suspect. My ego really took a hit. I was embarrassed to show my face in town, but it was worth it. The police assumed she had run off with the stranger. I thought of sending a postcard, supposedly written by her to me, from a distant city, but what was the point? Why agitate matters? Everyone thought she had run off—so be it.
The cracks in the ceiling began to appear at a more aggravating rate. But I was not cowed. I continued to scrape, spackle, and paint furiously as the creaking and tapping throughout the house became so commonplace I no longer took notice; but even so, decided to no longer sleep in the master bedroom. I gathered all of my things, closed the door securely behind me, and slept in one of the guest bedrooms. Let them rot under there for all I cared.
It wasn’t a month later that I couldn’t resist taking a peek into the master bedroom. On turning the door knob, I had to shoulder the door open against the accumulation of plaster that had fallen from the ceiling. I almost suffered a heart attack on seeing three skeletons sitting upright in the bed. The nearest I knew to be Lora because of her page boy blond hair. In the center, it must have been a man because it had short black hair. At the far end it must have been another woman because of the shoulder length braids. They all had protruding eyes, fleshless faces, and gleaming teeth. I pulled the door shut and stood outside for a moment collecting my senses. As I went to the kitchen I heard muffled laughter from behind. I filled a soda glass half full of whiskey and retreated to my favorite chair in the living room where I could look out over the marsh and decide what to do next. I thought they could do me no harm so I wasn’t frightened. I considered my alternatives.
One alternative was to go on as before with me staying out of the master bedroom and them staying in it, with the door closed. But that didn’t seen viable at the rate the ceiling was crumbling and would soon cave in along with the roof—to be seen by someone who might want to know what I was going to do about it.
Another alternative was to burn the house down and make it look like an accident or act of God. But what if the firemen or police found charred bones in the master bedroom? No, that was not a good idea either.
The final alternative was for me to leave without a trace. Yes, it was the was best thing to do. It took a few days to withdraw my savings and cash in securities, then I packed my clothes and other need be’s into my car and drove off—east, west, it didn’t matter—to where I could rent a room and then buy a place to start a new life. My only fear was of Wanda, for I believed she was the only one who could track me down.
###
Please write a review of this book.
Also by this author:
Summer Job ISBN 9780595509218
Grandma Was a Bag Lady ISBN 9781301445448
Dysfunctional Poetry 101 for Bedtime Reading ISBN 9781301829767
Dysfunctional Poetry 102 for Bedtime Reading ISBN 9781301585304
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends