side, big bold block letters above the bed. Judging from the added… additions to her side of the room, she was the one responsible for the shit everywhere. The girl was mentally retarded, I believe the report said. The other side wasn't as bad at first glance, but it was. Liena… my kids name. I had named my first child Liena. God, I wanted to die at that point. The cruel irony...

We searched that room, and all we could find was the box. An Under Armor shoebox.

It… it was a baby. A baby boy split into 3 parts. And it's... it's guts were hanging out of its stomach.

3 officers had to be taken out after that. I've never seen that happen to ANYONE. The guys who had to leave, some of the toughest men I'd ever seen. Seven of us got mild PTSD just from looking inside that house. Me included.

I cried. I openly cried out. I couldn't take it.

The rest of the search was a blur. The last room we searched was the locked door, the farthest down the hall. An old linen closet was next to it, which had been locked off from the inside. We tried to knock it down with our boots, but it was stuck in place. We had to call in the battering ram to get in, and… and...

Two girls my kids age. Dead. Slashed their wrists and died in each other's arms. We covered them with sheets from the bed, and they were gone by the end of the hour.

I don't remember much after that. I flash back to that baby all the time... it tries to attack me in my sleep. Tries to choke me out with its guts as chains. I used to love babies, but now all I see is that… that fucking monster. I can't do it.

The first scene was horrible, too. I can smell pancake batter and arsenic everywhere now. I'll never eat pancakes again. I won't. My kids had a pancake dinner at school earlier this week and I had to leave it to throw up.

All in total, there were fifteen.

FIFTEEN.

They found another one that night. She was buried out back in the yard, no older than six. She'd been strangled. The fingerprints matched with no one, they'd been so contaminated.

The worst part? America was watching it unfold. CNN, FOX, NBC, they all covered it. They were there filming live when they nabbed the three that left the house. They were there when Lynn Loud Sr was arrested for child molestation. They were there as every detail, every gruesome tidbit of information was released. And America didn't cry. They sobbed.

How could WE let this happen? How did us, the people, let these kids live like this? Like animals? And more, how would we cope with the fact that we allowed this to happen?

My answer? I didn't. I locked myself in my thoughts for a while. Back to my formal dance in eighth grade. I went to that house for pictures before the dance. I knew all of them. They were nice people… especially Lynn. My first crush… where did it all go wrong?

When they came out with the final report… that was it. I got my gun and I had my hand on the trigger. I wanted my story to end right there, the worst case scenario nightmare that was happening. I didn't, though. I had two kids that needed a dad in their lives.

Lincoln… that nice kid in the orange polo with the cowlick. He seemed nice enough… we talked about Ace Savvy for a while before I went to the dance with his sister. How he could manage to ruin this family was beyond me… but he did. The report said that he was an abusive drunk, that he had kids with all his sisters. An incestuous cult living in OUR OWN TOWN. That's the gist of it. It said he died in the hospital, had to have his legs and dick cut off after a 'BBQ accident.'

Barbecue, my ass. The pyro lit him up, if you ask me.

Now, whenever I think about it, I can't stop. I'm gonna have to take pills and knock myself out to forget this… the memories of that day come back to me like bullets.

They buried all of them next to each other. I, personally, think that was selfish. Lincoln was next to the children he beat and procreated. Hypocrisy at its finest.

I still go up there occasionally, to their final resting spot. They made a shrine to the kids up there. They leave flowers, stuffed animals, letters, everything. They made a scholarship fund in their name, they tore the house down… people are trying to forget it ever happened. But I can't. I… I'm sorry...

Don't forget them. We may not have known them, but we can't forget them. Those kids, they were humans, too. Sinful humans that frankly shouldn't have existed in the first place, but humans. They were guilty of nothing except being born and unloved. It makes me sick to think that they lived among us and nobody knew enough to stop it.

If you ever go up to that cemetery, leave a crocus at Lynn's grave for me. That was always her favorite flower. She told me after we kissed for the first time.

And… when you see that tombstone that says 'Lincoln L, Father, Son, Husband'?

Spit on it. For all of them.

-END AUDIO-

A family is supposed to be one of the lights in your life. When that light goes out, it's very likely you'll never see one again.

I know these kids don't exist. But there are families like this out there. The Turpins showed that to all of us. And while we can't do much about it, what we can do is report it. If you suspect abuse, tell someone.

Thank you Flagg for letting me share this epilogue with you and everyone else. -SizzlR