@trashedrps // emilio & javier
The first time Emilio didn’t think much of it. He lived far enough away from town - well, the one street that people called town at least - that dead things just sort of happened. A stray that he had fed trying to return the favor, maybe? He didn't think too hard about it, just pulled on his thickest work gloves and threw the poor thing into the trash. The second time? Same thing, except that he vowed to always look down before padding out onto his porch with a cup of coffee. Those slippers also made their way into the bin. Around the sixth time though, that was when Emilio decided that some fuckery was afoot.
So he got a motion detecting camera for his front door. It took a while to install (and multiple calls to his son for troubleshooting) but in the end Emilio was satisfied. He'd find out why his porch had become the hot spot for small fluffy corpses and then he'd... well, he hadn't figured that out just yet. It would be something to research, that's for sure.
The pictures made things worse. Picturing a particularly vicious tomcat or maybe a coyote was bad. But a kid? Emilio spent most of his workday researching cult practices to see if there was some correlation. No dice, but his coworkers did give him a wider berth than usual. He didn't show the pictures to anyone even though in such a small town someone had to know something. He couldn't quite explain why. A hunch, maybe. When he did get sacrificed by a satanic cult or maybe as a gang initiation he was sure that this moment would be the part where true crime podcasts would start to victim blame.
It took a few more visits before Emilio found some semblance of a schedule with his little mystery visitor and he made himself ready. To do what he still didn't know. He brewed extra coffee and left his son's old baseball bat beside the front door just in case. When he heard the telltale creak of the porch steps he was ready. Before he could lose his nerve he yanked the front door open and used his best dad voice. The I heard you sneaking in past curfew, young man voice. One that screams authority even if he is wearing pajama pants with cats dressed as various classic writers on them. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"