A STORY FOR HALLOWEEN
by Luke Blanchard
I have hated my mother for a while. I’m forty, unmarried, and live with her. She is overweight, bad-tempered, and very demanding. In recent years she has increasingly come to resemble – please pardon the cliché - a toad.
I decided to kill her about two years ago. In town I am known as a man devoted to his mother, so I was sure I could get away with it. I planned the murder most carefully. At intervals I drove up into the mountains and scouted for an appropriate location. Once I had found one I waited until my summer vacation. A week in I proposed to my mother that, the weather being so nice, we run up into the mountains for a picnic. She said it was a sweet idea, in that croaking voice of hers that grates on my nerves. Her face is criss-crossed with deep wrinkles and nearly immobile, but her eyes are active and have a mean expression.
That night I cooked a chicken in preparation. The next day was glorious – beautifully clear, but not too hot - so I packed the hamper and we set off. I pretended to be searching for a nice place and took her to the lookout stop I had chosen. We got out of the car and admired the view as we ate our lunch. I regretted I had not put more salt on the chicken. After the meal I jumped her and pressed a heavy pillow I had over her mouth and nostrils to stop her breathing. She struggled but could not resist my strength; she is, after all, an old lady. Eventually she fell unconscious. I put the pillow aside while she was still alive - I did not want an autopsy to show she had died of suffocation - and dragged her body to the guard-rail. I had trouble getting her over it, but in time I managed it. I pushed her off the cliff and watched as she fell down and down. When she began to hit the brush near the bottom I couldn’t stand any more and looked away. I was sure she was dead.
I left the picnic things where they were and went over my story as I drove back home to ring the police (I have no mobile). I would say she climbed over the guard-rail herself to get a better view and slipped over the edge as she was looking down. No-one would doubt me; everyone knew she could be wilful. I would mention she had had dizzy spells lately. As I parked the car in the drive I realised I should have called the police from a phone near the scene and would have to go back.
I wondered if anyone had seen me come home alone. Then I wondered if the car had been photographed on my return journey by an automatic camera at an intersection. Perhaps the body would be discovered before I could get back to the area. The tension made me feel sick and I went into the house to pour myself a drink and calm down.
Mother was there, dozing in her chair. She woke up as I entered and asked me if I had had a nice drive. She suggested that we have our picnic on the morrow. I wondered if she were mocking me.
I went upstairs to the bathroom and set the taps running. Then I went downstairs and said there was something I had to show her. I helped her up the stairs to the bathroom. When we got there I forced her head down into the water and held her until she stopped moving. By that time I was drenched, and I went back downstairs to warm myself up in front of the heater. Mother looked up at me as I entered the sitting room and observed there was damp on the ceiling, as if the bath had run over. I stared at her for a while and then went back upstairs to turn the taps off. The body was gone, of course.
Since then I kill her most days. She always comes back but it’s very cathartic.
Replies
Very nice. "Oh, the Mom came back, she wouldn't stay away..."