Evidence Item 72518 – Transcript of Facebook Livestream by Elizabeth Andrea Spears – Dated 14th June 2023

She’s invited me to dinner, and so I’ve called the police. They just left me on hold, and in fact, I’m still on hold, but who knows if anyone will eventually pick up my call, so I’m recording this to tell someone about what’s going on here.

My name is Elizabeth Spears, and that bitch is crazy.

Somebody has to know what happened to me, if I don’t make it.

Her name is Poppy. Poppy Reynolds. I don’t know if it’s a fake name or if it’s for real. Nothing about her actually adds up, but that’s not the point. The point is, she’s a murderer and you need to call the police immediately.

If you click on this livestream, take out your phone and call those workshy pigs. They won’t take you seriously, but please try. If I don’t make it, I want those bastards to be held accountable, because they let it happen.

They’re going to let me die, just like they let all those others die.

I’ve been calling and calling for months.

I’m at Flat 3, Park Grove, SW1A 2JR. Tell them that the crazy bitch is at it again.

I call the police but they never come. I call them and call them, even putting my phone up against the wall so that they can hear what I hear but all they do is promise to send someone round, and then never do.

They don’t understand what’s going on here! Nobody does.

Poppy is insane. She’s doing something to people next Door, something really bad, and they’re just letting her get away with it.

She moved in last year, and she seemed like a sweet girl, I guess. She’d moved down to London from the North, looking for fame and fortune, like all the starry eyed kids do. I have to admit, I found it weird that she didn’t sound like she was from the North, at all, but she wants to be famous so maybe she likes to do different accents? I don’t know.

Can you hear her? What she’s doing to that poor girl? It’s ungodly.

There were other weird things. She never had any friends. She didn’t seem to have a job to go to. She just had visitors, men and women who came in at night, and that was all, except… they never came back out. I tried not to overthink it, I mean, maybe they left early, maybe when I was at work or something. It wasn’t my business, but something about it bothered me.

I’d hear all these noises next door, every single night without fail. Grunting, groaning, yelping and hollering, but again, it wasn’t my business.

At first, I thought it was sex. It’s not nice to hear, of course, but everyone’s had a noisy neighbour or two in their time, and she was young, pretty and in the big city for the first time, so I gave her a pass.

One night, she kept me up with all the screaming, grunting and groaning, and I was about to knock on the wall to ask her to stop when I heard something that chilled me.

“I don’t want to die!” The voice was pleading, frightened, and for a moment, I tried to entertain the idea that it was all just part of a sick role play. “Please, I have kids, they need…” There was a loud crash against the wall and the voice fell silent. I fell back, clutching my hands over my mouth and scrambling towards my bed. I grabbed the phone, dialling the police as quickly as I could, but as soon became the norm, they said they’d send somebody as soon as they could, and then never did.

They never sent anyone, and I tried to forget, but the next morning, I saw her leaving her flat, and before I’d even thought about it, I’d asked her about the noises. She just smiled sweetly at me, almost as if I was being ridiculous. I wanted to ask her more, but I had a feeling I should leave it, so I tried to forget, and I avoided her.

The noises continued. Men, women, screaming and screeching. Loud crashes against the walls. I couldn’t sleep, because I knew that something dark was going on just metres away from me.

I’d call the police again and again, hearing them get tired of me, and the noise went on and on, night after night.

I finally got confirmation of all the awful things that I suspected this past weekend. It was late and there was a racket as usual. Some poor girl, screaming like her life depended on it… probably because it did.

I’d called the police, and the useless bastard on the other end sounded so bored while I practically begged for help. I got the usual response, but I knew nobody was coming to help me.

There was a girl in danger, and I was the only one who was going to help her, so I did something that I promised myself I’d never do. I went next door and knocked on that bitch’s door.

There was a lot of shuffling and muffled screaming behind the door before it opened slightly.

She fiddled with the chain as she opened up, a soft smile, overpowered by a snarl on her lips as she spoke, and dripping down her fingertip as it toyed with the chain was blood.

Poppy told me that she’d just cut her finger while making food but there were no visible cuts on her hands. I just smiled and nodded, but as I looked over her shoulder, I spied the source of the blood.

Sprawled across the carpet was a woman, her chest cut open, blood gushed from her stomach as she reached up a weak arm, breathlessly.

She could see me, and I could see her.

Behind her was a weird looking woman, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Nervous, pale looking, bothered by something, like she didn’t want to be there but had no choice. She caught my eye, and seemed to be pleading, without words, hoping that I’d burst in and rescue her from the hell she was trapped in.

A little girl too. A little monster, actually. Knelt by the dying woman with a wide smile, sticking her tiny fingers into the wound.

I wanted to look away, but it was all too much to take in. The sick scene got worse with every second, until I was snapped back to the hallway, face to face with a killer.

Poppy sighed, muttering something about making breakfast and slammed the door in my face. She probably knew what I had seen, and she hadn’t even tried to make an excuse for it. She just shut the door, because she knew that nobody would believe me.

Who the hell makes breakfast at night? She was just saying whatever so that she could shut that door. I know what was on the other side and I am not going to let this go.

I couldn’t save that girl. It’s been on my mind for days. I’ve been checking online for missing women, but honestly, there’s so many in this city that there’s no way to narrow it down and find her family. I don’t know what I’d say if I found them. I don’t even know if they know that she’s missing yet.

This city is so busy and it’s easy to get lost.

I know what Poppy is, and that’s why she stopped by this morning. She knocked on my door, with clean hands this time, and a big smile.

She invited me to dinner. Can you believe that?

Dinner????

Crazy!

The bitch is crazy!

I slammed the door in her face this time, running for the phone.

As you can probably guess, the police never sent anyone. After a while, I knew they never would, but I would call all the same. I think it was just out of habit, maybe for some false sense of security, some way to feel safe from whatever was happening on the other side of the walls.

I don’t know why they can’t see what I see. I know they’ve come out to our street once or twice, but they never come inside. They watch through the window for a few minutes and then leave. What good is that?

It’s like they’re afraid of what they’ll see. It’s like they don’t want to be where I am. They don’t want to know the truth, because when you know the truth, it’s all over.

I keep calling. My phone is right here with me, calling and calling, and I need you to call too, because that bitch is dangerous, and she’s on to me. She knows that I know, and now, I don’t think I’ll survive the night.

I’m all alone here and I need your help, because nobody else is…

Wait, can you guys still hear me? The connection keeps cutting out, and…

Hello?

Can anybody hear me?

-x-

Officer’s Report (Draft) – 7th August 2023 – Matthew Roberts

The Puppet Mistress murders have now been stopped for good, but the cost has been huge to this city.

There are many questions to answer, but perhaps the most pressing is how they were allowed to go on as long as they did.

From our best estimations, Poppy Reynolds, who we now know to be the previously anonymous Puppet Mistress moved to London in July 2022 from an unidentified location. She gave many different locations to various people, but each does not contain any evidence of her having lived there, so we are unsure of her origins. This is still being investigated by forces across the UK.

It is hard to believe that she has caused so much damage in just over a year in London. It is hard to reconcile with the various failures across the force that allowed her to continue to commit crimes, even after she was initially apprehended.

It is believed that Reynolds began luring victims back to her flat in August of 2022, and would kill and mutilate their bodies, believing that she could create dolls from their corpses.

Strange noises and regular disturbances were repeatedly reported by a neighbour of Reynolds, Elizabeth Spears. From what I can find, Spears made over two hundred calls to the emergency services in an attempt to raise alarm about the actions of Reynolds but was routinely ignored.

There are pages and pages of call logs where Spears can be seen asking for assistance, almost begging, and shamefully, it appears that she was not taken seriously throughout this ordeal.

The morgue is full of bodies from all over the city. There is one woman to blame and one woman who tried to stop her. Elizabeth Spears did everything that she could, but I have since discovered that her calls were always going to be unanswered.

I am not sure if this report will be filed. I have been warned off by my superiors, even threatened, so perhaps this will end up lost down the back of a file cabinet somewhere.

Perhaps, so will I.

The calls from Elizabeth Spears were monitored but never acted on, because Poppy Reynolds was being watched. She was the only known connection between the human world, and the creatures known as The Light Stealers.

Nobody knew how the relationship began, but she formed a friendship with one of those… things, and the government wanted them, so higher ups across the Met were ordered to watch, and to wait, so that they could capture it.

Reynolds was allowed to go on killing, in the pursuit of power. The government hungered to harness a dark evil, and they looked the other way until they could lure Reynolds and her fiendish friend out into the open.

Reynolds began to make mistakes, driven mad by the pursuit of a love that would last. She took that… thing out into the open, and the force was able to confirm its existence. It was only then that the order to arrest Reynolds was given.

That was supposed to be the end. Officers stormed the building and dragged Reynolds, kicking and screaming into custody. I was there that day. It was one of the worst things I’ve ever seen. Bodies everywhere, perfume barely masking the muggy, heavy scent of death.

Only one of the victims was still alive. She was chained to the bed, quiet as a church mouse, just staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression.

She’s been identified as a woman who went missing months ago with her girlfriend. It’s believed that she had a short relationship with Reynolds, and became her obsession. Her body was covered with injuries, and I can’t explain why, but her empty, endless stare frightened me. It’s like she’s alive, but there’s nothing inside of her.

A little girl was hidden under the table, her big eyes brimming with terrified tears. There was no depth that Reynolds wouldn’t sink to. We were unable to identify the child, and we still haven’t been able to.

The girl was taken into care, and Reynolds into custody, but the creature got away.

All the death had been for nothing. We didn’t get the creature. Reynolds was held for a little while, but they let her out, as part of another hair brained scheme to capture the creature.

I argued again and again with as many senior officers I could find, but they all had their orders. Reynolds was to go free, in exchange for her luring the creature in and giving him up.

No justice for the victims. No justice for the woman who had been ignored when she tried to save them.

Nobody would pay. Well… almost nobody.

The only person who paid the price for the crimes of Poppy Reynolds was the woman who tried to stop her.

The creature was captured this morning, and by the afternoon, Reynolds’ home was a bloodbath.

They let her keep the bodies, and the woman that somehow made it out alive. They actually let her keep them all imprisoned in her flat. They made a deal with a dangerous, disgusting killer.

I begged my superiors to see sense, but they were blinded by duty. They had their orders and they made a deal with the devil so that they could follow them.

There was a fight. The survivor appears to have finally killed Reynolds and escaped. We found her a few miles down the road, silent and stained with blood. She wouldn’t speak, and she hasn’t since.

She’s been hospitalised. I don’t see her ever being released. Maybe it’s the best place for her.

We went to Reynolds’ home, and discovered her body. Finally, justice, in a sense, but next door, was Elizabeth Spears, long forgotten, and never thanked for what she had tried to do.

We almost didn’t find her, but among the carnage, I noticed that the smell of death wasn’t just confined to Reynold’s home.

We broke down the door and sat at the table, silent and still was Elizabeth Spears.

There was nothing left of her eyes, but they followed me all the same. Torn out and replaced with buttons, like that children’s movie. You know the one. Why? I couldn’t say. Maybe Reynold’s couldn’t stand being watched anymore.

She watched as we placed her body into the cool, cruel black plastic. She watched as we closed the zip and shielded her from what we had allowed to be done to her.

I don’t think I’ll ever get the sight of her body out of my head.

She had been there for weeks, but she still looked pristine, in a sense. Reynolds always embalmed her victims, for the full doll experience, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise, but still, it was unsettling.

Dried blood trailed down her chest from a stab wound in her neck, but her face was made up, gaudy, glittery make up smeared across her cheeks and eyelids. Dressed all in white, with her hair in pigtails, and around her neck, a crudely drawn sign with a scrawled insult.

“Tattletale.”

One last doll. One last act of revenge against the only one who tried to stop her crime spree. One last person failed by those who were meant to protect them.

She must have been there for weeks, all alone, and none of us had even thought to look for her. She was the only one who tried to stop Reynolds and she was the only one who suffered along with the other victims.

Nobody will ever know.

The livestream she posted has been scrubbed from the internet. The flats were both deep cleaned, and now they’re full of new families.

The last victim, Marilyn, as she insists on being called, was blamed for murdering Reynolds and she’ll probably be locked up in that hospital forever. They just played it off as a domestic dispute. Nobody even knows that a serial killer was on the loose.

As Elizabeth said in her livestream, it’s easy to get lost in this city, and that’s all the victims have become. Their families can’t make sense of it because it doesn’t make sense, but nobody is listening to them, just like nobody listened to Elizabeth.

There are a few rumblings every now and then about the case, but it never goes anywhere.

It’s like it never happened.

The Puppet Mistress murders are over, but nobody will ever know the truth. Perhaps, that is the greatest crime of all.