Untitled Stories

The lock clicked open easily. I knew it would; I’d been practicing this for weeks. I’d scoped out the place weeks ago, planning and waiting. The house was small, built in a “safe” neighborhood. Low crime, unlocked doors, open windows. This house was different, though. The windows were always shut, and the curtains always drawn. Even from a distance you could smell the money. The expensive car in the driveway proved that. The woman who lived here, her name was Jessica. She was an heiress, her father owned a string of factories on the East Side. She’d moved in a month ago, looking for some freedom. That thing happens a lot around this neighborhood; people looking for a new start, free from the past. Jessica was nineteen, maybe twenty. She had beauty, that was for sure, but she didn’t have brains. I’d been watching her for a while now; studying her schedule, watching the way she did things. I knew tonight, Friday, was “club-night.” Every Friday, Jessica and some of her friends went out and hit up the local nightclubs, whittling the night away with alcohol and dancing. The lights were dark tonight, further proving my theory.

I eased open the door slightly, wincing as it creaked slightly. I squeezed into the house and looked around. I was in the kitchen. It was messy, as one would expect from a nineteen year old party-animal. A pile of dirty dishes were resting haphazardly, near a half-full sink. The refridgerator hummed loudly, almost drowning out the “drip, drip, drip,” of the leaky faucet. A large round clock ticked away on the wall directly across from me, above the only other door out of the kitchen. It’s hands read eleven o’clock. I needed to get moving. I eased my way into the hallway.

A number of wooden-framed pictures adorned the walls; mostly of Jessica herself, but there were several photos of what seemed to be her and her father, though it was difficult to see properly in the darkness. A small table rested against one wall, with an unlit lamp standing atop it. I eased my way down the hallway, carefully avoiding bumping into the table, though I knew I didn’t need to bother; the house was empty, after all. At the far end of the hallway there were three doors. I wanted the one on the left, the door to her bedroom. I opened it carefully, just in case; thankfully, this door didn’t creak.

The bedroom was a mess. The bed was unmade, clothing was strewn about the floor. This was fine, and exactly what I expected. Saturday was laundry day, after all. I walked into the room, and nearly tripped on a sweater. It was an ugly striped thing, probably a Christmas gift from a relative she hadn’t seen since. Cursing myself quietly for my lapse in caution, I stepped over it. I knew what I was looking for; The safe, behind the large portrait above the bed. I took a moment to examine the portrait. It was done by a rather skilled hand, and showed Jessica wearing fancy clothing, perhaps seventeenth century garb. I pulled gently on the left side, and the painting swung out easily toward me, revealing a small safe. I was almost surprised by this, I didn’t expect it to be so easy. Now the only thing left to do was open the safe. Luckily for me I’d swiped the ring of keys she kept in her jacket-pocket the day before. I selected the smallest one, and slid it into the lock.

And then it all started going wrong. Just as I had the safe open, I heard a gasp and a click, and the lights snapped on. In a single swift movement, I dropped the key ring and drew my pistol, spinning around. A beautiful woman stood silhouetted in the doorway, who I instantly recognized as Jessica. She was wearing a frilly white night-gown that didn’t cover nearly enough skin, and she held a magazine in her hand. I cursed myself silently. How did this happen? The house was supposed to be empty! The answer struck me almost immediately; The car. Her car was still in the driveway! Idiot!

I tried to tell her to stay quiet, that as long as she didn’t try to run or alert anyone, I would let her live. No sooner had I said this, than she started to scream. She tried to turn and run, but I was too fast for her. The crack of the pistol shot echoed through the house, and I knew I didn’t have much time before the police showed up. I ran down the hall, accidentally knocking the lamp to the floor in my hurry. It shattered, littering the hardwood floor with shattered glass. As I reached the kitchen, I glanced back down the hall. I felt a wave of nausea as I saw the mess I’d left. The bedroom light illuminated the spray of blood across the wall, and the puddle of the crimson liquid that was pooling on the floor. But- I thought for a moment I saw movement. It wasn’t possible, but-… There it was again! She was getting back up! It wasn’t possible. I’d shot her in the head! But… There it was.

The woman got to her feet, brushing the dust from her bloodstained night-gown. She turned towards me, and I froze. Her eyes… I’ll never forget her eyes. They were fixated upon me with a mixture of sadness and anger. She started walking towards me, then. She walked over the shards of glass without even a flicker of pain passing across her face. I heard sirens in the distance, and knew I needed to get out of there, quickly. I slammed the kitchen door in her face, and frantically looked around the kitchen.

I saw what I was looking for, quickly snatching up the keys resting on the counter and sprinting out the door. I bolted towards her car, ripping open the door and climbing inside. Praying it would start on the first try, I turned the key. It did. The car tore out of the driveway, and I sped off down the road, away from the sirens. I had to get out of there, and fast. I knew that I couldn’t keep driving forever; the police would discover the missing car eventually.

I adjusted the rear-view mirror, and what I saw almost caused me to crash the car. Sitting in the back-seat, night-gown and all, was Jessica. I turned around in my seat, and in my panic I didn’t pay enough attention to the street.

The paramedics pulled me out of the wreck several hours later. I yelled at them about Jessica, that she needed to be treated as well. They just looked at me like I was crazy. I looked back towards the wreck, and sure enough- There was nobody there. I looked around the street frantically. The area had been cordoned off, and several ambulances were nearby. A paramedic said something; My attention snapped back to him, and my heart nearly stopped. Jessica was standing right behind him, her bloody night-gown flowing slightly in the breeze. Fear must have shown on my face, as one of the paramedics said something soothing, as they pulled the stretcher into the ambulance.

And now here I am, several months later. My injuries have long since healed, but I won’t be released. Not from here. They told me I killed her. Jessica. I told them she wasn’t dead. I know she’s not dead. They didn’t believe me. They locked me up here. They think I’m crazy. I know I’m not. I know they’re wrong.
I know she’s not dead, because she’s standing right behind me.