Short Story

Ok - Just for you, this is a short story I wrote a few years ago - just thought you might like it.....

The Crime Scene

She knew that they would interpret it as a desperate action, almost premeditated. Well, it was. But it was inevitable. Too much time had gone by, and it wasn’t getting any better. In fact, she had to admit that unless she took action now, that eventually the Family would call in the Professionals – something that the Family didn’t like doing. She also knew that if the Family was forced to take action, that she would suffer greatly as a result. But for her to act upon this---to actually act on this horrible affront was just not something that Angela thought she would be finally capable of doing….

As Angela approached the large two-storey tan brick house, which sat back from the street behind a large black wrought-iron fence that surrounded the green landscaped gardens, she couldn’t help noticing how quiet everything was. It was a Friday, approximately 2:00 pm and while she had expected neighbourhood noise and traffic to perhaps distract her, she was surprised to notice how the afternoon shadows hid the house quietly from view, as it sat sheltered under the trees.

She had a key to the front door, but decided to turn the door knob first, just in case someone may have been in the house. No response. The door was locked. The air was still, and not a sound could be heard from where she stood. Quietly and almost with a defeated sense of what was to come, she reached into her jeans pocket, and took out the lone brass key that she had been given previously, and with some hesitation, she unlocked the front door. She looked behind her, as she slowly opened the door, to see if anyone was aware of what she was about to do. But she was alone. Not a soul stirred to distract her.

Angela entered the unusually dark house that afternoon, and sighed a silent, sad sound of defeat as she walked across the entry hall and began to ascend the large curving stairway to the first floor landing of the house. She knew that she would need to turn left, once she reached the top of the stairs, and that the second door on the right of the hallway was the room that she needed to enter. Her heart was heavy, and wishing that this was not happening, she gathered all of her strength and resolve, and slowly and quietly, turned the brass door knob on the door of that dreaded room.

She almost expected to be scared, but the shock of her impending action was numbing her from feeling. She just entered the room with a false act of determination. It was unusually dark, with all three windows in the room hiding behind heavy curtains. The bed was rumpled, showing that someone had left it in a hurry, and had hastily dragged the top sheet and coverlet halfway down the bed-top, and across the carpeted floor by the left hand side of the dishevelled bed.

Angela stared at the room, knowing that she would have to move quickly if she was going to achieve what she was being forced to do. She glanced into the ensuite to the right of the bedroom, and noticed a damp, stained bath towel laying just outside the shower door.

Suddenly the grandfather clock in the downstairs entry chimed 2:30, with its single chime, and Angela jumped at the noise. She quickly entered the ensuite and stepped over to the damp towel, and started to reach down to pick it up, noticing its dank stale odour. With towel in hand, she moved back to the ensuite doorway, she glanced quickly all around the bedroom, hoping that in doing so, she would summon the courage to take action. But as her heart pounded and her blood coursed through her veins and too rapidly to her head, she realised that only she could be held responsible for her next actions.

Memories of the yelling, and the accusations played in her head, and she wiped back tears of frustration and dread as she searched her soul for the strength to take on her dreaded task. Slowly she approached the large window to her right, and with a sudden yank, she pulled back the curtain, almost daring it to defy her.

Light poured into the shadowed room, highlighting the dirty clothes carelessly tossed on the floor and now laying at her feet.  Her eyes then settled upon the food encrusted dishes that had been carelessly tossed onto the room’s dark oak desktop. A steady stream of small, black ants were taking care of the food remnants that were still visible on the plate.

Angela began to feel ill, wanting to run away, rather that go any further, but she knew it was up to her. The accusations and the humiliation she had been made to undergo could not be allowed to continue.

She determinedly set her jaw, and stoically began her pre-determined task. What would they think of her? Would she be able to face them? She worried about how they would speak about her. She had always been so strong, so wilful. Now she had stooped to this level.

With a sad, loud sigh, she turned, and noticed the pile of books which had apparently been dropped or had fallen from the bookshelves on the far wall within the room. Looking at the books and then peering around her, she finally knew that this was the only action that could be taken. There was no escaping the obvious. She would have to clean her room. After all, she was the one who had made the mess.