Time and the Hangman's Noose.

I didn't start out as a wicked child. Or, maybe my sinful nature had lain dormant, just waiting for my momma's demons to awaken it.

Mamma used to lock me in the dark room beneath the stairs for days at a time, without food or water, just because she could. There was no light in that place and the demons started visiting me in there a long time ago. I had to clean the filthy smell of myself out of there before she would allow me to eat or drink.

She lied to the school when they enquired about my many absent days. They never believed me, she told them that I was just a serial liar and that was because of my condition...my brain was simple and my meds made me weak sometimes... she said...and they believed her entirely

She used to slap me around a lot as a child, but she only took the belt to me one time. I lit her clothes in the closet on fire and tried to push her in too, but she was stronger than me. I was eight years old and had read Hansel and Gretel. Mamma was the witch and the devil was my Hansel.

She always said that...

"Time hangs around both of our necks like the hangman's noose, the rope tightening a bit every day".

She ain't saying that out loud anymore, but I still hear it clear as day in my head.

“They say that if you die in your dream, you will die for real”

Don't know if its true.

I always know when she is dreaming...the devil and all the demons always visit her in horrid nightmare visions...demons know their own kind and she was the worst of them. You could hear her mumbling and shouting god awful words that even my dark soul did not care to repeat.

But she is gone now.

I stand in front of the closet in her room for a long while every morning. I swear that I feel the noose tightening...sometimes it feels so real that my throat constricts so hard I cannot breathe. I fall to the floor in a faint...guilt can do that to you.

Time is hanging around my neck...it ain't going to let go until I get my just comeuppance...although sometimes I don't think that I deserve to be punished...nobody knew my momma the way I did. If they did, they would not blame me for what happened.

She said I was born with the devil's mark, a birthmark on the back of my shoulder shaped just like the picture of Satan with horns. Maybe she had lain with ole Satan and they both spawned me. Maybe he had forsaken her...because she had grown pretty ornery and wicked in her yearning and loneliness...blaming me for her bad luck with always choosing the wrong sorts of men. But it was her evil manner what drove them away, not me.

Ok. So maybe I was bad just a little. I scared the holy hell out of the stupid men that she brought to the house, always looking at me with leering eyes and drooling lips. Even as a pre-teen they looked at me, it gets worse as I grow older, mamma was right...I am the devil's child. I hated her, she hated me, and I hated anyone who even liked her.

I remember when I started liking the axe. She made me chop all of the firewood. My hands got all blistered and bloody. The blood fascinated me. When I turned 12 my womanhood disgusted me...Momma's new 'friend' noticed and was the worst of all, he leered at me when she was not around, saying awful things about me having being now grown up and woman-like.

Anyway...

On the night before I turned eighteen...I heard her having one of them dreams...her disgusting beau was sleeping like a log beside her.

I had sharpened the axe real shiny. I remember how much Lizzie Borden had fascinated me.

I opened the door and creeped in real quiet...my beloved weapon was speaking to me...we had been talking and planning for a long time, me and the axe. I learned to wrap my hands or wear protective gloves...this time I did both.

"Do it". The axe whispered. The edges gleamed in the moonlight peeking in from the window.

I swear I saw the face of Satan grinning at me outside the window. My father had given me permission.

I did him first....I chopped and hacked. He never got the time to scream. He opened his mouth. Whack! He was dead by the second hack, blood streaming from his mouth and neck.

It was so delicious to behold. Red and dripping.

Mamma was roiling and tossing in her wicked dream state. Her eyes flew open, but she wasn't seeing me...she was lost in her madness.

“They say that if you die in your dream, you will die for real”

To Momma

I waited...standing over her, axe poised to strike. Soon, her eyes would awaken and focus themselves on me.

Finally, she calmed down and almost returned from the nightmare state. Her eyes were still glazed over as she saw me and my axe, she opened her mouth to scream...and...

Whack!
Whack! Whack! She had to die for real in the dream...Otherwise she would haunt me forever.

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

And gave her mother forty whacks

When she saw what she had done

She gave her father forty-one".

Dear misunderstood Lizzie

I understand you perfectly, Lizzie Darling.

I sang as I worked.

He was not my father...The Devil was, and he still laughed by the window.

I whacked and whacked until they were in moveable pieces. I felt like a vampire who revelled in the redness of our life flow. Blood was everywhere.

Beautiful....RED

Red.

I felt the noose tighten...but I didn't care.

I stripped myself completely naked...used her clothes from the closet to wipe myself clean and begun cleaning up. I got the empty plastic shipping container from the garage and tossed the pieces inside. It was heavy as dickens...

I started to laugh...the word "dickens" in this context is a euphemism for "devil", possibly derived from the term "devilkins", meaning a small or mischievous devil.

It was so apt for this moment. These were indeed my 'devil kins'.

After a great struggle, I rolled it to the garage and wrapped the pieces in the large plastic bags momma always kept for the huge chunks of hog meat which she got from the butcher. I placed them in the freezer.

It took me all night and the next day to clean the place up. No one would miss my mother. Everyone always whispered or prayed that she would leave...they hated her as much as I did.

I scrubbed and scrubbed. God, it was exhausting...but I felt so free.

It was my birthday, after all. I went out and celebrated that night, telling everyone that my mother was moving back to her new beau's hometown, careful not to say where. She was leaving me the house which she so disliked...too many bad memories she always said...and I was so happy. I had come of age.

Early the next morning, I packed the bloody clothing and stuffed them into plastic bags, positioning them in the car in the garage to appear as if two people were in the car with me. I knew Mrs. Johnson, the inquisitive widow next door would be by her window looking for the latest gossip.

I waved at her as I drove out, it was too dark for her to see clearly, I was depending on that for my plan to work.

The landfill swallowed the piles of bloody bags and rugs whole, never to be seen or questioned. I waited for hours until the garbage trucks piled loads and loads of stinking rotting garbage on top of momma's bloody clothes and belongings...it felt so fitting.

I cooked meat for two weeks, careful not to seem too obvious. Street cameras were my biggest enemy. I fed it to the stray dogs that roamed by the landfill. It was tricky at first, some of them may have been feral and untamed. But the meat placated them. If anyone suspected anything, I would just say it was momma's hog meat that was in the freezer. The butcher could attest to the sheer volume which she always bought. I hated hog meat.

But no one asked...no one cared. Momma was gone and the neighborhood celebrated, wishing me peace at last. Inquisitive Mrs Johnson says she was happy to see me driving them to the ferry.

But, oh God. Momma came back...maybe I had waited too long and she didn't die in the dream after all.

She lives in the closet!!!

I didn't start out as a wicked child.

"Time hangs around both of our necks like the hangman's noose, the rope tightening a bit every day".

I hear her voice from behind the door.

I stand in front of the closet in her room for a long while every morning. I swear that I feel the noose tightening.

Time is hanging around my neck...it ain't going to let go until I get my just comeuppance...sometimes I don't think that I deserve paying for my sins...nobody knew my momma the way I did. If they did, they would not blame me for what happened.

I hear her laughing.

OH GOD. THE NOOSE, THE NOOSE. IT TIGHTENS.

But the devil, my father...he is at the window. I open it and let him in.

I open the closet door and let Momma out. She shrieks and screams. Poppa laughs.

He takes her, kicking and screaming.

And I am finally free!!!!!

I didn't start out as a wicked child.

...........................................

The prompt.

𝖀𝖓𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊

For the month of August, I am hosting an Unofficial Writing Challenge. The Challenge is to write a Short Story based on the following theme:

Sorry...unable to properly add RMS' link to the challenge at this time. Just look up...𝖀𝖓𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝖂𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊, if you are unable to click on link.