Murdered your Husband

Guilty consciences

Martha dumped her body in the folds of the bed sheets, right next to her husband. The force field of silence popped like a bubble as soon as the merry jingle of her phone rang out into the dark corners of their bedroom. "Eoifa, it's 10 o'clock. What do you want?" She croaked down her samsung. "I'm so sorry Martha, I can't sleep, I need to tell you something, I'm so sorry." A quiet voice wailed from down the other line. Martha pushed her friend to confess whatever had been committed by Eoifa with curiosity. "Your... husband had an affair... with my sister..." 

Shaking, Martha clenched her eyelids shut, just wanting to sleep. Not wanting to wake up. The anger had over come her. Too tired to argue, too tired to fight, all she could do is forget about it... for now. Drifting off, the problem grew fainter and moved to the back of her mind as she slipped into a state of sleep. Only for the problem to arise, once again, in a nightmare. 

Horror scenes were painfully played out in her head. Stab after stab after stab. Laughter filled the empty spaces of the dream. Martha's husband lay on the floor, wounded, whipped, scratched, burned, dying... Knife in hand, Martha continued to mangle the corpse of the man who betrayed her love. Recognizable no longer, the cheaters blood had spilled. A war paint to decorate his death place.

Sweating as she woke, Martha found her self relaxed by the thought that she hadn't committed homicide. She shifted her torso in reach of her bedside clock, in wonder of what time of the night she had woke. The sheets stuck to her skin and dribbled down her back with a cold liquid. Rolling out of bed, away from the substance, it was to her horror to find her husbands corpse, shredded in the bed. Eye sockets scratched and indented, tears of blood caking the face, chest ripped open and ribs slashed at...To name a few injuries. 

Phone in hand, Martha paused to dial 999. Clocking each 9 in one by one, this was the right thing to do. What else did she have to lose? The cold screen of the smartphone tickled her cheek. The rings went by painfully slowly. Once she had reached the police, she plucked up the courage to turn herself in.

Sirens were a constant reminder, as the sound grew closer, so did her destiny. The colored lights swam over her face. Her time had come. She picked herself up from where she was sat waiting, on the bed, and in her blood stained pajamas, she made her way out.

Just as she creaked open her bedroom door, a bloodied face from her closet whispered, "Thanks for not turning me in. Sorry I murdered your husband." The cackle disappeared into the depths of the wardrobe.