by Melissa Phelps
I see your face in my minds eye, haunting my memory like
last week's garbage. No matter how hard I try, the vision of you just won't go
away.
Why are you tormenting me, so!? I
have no use for someone who's dead.
Dead? Dead is hardly the word for
someone who keeps creeping back up from the grave to play sick and demented
games with my mind.
I loved you at one time...but no
more! You caused it all. You plotted to murder me. You wanted to lop off my
head while I was sound asleep in bed right next to you. You were going to throw
my body in a shallow grave and leave me to rot with all the beetles and
maggots.
But you gave yourself away. I knew
something was up when you went out and bought the ax, thinking that I didn't
know. You were always anxious, too. Your eyes couldn't hide a lie from me no
matter how much they wanted to.
All of this made me suspect, but
when I heard you whispering in your sleep, "off with her head! Off with
her head! Old Miz Jones gonna be dead!" Then I knew.
But Old Miz Jones got you first
didn't she? I got out of bed and got that ax that you were so proud of, out of
the garage.
I sneaked back into the bedroom, oh
so carefully. I didn't want to wake you too soon. I stood over your side of the
bed.
"Charlie. Wake up, Charlie. I
got somethin' for ya, Charlie!"
Your eyes fluttered open and when
you saw me with the ax, you almost screamed, but I cut it off just in time.
How do you feel now? Do you like it
six feet under the earth? Do you like being eaten by maggots?! Do you like it,
Charlie?!
Me neither. It's too cold down here
in this box.
