The Smell of Death

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮

   Sweat began to dampen the sheets while my head pounded like a drum as my mind spinned in rapid circles, playing back all the memories and events that happened in my life whether tragic or delightful.

   Thrashing around in agony, fighting to grasp the remaining sanity in my contaminated intellect, the flashbacks began. The first vision was of my mother's soft and tender face rocking me to sleep. A smile I imagined krept upon my face but must have shriveled, when I saw my father lying puny and vulnerable, an inch from death, telling me he loved me and that I must take care of my mother.

   That was a lot of pressure to bestow upon an eleven year old boy.

   "Stop...please make it stop!" I screamed while these traumatizing visions intoxicated my brain.

   I felt as if I were being buried alive in a casket and no one heard me crying out.

   Lucille did this to me! She must be able to hear all this commotion I'm making. That wicked, murderous witch!

   I finally was able to detect that the amount of poisonous bread she shoved into my mouth was not enough to kill me, when the spinning started subsiding and my eyes fluttered open.

   Lying there panting, I perceived the moon's beams shooting through the oval shaped holes in the curtain.

   "I have to...get out of here...now," I whispered softly like I was speaking to a sleepy baby.

   Clutching my hands to my dripping, moist forehead, I slowly sat up, which I learned swiftly was not a smart idea, when the feeling of daggers stabbed every inch of my ill body.

   I groaned in affliction attempting to stumble out of the bed.

   If I was certain about anything, I wasn't going to let that nasty witch or whatever she was kill me. I'll crawl out of here if I have to!

   With that motivation in mind, I sluggishly tied my boots on with trembling hands and disregarded my coat balled up on the floor. Not only because it was bulky, but because I was already so obnoxiously hot.

   Woozily staggering over to the door, I jerked the doorknob, but it wouldn't open. It was locked! Then, I remembered before I slipped into oblivion, I heard the door lock. Now what was I supposed to do?

   Around the barely lit space, I tottered the room searching for anything sharp to pick the lock. Thrusting open drawers and hectically picking up objects, I'd almost forgotten there was another door in the room. Possibly a closet; I prayed.

   Fumbling to turn the round doorknob, I eventually got inside to discover five, dusty floor length dresses hung on wire hangers. They ranged from a gaudy, grape purple gown with pearl trimming around the plunging neckline, to a stained, eggshell white dress with ruffled cuffs.

   You may think it's odd that I can adequately explain the details so vividly of women's attire, but I can assure you I only know what I do because of Anastasia's occupation in dress making.

   Even in my warped mindset, I found it odd that Lucille would have these items stashed away in here. It doesn't make any sense why she would have items that obviously belonged to different types of women, considering that she lives alone.

   As I continued to scavenge through the clothes, I happened to uncover a rectangular, oak box. Although I knew every second I spent exploring these items was one step closer to me being a corpse, I just had to know what secrets she was hiding, and not to mention a way to open the bedroom door.

   Carefully flipping open the latch on the box, I found several gold and silver necklaces and a collection of rings. As a matter of fact, one caught my attention. There was a thick, gold band that had the charming appearance of a wedding ring. I hesitantly picked it up and as I examined it, I realized how familiar it looked to the description of the ring the women in Tapleyville said the missing messenger had. It couldn't be his. Could it?