Unsuspecting guest

It is 3 a.m. I have nothing but the light of the yellow moon to illuminate my way through the dense forest floor. I am sweating. Why do they have to be so heavy? I was not prepared for my night to turn out like this, but I am enjoying myself none the less. Sleep feels like a far-off need when you are fulfilling your satiation. But why does it have to be so miserably hot outside? The dragging sounds are the only sounds that fill the heavy air.

I finally make it to my spot. A spot so deep in the forest, that very few people have ever dared to venture into.There is a bright moon illuminating my path, but I could make this hike with my eyes closed. I could never forget this path.

I find a spot that looks just right and I plunge my shovel into the mossy, warm earth beneath me. The air around me is quiet except for the sounds of my shovel; crunch, scrape, crunch, scrape, crunch, scrape. The air is so thick around me and I can feel the sweat beading down my back. Again, why does this fun have to happen on the hottest night of the year? Better than being cold, I guess.

I dig until I am satisfied with the depth. No one will find him for a very long, long time. And lucky me, no one should be looking for such a poor excuse of a human being for a very long time too. I claw my way back out of the ground and there he is. He is wrapped in a rug (it was the best I could do on such short notice.) It was a beautiful rug, was. I have decided that I have done enough heavy lifting for one night so I am going to roll him. No one expects me to be so strong for a woman, which is perfect. I have worked so long and so hard to be able to do this heavy lifting.

I roll him in and he hits the damp earth with a thud. I look around in a slight panic even though I know no one is possibly here. The feeling of getting caught is something that I think will always stick with me. I cover him with the soft dirt as the sun begins to peek through the trees. The sunrise here is always beautiful. I take a moment to let the warm sun wash over me. This exact moment never gets old, no matter how many times I have done it.

Once the bloodied body is covered to my liking, I attempt to cover the spot back up with as much moss and fallen debris that I can. I am confident that no one will ever come upon it, but it doesn’t hurt to do some due diligence. That was something my daddy always taught me, “if you’re going to do something, you’d better do it right.” Gosh, if he could see me now, I think he would be so proud of me.

This all started as a young girl. The groundwork has been laid for the person I have become today, brick by brick. I always knew deep, down inside that I was destined for something greater and my daddy always knew it too. We just didn’t know how great it would really be. My daddy also taught me to stand up for those who can’t stand up for themselves, that is one of the biggest foundational bricks in my story.

The memory of daddy trying to be serious in the principal’s office pops itself into my brain. I had gotten suspended for punching little Jimmy Smith when he shot spit rockets at that poor girl. What was her name again? Catherine, Catherine Miller. People were so mean to her, I am honestly not sure how kids went home and slept peacefully at night after seeing the things they did to her. This memory starts to sour my stomach until I picture daddy getting in his old beat up Ford truck with me. He told me that despite what anyone else thought and what society wanted to say, I had done a good thing that day and to never be ashamed for doing a good thing. We went for ice cream afterwards, I had never seen him prouder. I let this memory cover me in warmth like the same old quilt you like to cuddle under each rainy day.

The forest beginning to come to life shakes me from my daydreams. It doesn’t matter that it is daylight, even if I am seen, no one could ever suspect a nice woman like me to have done what I did last night. No one will ever suspect a thing.

I complete the trek through the woods. I am not sure where he parked his car, but who cares? The police will think he went for a hike and just got lost. He won’t be missed. I can start to see the yellow of my house coming into view. I can hear the chickens and ducks clucking and quacking, itching to get out for the day. As I crest the trees, they start to get more excited for my arrival. Mo, my old dog, is sleeping soundly on the porch where I left her. She doesn’t like to make the trek anymore but she always stands guard waiting for my return. I stop at the tree line admiring my back yard and the view straight into my kitchen window. This must have been where he stood, watching me wash dishes at the kitchen sink.

I decide to stop at the berry bushes that act as a fence bordering the state forest that my land neighbors. I want to pick some berries for my morning yogurt. Fresh is best, especially after a long night of heavy lifting. This man was so lucky (or maybe unlucky depending on who you ask) that my husband was working away this week. He must be someone who knows that my husband frequently travels for work.

I knew that someone had been following me for weeks. Watching me from the trees as I fed the chickens and ducks. Mo knew it too, but she knew better than to alert loudly. She knew by now that I needed to keep it quiet. I did exactly what he wanted. I showed him my day to day routine so he knew exactly where I would be and when. I made a show of calling my best friend from the back porch to let her know that Brian wasn’t going to be home all week and that I just hated to be all alone. I spoke just loudly enough so that my words could be carried to my unsuspecting guest just beyond the tree line.

He knew that I liked to be in my attic at night; writing, or reading, or sewing in my office. He could so clearly see me through the window. He knew that I had a tendency to leave the doors unlocked, because who would be breaking in way out here? What he was not prepared for, was that he was breaking into the home of a serial killer.

How lucky am I? That this fine specimen of a man just so happened to break into my home. If I wasn’t convinced that I am doing the right thing before, I definitely am now. The universe just doesn’t reward you like that when you’re doing bad things.

He had a glimpse into my home through the windows, but he didn’t have the full picture. Lucky for me, he had no idea that my office doubled as my torture chamber. It is where I do bad things to bad men who like to abuse women and children. How do I hide it from my husband, you ask? All of these tools, just research. Research for the most famous horror writing author in the world. And what I did last night? Also research. So I guess it’s time to pour myself a heavy cup of coffee and get to work on my next book. It’s going to be a long day.