The PartyA Story by James MayfieldWhat lies behind the eyes of a child?
Children are smarter than most people give them credit for. They pick up on things you try to keep hidden from them with an almost preternatural ease. Honestly, think back on all the times you yourself have found the hidden cache of presents come Christmas time. They have an almost sixth sense stumbling upon things they shouldn’t know. You can see it in their eyes. I never really gave it much thought, but the look in my little girls eyes as she came into the kitchen chilled my veins. There was no way she could know what I had done. No. I had been so careful. I had told my daughter Angie that her mom had to go away on business. Yet there was something in her gaze as she looked at me. “I thought mom was coming home today. She was supposed to take me over to Janet’s for the Halloween party tonight.” I nodded, painting what I hoped was a reassuring smile onto my face. “She should be home before you get back from school this afternoon. We’ll make sure your there in time to have a great evening.” She just gave me a faint smile, her eyes cold and thoughtful. I was amazed at how my fourteen year old daughter was making me doubt myself after all the precautions I had taken. There was no way she could know that her mother was bricked up behind a wall in our basement. I had killed her while Angie was visiting her grandparents on her fall break. As far as our family knew she had gone to Maryland to help open a new franchise location. Of course she had been picked to go and oversee the project, she never made it on the plane. As far as the world will know, she left to go to the airport and was never seen again. Nobody would ever suspect her morning health shake was spiked with drain cleaner. It was quite a disturbing sight, with the seizures and the bloody froth pouring from her mouth. I felt a sudden quickening of my pulse as I ended my gruesome reverie to see Angie staring at me, her face blank, her eyes dull. “You’d better get going,” I said after clearing my throat, “you don’t want to miss your bus.” With a flip of her hair she grabbed her backpack and headed out of the kitchen. As soon as I heard front door shut I made my way to the sink. Turning on the cold water, I quickly splashed the soothing liquid over my face, trying to wash away my case of nerves. I made my way to the basement, switching on every light along the way. She was there in the corner, invisible to everybody in her brick tomb. The new wall was indistinguishable from the rest of the masonry. I had made sure to match the colors very closely, to mortar the seems just so. It was perfect. Blowing a kiss towards the wall, I turned to leave and switched off the light. The rest of the day went by in a rather mundane routine. I had the day off and spent it doing a few odd jobs around the house before laying on the couch to read. I must have dosed off because the next thing I remember is the sound of Angie pounding her way down the stairs. She was already in costume, a voodoo witch, complete a wax candle sprouting from a rather realistic plastic skull. She caught my gaze before twirling in a complete circle, showing off her costume with the zeal of the young. “So daddy, it’s time to go. I don’t want to be late.” I issued a low grunt as I hauled myself up off of the couch, glancing at the clock as I rose. Almost five in the evening. I had been asleep for at least three hours. Grabbing my keys from a hook by the door we headed out into the night. Conversation was light as we drove, slowly maneuvering past the groups of ghosts and goblins carrying their neon pumpkins full of candy. As we pulled into Janet’s driveway Angie brought those knowing eyes to bear. “You have to come in daddy. Janet’s parents want to meet you before you head home. It’ll only take a minute, I promise.” “Alright, but I can only stay a minute. I want to check on your mother’s flight and see when she’s due home.” Angie just gave her odd little smile and led me in the front door. There were no lights on, fat white candles being lit in their place. An odd scent floated in the air, almost like burnt potpourri. A girlish giggle came from the couch. Janet sat there with two other girls, all them dressed as witches. They just sat there grinning, staring at me with a kind of mirthful curiosity. The hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. Something just wasn’t right.
“She’s in the kitchen waiting for you,” Janet said as she pointed towards a door at the back of the room, “She’s just dying to see you.” This brought a fresh round of laughter from the girls. I made my way into the kitchen, glancing about the room as I entered. I completely froze as my eyes came across the form bent over the kitchen sink. The figure had it’s back to me but there was something terrifyingly familiar about them. My unease began to build as the figure stood and began to turn towards me. I felt as if my feet had grown roots. Ice flowed sluggishly through my veins. All I could hear was my pulse pounding in my ears, and the girls still laughing in the room beyond. Then a wet smack. As if a wad of spit had hit the linoleum floor. The figure turned towards me and the last thing I can remember thinking clearly was that it hadn’t been spit at all. No. As I fell into the sweet darkness of unconsciousness I saw clearly what it was. The bloody froth issuing from my dead wife’s mouth as she stared at me from across the room. I can’t remember anything else. Not until the police came to pull me away the opening in the brick wall in our basement. Prying the bricks from my bloodied fingers. I remember pulling down that wall, clawing and punching and pulling away at the bricks. Needing to see for myself that she was still where I had left her. I don’t know who told the police, but the limp corpse staring at us from the recess in the wall told all of us all we needed to know. © 2008 James MayfieldFeatured Review
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Added on February 7, 2008Last Updated on February 8, 2008 AuthorJames MayfieldClarksville, TNAboutI am tired of the usual drivel that I have here. Yes, I was writing in High School. I was apparently doing a decent job as I was sent to a workshop hosted by Brescia College. Most of my works from .. more..Writing
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