Flower

I had only lived in town for a few months when it happened. Even though I was still relatively new, it was quite obvious that people had started to grow weary of each other. On any other Saturday morning, kids would be playing out in the neighbor’s front yard, dogs would be out barking at the mailman, and the milkman would be stopping by for a chat.  Today, however, the safety of a white picket fence wasn’t enough to put a person’s restless mind at ease. The children were inside, both the mailman and the milkman only gave a small nod of acknowledgement through troubled glances, and the dogs were silent, as if knowing that something foul was in the air.

This troubled me as I left my home for the market. A strange occurrence for a usually cheery town to turn so dark, I thought. But what business of mine was it as to what others were doing? As it was, living alone was a lonely existence, but that was no excuse for prying into one’s personal affairs. Mother would have been ashamed if I hadn’t at least learned that from her.

So, off I went, basket in one arm while I held my sun hat in the other. The winds were sweeping over the fields, blowing up dust from the dirt road I traveled upon. They tugged at the rose that I had put through my hat, but it was pinned down and wouldn’t be going anywhere soon… hopefully.

Dark storm clouds loomed in the distance, their threatening presence worrying me. I wasn’t sure how much time would pass until the rain would begin, so I walked briskly towards my destination, quietly thanking the Lord that my mother wasn’t able to see me behaving so unladylike.

Unfortunately, someone was there to see me hurry; however, I did not see this person. After bumping into a tall, muscular man dressed in overalls, a spool of thread with a needle stuck in it fell from his pocket. Even though such objects were unusual for a man of his dress, I briefly apologized, such as a lady should; furthermore, I made sure the man - who upon further inspection had unkempt brown hair and sharp, piercing, light blue eyes - was alright before rushing on my way. I couldn’t be sure how many people would be selling their wares with the oncoming storm, and I wanted to make sure to get some good produce.

After walking into town, I made my way through the small crowd of huddled, whispering figures, each one eyeing the others like they housed some horrible secret. Not quite sure what was going on, I asked a vendor what had everyone so spooked as I examined his produce.

“You ain’t heard?” the older farmer asked, his beady eyes darting back and forth, as if making sure no one else was near enough to hear what was about to be said. “Mrs. McCrady was found dead in her home early this morning, God rest her soul. And apparently she ain’t the only one to be got.”

I gasped, dropping my basket of assorted fruit and vegetables. As I attempted to compose myself under the gaze of the huddled masses, I finally understood why everyone was on edge. A murderer in a town this small… the killer could be anyone. Rising back to my feet, I thanked the farmer for the news, paid him for the produce, and made my way back towards my house. I couldn’t trust anyone at the market. Any one of them could be a killer! And if that was the case…

I shook my head, getting rid of the bad thoughts. I had to pull myself together! A woman was to be strong. That had been another one of Mother’s adages, and I intended to follow it. I would get home, lock the doors and windows, and turn on the news while I prepared a meal for myself. After a few days, the killer would be caught. There was no doubt in my mind about that, if he truly was part of the town.

As I regained sight of my home, the clouds split, sending the rain down on top of my head. Forgetting any semblance of elegance and grace, I ran like I had back when I was a child, eventually reaching my house. Opening the front door, I was relieved to be inside, albeit soaking wet. Locking the door, I set my hat on the rack, causing the rose to fall out. The rain had been too much for it, I assumed. I trod over it with a sigh, leaving it where it lay. I had enough to deal with at the moment.

Going into the kitchen, I thought I heard the sound of movement. A slight scuffle of feet, it seemed. With a gasp, I stood still, too afraid to move. However, after what seemed like a long time, I finally scoffed at myself, shaking out of my stupor and setting the basket of goods on the tabletop. Some strong woman I was, jumping at imaginary sounds.

Making note of the small pool of water collecting on the floor, I quickly made for the bathroom, getting undressed in the bathtub. If these clothes were going to be wet, they’d stay in here for a while. Once again, I was thankful for not being in the presence of Mother, who would have indeed called me out for such abhorrent behavior from such a woman as myself.

Sighing, I started to step out of the bathtub when I heard the scuffling noise again. I froze once more, but not out of fear this time. I had to make sure I wasn’t hearing things. If someone really was in my house, and it was who I thought it was…

The sound stopped, although I knew I had heard it distinctly this time. Footsteps, stopping just short of the door. I began to look around for something to defend myself, but I was naked in a bathroom. There was nothing I could do!

It was with this sudden realization that the doorknob turned, and my spine was wracked with shivers. There, standing in the doorway… it was him! I shrieked in terror at the sight of the man I had run into on the road into town.

Blood dripped down, the sewn-together pieces of his last two victims forming a mask of sorts over half of his face. Holding onto a sharpened blade, his crazed eyes danced at the sight of me undressed.

“Such a pretty flower…” he cooed, an unstable, unnatural quality permeating his voice. “I think I’ll take it.”

As much as I tried to escape, there was no hope for me. The man grabbed my bare shoulders, his warm, wet hands sickening me to the core. After a brief struggle, he reached for my neck, choking me as he lifted me up close to his face.

“Daisy Bishop… Violet McCrady…” he moaned, as if remembering the flowers he had picked before. And now… “Rose Prescott… My beautiful little flowers.” …it was my turn.

The cold metal of the blade sent a burning feeling to my throat, but it didn’t last long.