By Pavelle Wesser

“Rusty water has been leaking down the dining room walls.”

Marie, still wearing her flannel nightgown, addressed the plumber.

“Are you new in town?” He asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothin,’ Joey’s the guy for this job. I’ll send him over.”

“Fine, I’ll wait.” Marie sat, scanning the local newspaper:

“A bizarre murder occurred today in our town ...”

The doorbell rang and she tossed the paper aside. A man with piercing green eyes stood before her.

“Joey?” she asked.

His green eyes flashed at her: “Leak’s comin’ from the bathroom,” he muttered, proceeding to stomp upstairs in his heavy work boots.

After some time, Marie called up: “How’s it coming along?”

“Diarrhea,” He replied, from behind the bathroom door.

“You know, I’ve a mind to call your boss.”

He stood before her, green eyes blazing. She looked down to make sure his pants were on, as he’d left the bathroom awfully fast.

“I’m about to fix your problem, Ma’am.”

As he stomped back upstairs, she grasped the neck of her flannel nightgown, then retrieved the newspaper and she continued reading from where she’d left off earlier:

“The murder occurred at No. 811Charles Street, where a similar murder took place ten years ago.”

The article referenced her house, but Marie was not aware of any murders, certainly not of one that had occurred on this day. She stood to call the newspaper office, which was when she saw Joey standing in the dining room, a crowbar raised over his head. She twisted the tortured collar of her flannel nightgown:

“What’s going on?”

“Every ten years, this house takes a life,” Joey’s voice was monotone. “The last lady was taking a bubble bath upstairs while the family was eatin’ dinner. Before her were others. Now, there’s you.”

Marie screamed as blood suddenly gushed from widening cracks in the ceiling and cascaded down over the dining room table, now set with serving dishes. A man looked up from the dinner he’d been eating with his son and daughter. An empty chair sat opposite him.

“Where is your mother when we need her?” The man barked at his son, who shrugged:

“…Probably taking another bubble bath.”

Marie watched her own bloody, naked body crash through the ceiling and split the table in half. The serving dishes shattered on the floor.

The girl yawned: “Can I watch T.V.?”

“Can’t you see that your mother is dead?” Her father reprimanded her.

The girl tossed long hair from her face: “So what!”

She stood and walked through Marie on her way out of the room. Marie, who was relieved to be dead, followed Joey’s bloody footprints out the front door. When the police arrived, the only evidence they found was a bloodied newspaper lying on the kitchen floor, leaving the town shrouded in a mystery it had yet to solve.




Pavelle Wesser’s writing has appeared or is forthcoming in: “AlienSkin,” “Silver Thought,” “Flashshot,” “Bewildering Stories,” and “Twisted Tongue,” among others. She lives with her husband and two children in Connecticut, where she teaches English.