Emily Gilmore

A Nick PT Barnum short...

Nick PT Barnum felt it first, he walked two steps toward the young couple with the bad news in tow. There was really no way of telling the young couple that he couldn’t find their missing child, and that they should expect the worst. And yet for all the swagger and bravado tendered during his quick two step approach, he felt their loss.

Emily Gilmore was digging in the backyard because of the death of her son. She found his body in her sewing room. It was too late for her to save him, and she didn’t want anyone to find out about his death. She had a dark secret.
It was well past midnight. The moon was her only source of light. The Spring thaw had left the earth soft and moist, and her tired fingers split the soil with little effort, allowing her to proceed without stoppage.
Her son had just turned two, and she had his future all mapped out. She wanted him to become a doctor. She wanted him to have everything she could never have.
She picked up the tiny body and dropped it into the hole. For a moment she blamed herself. If she hadn’t kidnaped the infant eleven months ago, perhaps his death would not have happened. She did everything a mother could to keep the child healthy. She outsmarted Bridgeport, Connecticut’s most famous private detective, Nick PT Barnum, but she couldn’t outsmart death. The child could have spent his life in bliss with his natural family. But now she knew, she was a monster, her life was a lie.
Emily Gilmore concentrated on her work, covering the hole slowly, but with progress. After twenty minutes it was done. The child was buried. Dust to dust.
It was a bit shallower then she would have preferred, but it was a grave nonetheless. It was her child’s permanent resting place. The hole was final.
She stood up and stepped on the mound of the soil. She patted it down with her weight. There was music playing in her head. She didn’t recognize the song and wondered how it found its way into her head. It was a bit haunting and soothing at the same time. It lingered a moment and then diminished. Just like the death of her son
Emily Gilmore Closed her eyes and titled her head upward. She felt a breeze picking at her face. She reached out, eyes still closed and she whispered prayers. Her emotions would stream, she would then cry and scream as her insanity would finally coat. She removed a kitchen knife from her back pocket, and without a moment of hesitation, she slit her own throat.