Young Writers Society

“I knew I should have cremated her instead.”

Diana muttered under her breath as she peered down at the lawn through the curtains. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead as she watched breathlessly. The monotone ticking of the clock was the only sound in the house, yet it seemed deafening to her ears.

A white dog, wearing a red collar was curiously sniffing around the dirt near the withered chrysanthemum bushes. His furry tail briskly swayed side to side as he nuzzled and clawed at the uneven ground.

“Come on, Fluffy!” said a young boy, probably his owner as he tugged at the leash, “we'll be in big trouble if old Mrs. Morgan were to see us.”

The boy glanced up at the window as he talked. Diana moved away from behind the curtains at once, hoping he hadn't noticed her.

She let out a sigh of relief, wiping her forehead as she saw the boy finally walking away, forcing his pet to move away from the lawn. Diana watched until he was completely out of sight.

That old hag... she'll never leave me in peace, even after she's dead.

. . .

If it weren't for Diana's job, she'd never have to put up with that woman. Who in their right mind would want to stay in a shabby old manor in the middle of nowhere? But Diana couldn't afford to leave her job. She desperately needed the money.

She was assigned to Mrs Morgan as a full time home health nurse, by the agency she worked in. But she never imagined it to be this hard.

Mrs Morgan was the owner of the mansion, nearly as old and battered as the house itself. She had an unusual mark around her neck.

That really made her stand out.

Diana wondered if Mrs Morgan had been one of those patients of the asylum who needed to be chained.

But on top of everything, she was absolutely obnoxious.

The old woman did nothing all day except sitting on a rocking chair, watching television, or maybe get into a nasty brawl with the neighbour living across the street, which seemed to be the only house in sight beyond miles of foggy, barren land.

One day, Diana might have been a bit absent-minded when she was giving her the daily injection. The needle caused a sharp pain in her arm, causing Mrs Morgan to yelp. But before Diana could apologise for her mistake, she violently shoved her away, knocking her against the scalding teapot.

“You! Are you trying to kill me!?” shrieked Mrs Morgan, clutching her arm, her beady eyes wide open.

“I'm really sorry, ma'am, I—”

“You're trying to kill me because of my property, aren't you?” she didn't let her finish. Diana's mouth was agape as she stared at the old woman. She had no idea why she was reacting that way over a small prick in the arm.

Who wants to have your old, run-down shack anyway?

“I'm sorry,” Diana apologised, ignoring the fact that Mrs Morgan had hurt her more, “There seems to be a misunderstanding, ma'am. I didn't mean to hurt you on purpose,.”

“Silence!” she yelled, “if you think your sweet words are gonna fool me, you're wrong. One more mistake and I'll report to your agency — hell, I'll even get the cops if you cross the line.”

After that, Diana thought better of arguing with her anymore. She tried to pass it off, thinking she might just be a typical, bad tempered old lady, but it was more than that.

She was deeply obsessed with the fact that everybody was trying to kill her because of her property. It made sense why she was always getting in ridiculous arguments with her neighbor.

Every time Diana would give her medicine, every time she would prepare her meals prescribed by the doctor, Mrs Morgan would subject it to a thorough examination to make sure it wasn't poisoned. She was convinced that Diana wanted her dead. She'd curse at her for the smallest mistakes, threaten her that she'd contact the agency and get her fired.

Diana asked her agency numerous times, requesting them to assign her a new client. But she was simply told to ‘put up’ with it. It was even worse that she couldn't find another job elsewhere.

She began to hate Mrs Morgan more and more every passing day.

Everything about her was repulsive. Diana hated the way she'd sit in the rocking chair all day. She hated the way the ancient chair would creak.

The sound was enough to drive her mad.

She hated her croaky voice while she'd quarrel with her neighbour.

She despised how the old woman would question her every move, staggering around the creaking floorboards with her walking stick.

But that day, she had enough.

It started like a normal day. Diana had given Mrs Morgan her medicine in the morning and went out to sit on the porch for a break. That was when a man barged in through the front doors, clasping the hand of small girl who Diana assumed was his daughter. The man looked enraged, while his daughter was sobbing uncontrollably.

Diana stopped him halfway through the hallway.

“I demand to see Mrs Morgan!” he said. He looked as if he was about to kill her, and anybody else who might be in his way.

Diana heard Mrs Morgan step into the hallway, in her usual wobbly steps. The man narrowed his eyes at her.

“It was you! You poisoned her pet dog. You killed him, old bitch!” he said, pointing a finger at her which was shaking in anger.

As he said so, Diana remembered Mrs Morgan feeding cookies to a dog that happened to wander around the lawn a couple of days ago.

“Do you have any proof?” 

“My daughter says that our dog had wandered off to your lawn while she took him for a walk. If you need more evidence, you can say that to the cops when I get them.”

“You won't prove nothing.”

Mrs Morgan let out a raspy chuckle. “Here's an advice. Take care of your little girl. If she keeps walking her pet in people's lawns, someone might poison her too. You can never be too careful nowadays.”

The man stormed out, slamming the front door before threatening to call the police. The child's sobs echoed in Diana's head over and over.

She went back into the living room, where Mrs Morgan had settled herself in the rocking chair, as if nothing happened.

Creak... creak...creak...

The annoying sound was getting on her nerves. Diana wanted that sound to stop forever.

She turned to Mrs Morgan with pure hatred in her eyes. She felt sick at the idea of poisoning an innocent animal. She silently reached for the fork from the plate on the coffee table, and hid it behind herself, which Mrs Morgan didn't notice.

“You really did it, didn't you?” Diana breathed out, clenching her teeth.

Mrs Morgan's wizened face twisted into a nasty grin, showing her yellowed, decaying teeth. This drove her over the edge.

Diana grabbed the armrest of the chair in one hand to stop the irritating noise, and raised the fork above her head in the other. Before Mrs Morgan could react, Diana covered her mouth with a firm hand and stabbed her left eye, hard and deep. Thick, crimson blood flowed down her sunken cheek as her screams were muffled by her hand.

She kept Mrs Morgan pinned to the chair and hit her in the ribcage using her knee. Her screams took a higher pitch as Diana twisted the bloody fork into her eye socket and gouged out her eyeball. Diana threw the fork away at the table.

She grabbed her bloodied head and banged it against the wooden armrest, which made the armchair creak again, much to her disturbance.

“STOP THAT SOUND! MAKE IT STOP!”

Diana yelled as she banged her head over and over until she heard a sickly crunch and Mrs Morgan stopped struggling.

She stood up, breathing heavily as she looked at the mess. The air of the room was filled with a sickening, metallic stench of blood. Diana's mind was clear by now. She knew what to do.

“I'm getting a new job and you're getting a nice burial,” she said to the corpse that stared up at her with one eye and an empty socket.

That day in the late afternoon when it was almost dark, Diana dragged the corpse out at the shadowy lawn. She had wrapped it in black plastic sheets from head to toe.

It's a damn good thing that nobody's home.

She glanced at the only house across the deserted street, which was empty.

It took a good two hours to bury the corpse behind the withered chrysanthemum bushes. Diana looked at her ‘creation’ with deep satisfaction in her eyes, holding the shovel over her shoulder.

Two days passed without any disturbance. Diana took the time to get ready to leave the place forever and made sure there was no evidence that she had ever been there.

. . .

As soon as the boy left with the dog, Diana rushed downstairs, while her bags, with which she was about to escape, laid aside.

She grabbed the shovel again as she cursed under her breath. If she didn't bury it deep enough, dogs would pick up the scent and dig it back up.

She decided to burn it down to ashes this time. She would entirely dispose of the body there in the middle of nowhere. No one will ever know.

Then, Diana would have a new, fresh start in life.

It was dark outside, and she glanced at the house across the street again as she struggled to find her way in the darkness. Still empty.

She went up to the chrysanthemum bushes, and started digging right where the dog was clawing before. Sweat trickled down her forehead as she dug the dirt with a new energy.

I won't let you ruin my life anymore.

In her imagination, Diana could almost hear the crackling fire as she would burn the disgusting, old Mrs Morgan.

Diana cursed and ducked behind the bushes as she heard a car coming up the road. She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage, almost hurting her as she stayed still, trying not to breath.

Her heart nearly stopped as the car seemed to slow down in front of the house. She feared if the child's father had really brought the police. She let out a sight of relief as the car didn't stop, and went past the house.

She resumed digging again. She kept digging for what seemed like hours. With each passing moment, she anticipated to feel the surface of the plastic bag against the shovel.

Nothing but dirt.

It felt like she was digging forever. Her hands were aching and she felt dizzy. She sat down on the pile of earth, throwing the shovel at one side in frustration.

Then it hit her.

She must have been digging at the wrong place.

She remembered burying her by the chrysanthemum bushes, but she couldn't remember which side it was, as she was a bit carried away at that moment.

The road was empty, and nobody was home at the neighbour's. She seriously considered bringing the flashlight with her to find the right spot. She was sure she would be able to identify it then.

Not wasting another moment, Diana dashed back into the old manor. The flashlight was in the living room, by the television.

Locking the front door behind her, Diana quietly stepped in the creaking hallway. The living room door was ajar, just as she had left it. She went in. Her back faced the room as she was closing the door.

Creak...creak... creak...

Diana froze in her spot as she heard the rocking chair creak behind her.

She screamed as the TV was turned on, the blaring sound echoing throughout the empty house.

The rocking chair creaked in front of the TV, while the bluish light of the screen filled the empty room. Diana slowly turned her head.

A human form, shrouded in black plastic sheets from head to toe was rocking back and forth in the chair. Numerous maggots came wriggling out of the gaps in the plastic sheets.

That was the last thing Diana saw.

. . .

If it weren't for Emily's job, she'd never have to put up with that woman. Who in their right mind would want to stay in a shabby old manor in the middle of nowhere? But Emily couldn't afford to leave her job. She desperately needed the money.

She was assigned to Mrs Morgan as a full time home health nurse, by the agency she worked in. But she never imagined it to be this hard.

Mrs Morgan was the owner of the mansion, nearly as old and battered as the house itself.

She had an unusual mark around her neck, and always wore an eyepatch covering her left eye.

That really made her stand out.

. . .

[This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.]