Barn Purgatory

A ghost hunter found me and wanted to tape me. I told him only if he would transcribe it to get my story out there. There will never be justice for my death, but at least my version will become public.

The inner walls of an old pole barn are my limbo purgatory. At the time of the taping, I’ve been here for twenty years. My killer moved years ago; since then, there have been a couple of other owners. Even if they could find her, there is no physical evidence to prove her guilt of my spilled blood.

It was a late Friday in early fall. I pretended to be her friend to get close to her husband, John. His co-worker, Ronnie, was married to my best friend, Kylie. We met at a party at Ronnie’s and Kylie’s house, but his wife was with him. He held her and kissed her throughout the night; it was rare for him to leave her side. Despite that, I figured I could seduce him away from her since I was younger with a slender frame.

Six months into the friendship, I started to flirt with him. I would stand across from him in mini-skirts and halter crop tops. At times I would fidget with my necklace as I smiled at him. Other times I would stand within kissing distance, gazing into his eyes. She confronted me after a few weeks, to which I told her I wasn’t flirting with him; I would never do that to her. The intense look in her hazel eyes, her pursed lips with crossed arms, revealed she saw right through me. Yet, she uttered okay as she walked away.

One night, my best friend told me she was going on a three-day trip to see one of her favorite authors at a book signing and relax. John couldn’t get the time off work, so that meant he would be alone. I took it as a sign.

The night after she was supposed to have left, I drove over there. Her car wasn’t in the driveway or the parking spot. I flipped down my visor and opened the mirror to touch up my make-up before I headed up to the house. She walked out the door as I got to the steps.

“You look like you saw a ghost, Rose. Yeah, my husband found out you were told about my trip, so I decided to stay home. I expected you last night, but you bided your time to ensure I was long gone. My husband thought I was paranoid; I wasn’t. It’s called intuition.”

“Lydia, he will be mine. You should have stuck to your plans or bowed out gracefully.”

“He is my husband, meaning he was never an option for you.”

“Like I care. Married men leave their wives for younger, slimmer women, all the time.”

“Rose, as long as I’m alive, he will never be your man. Go home.”

“Your death can be arranged.” I grabbed her by the throat, forced her down on the steps. She head-butted me. It became an all-out brawl that ended with her plunging a pocket knife into my stomach a couple of times. During my slow death, I heard her husband come out the door. They whispered their exchange, then disappeared into the pole barn. I was down to my last breaths when they carried me in here. The knife was in a bucket of bleach near the hole where they buried me.

A couple of days later, I watched my burial place get covered in layers of concrete. Turns out I was wrong about being able to seduce John. He loved Lydia more than I have ever witnessed a man love a woman. So much, he protected her by helping cover up my murder.