Die, Blossom, Bloom

by Steve Boseley

  The following day, Ted awoke with a start. He heard the letterbox rattle and letters fall onto the floor. He had slept sitting at his kitchen table. His neck ached, but at least he had slept. He glanced out of the window and saw the postman walking away. He saw Ted, smiled, and waved. Ted raised his hand to acknowledge the postman, but couldn’t raise a smile. He felt like he had been punched and kicked during the night. His back was aching, as were his thighs. His fingers were bruised where he had gripped Sissy’s body.

  He spent the day in the house. He hadn’t eaten in over a day but couldn’t face anything. He occupied himself reading the newspaper. He couldn’t really take in any of the articles, but the alternative was to ruminate on the horrific things he had done the previous night and the horrors that awaited him tonight.

  The day passed in a haze, with Ted stumbling between the kitchen and his living room. Time dragged. Each second seeming to stretch to minutes, each minute stretched to hours. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of Sissy; photographs, an open reference book, flowers. When he looked out of the window, it felt like a body blow to see Sissy’s garden, looking magnificent, and in full bloom. On more than one occasion he wept; the house smelled of her perfume, he heard her voice, he caught her reflection in the windows.

  He had to use the toilet at some point during the day, but he couldn’t face looking at his wife’s lifeless face. He did something he hadn’t done in near on fifty years and wasn’t proud of it; moving aside the cups in the kitchen sink, Ted unzipped his fly, and standing on tiptoe, he urinated in the sink.

  As the sun went down, Ted went out into the back garden. He looked at the patio slabs as he walked over them and contemplated removing them. If he had more time it could have been possible, but with the light fading, time was already against him, so he went into the shed. He found his pipe saw and a roll of plastic garden bags. Returning to the house, he went up to the bathroom.

  He opened the door and stepped inside. His wife lay as he had left her. Her sides and back looked bruised, and her skin was ashen. Everything that had been Sissy Harris was gone. He knew it was important to remember her as she had been, not as she was now. What he was about to do was abominable, and he wanted to imagine doing this to a nameless, faceless piece of meat. Not his smiling, vivacious wife.

  He rolled out the bags on the floor and knelt down by his wife. Sissy’s body had slumped into the bath, as her muscles relaxed. He lifted the broken right arm. It felt odd. It set his teeth on edge, and he clenched the muscles in his jaw. With Sissy’s arm in his left hand, the pipe saw in his right, Ted began cutting.

  The first few strokes were tentative, but the skin split easily. In a matter of minutes, his saw dug into bone, and it slipped out of his hand. Regaining his grip, he finished the cut. It took him perhaps another five minutes, but eventually the saw separated the arm from the body and Ted sat back on the bathroom floor. He dropped the arm onto the plastic bags, breathing deeply. He stared at the severed limb for a moment, before leaning back over the bath and throwing up on Sissy’s legs.

  He waited to see if there was any more to come out, before taking a swallow of water from the sink. He swilled it around his mouth and spat it out. He opened up another of the plastic garden bags and gingerly picked up the arm, dropping it inside. He tied a loose knot around the top. He would have to remove the arm later, before he buried it, and he didn’t want to spend any unnecessary time in the garden struggling with knots; he wanted to get out, drop the parts in the hole, and get back inside.

  When he was satisfied, he turned back to the body. It looked strange with the arm missing, and he felt another wave of nausea. Throwing out an arm, he steadied himself on the wall. When the nausea had passed, he lifted her right leg out of the bath; it felt heavier than it had in life. Sliding up her nightshirt, he started sawing. The leg did not come off as fast as the arm, but once removed, Ted placed it in a bag of its own.

  He flipped the body onto its side and took off the left arm and leg in the same way. He threw up again when the second leg came off, but there were only little strings of green bile that came out. With the four limbs in separate plastic bags, Ted knelt at the side of the bath and looked at what was left of his wife. Her eyes had opened and stared at nothing. Ted tried to close them, passing his hand gently over her face. Her skin felt waxy, unnatural. When he removed his hand, her head rolled to the side, and the eyes opened again, this time looking at him. He looked away quickly and choked down a scream. Her white nightshirt was filthy, covered in a mixture of blood and vomit. Ted turned the shower on above the bath and let the water rinse away as much as possible. He stroked her hair as the water came down, washing away the worst of the blood.

  He turned the shower off and glanced out of the window. Full dark, with no stars visible, meant cloud cover. He estimated the time at after midnight and turned back to Sissy’s remains. He couldn’t bring himself to take her head off, so Ted slipped a plastic bag over it, and one up from the bottom of the torso. He picked it out of the bath and moved steadily down the stairs. Though still heavy, the going was a lot easier, and he went out into the night. A quick look told him he was alone, so he gently deposited the body in the hole. He rested back on his knees and looked at the plastic-covered torso. Try as he might, Ted couldn’t remove the image of Sissy’s face from behind his eyelids, and he imagined her staring at him through the plastic. His eyes started to sting, a sign that tears were on the way, so he roused himself and returned inside for the other limbs.

  Several trips later, all the black bags lay side by side on the grass. Ted reached into the hole and removed the plastic from the torso and head. In the dark, he could not see her face clearly, but he knew it was there, staring at him. Without hesitation, he opened the other bags and placed their contents into the hole. With one last look to make sure he was alone, he pulled the earth back into the hole, covering the body parts. Rain started falling as he patted the earth in place. There was a slight mound where the parts lay, but he thought it was not too obvious.

  Returning to the house, Ted cleaned the bathroom, undressed, and climbed into the shower, where he stayed for the best part of an hour, crying. When he finally came out, he towelled himself dry and went back to his bedroom. There was still a dip in the mattress where Sissy had lain only hours earlier. It would need turning, and the sheets would need washing, but that was a job for another day, so Ted went back down the stairs, sat on the settee, and closed his eyes.

  Exhausted, he fell asleep quickly. He dreamt about Sissy. In the dream she died repeatedly, and he was powerless to do anything. He woke up with a yell. For a moment, he thought the whole affair had been a dream, and he called to his wife. He received no reply but the realisation of what he had done.

  He moved to the window. The rain was still falling, heavier than earlier. There were a few people out, but not many. His attention was drawn to the raised patch of earth in the garden. There was something there that he could not see clearly without his glasses. He pulled them out of his breast pocket and slipped them on. He blinked twice to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. When he was certain, he ran to the front door, ripped it open, and ran into his garden. He threw himself down on the grass, shielding his eyes from the rain. There were two fingers protruding from the earth where the rain had washed it away. Ted couldn’t be sure, but he thought an animal of some kind had found the fingers as well; there were what looked like claw marks in the soil and bite marks on the fingers.

  He rose up from his kneeling position and looked around. There was no one in sight, so he piled more earth on the fingers and rushed back inside. Leaving it for another night may be tempting fate so grabbing the roll of plastic bags, he ran back into the garden. Using his hands, he dug up the pieces of his wife. They were slick with rain and mud, making them difficult to grasp. More than once, he dropped one of the pieces, causing him to let out a startled yell. Each time he did, he rose up on his knees, like a meerkat surveying the prairie
, and peered over his garden wall into the street. A combination of the rain and the hour had driven everyone away, and when satisfied, he gathered up the dropped piece and finished the bagging.

  Carrying two at a time, he took them into the back garden. Unlocking the shed, he carefully placed each piece on the floor, in its own spot. The torso was awkward, but he had already done it once, and he quickly had it covered. A brief look around told him he was alone, and he took the final piece of his wife to the shed.

  He refilled the hole and returned to his house. He was dripping with water and mud, trailing it along the hallway. At the foot of the stairs, Ted stripped off his shirt and trousers, dropping them in a heap. They were only good for the bin now, but that would wait. He went upstairs and showered again, without removing his socks and pants. He sank down until he was sitting, which was where he stayed for half an hour, staring, the hot water reddening his shoulders and thighs. He thought he would cry again, but he didn’t; there seemed nothing left inside him. He had already done the worst thing he could imagine: he had killed and chopped up his wife of forty years. He didn’t think he could get any lower

  Ted still had a job to do, so removing his remaining clothes, he dried himself, wrapped a towel around his waist and, went downstairs. He opened up Sissy’s laptop and searched online retailers for the product he needed and ordered it.

  It only took three days for Ted to receive his delivery: a two hundred and twenty litre composter was dropped off and placed in his back garden. As the deliveryman wheeled the large green compost bin into the back garden, he spoke to Ted. “Planning a little gardening, fella?”

  “Yes,” said Ted. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, and he had to clear his throat before any sound came out. It felt like the first time he had spoken in days. It was certainly the first human contact he had had since Sissy had died. He signed the delivery note and said goodbye to the deliveryman and then went into his shed.

  Stepping carefully to avoid the black bags that covered most of the floor space, he wrestled out a bag of peat compost and a bag a woodchips. He started to pour them into the composter. When it was about a quarter full, he returned to the shed to collect the plastic bags. As he lifted each one, he could feel liquid sloshing around inside, and knew it was not going to be pleasant when he opened them.

  He ripped open each bag in turn, over the composter, allowing the juices to fall into the big bin to be absorbed by the soil and wood chips. The arms were blackened, the skin beginning to slide off. Blisters covered the clear parts of the skin. The smell was vile; each new open bag caused him to retch. He dropped the pieces in the composter one by one, covering each with a layer of wood and soil. The torso and head were last. When he revealed the head, his breath caught in his throat; her eyes had started to bulge out of their sockets, and her lips had drawn back, exposing her teeth. Ted dropped the body in the composter, pushed it down, and filled it to the top with soil and wood chips. He said a final goodbye to Sissy and went back inside.

  Part Nine

  Ted flicked his torch behind him, illuminating Jordan’s body. It was where he had left it, crumpled and battered. He pulled the shed door open and shone the torch inside. The surfaces were littered with seed pots and compost; the floor was strewn with empty plant pots and an assortment of garden tools. As disorganised as it looked, he knew where everything was. Stepping over a large bag of potting compost, he went straight for his pipe saw. It was suspended from a nail on the wall. It had hung there for two years. Since its last use, Ted couldn’t bring himself to use it again. He wasn’t even sure why he had kept it; somehow, and he didn’t know how, it was a tie to his wife. Perhaps it hung there to torture him. Every time he laid eyes on the small handsaw, he was reminded of what he had done.

  Examining the blade under the torchlight, his heart lurched; the blade was rusted. Why wouldn’t it be? It’s been hanging in the damp shed for two years, his logical head said. He drew his fingers along the blade, requiring significant pressure to draw blood. Breathing heavily, he put his finger in his mouth, and swung his torch around the shed. His options were limited, so he plucked the pipe saw off the wall and grabbed his tree loppers.

  When he returned to the body, he gave one more effort to move it and gained another metre or so before collapsing to the ground. His heart felt like it was ready to leap from his chest, so he lay alongside the boy’s body for a moment, waiting for his pulse to drop. Ted could already feel the bile climbing his throat as he contemplated what he was about to do, and he put a hand to his mouth. Kneeling alongside the boy’s body, he picked up the saw. He pulled one of the arms out, until it lay at a right angle to the torso. He put his left knee on the arm and began cutting just below the shoulder.

  The sawing was harder than it had been with Sissy. Ted was disgusted at how quickly he recalled the feeling of sawing through his wife’s flesh. The motion now was, however, different; it felt less like slicing and more like tearing. It was an unpleasant feeling in Ted’s hand, but he gritted his teeth, and kept sawing. After a few minutes the saw met bone. He kneeled over the arm and forced the blade down. After several minutes, and with no significant progress, he gave up; the saw was sharp enough to tear through skin, but not bone. He had suspected this would be the case and threw the pipe saw aside. The loppers would provide much greater force. With arms almost a metre in length, he had used them to take off tree branches broader than his wrist. Standing for maximum leverage, he positioned the blades on either side of the exposed bone. Gripping one of the rubberized handles with both hands, and positioning the other in his belly, Ted squeezed the loppers. For a moment he worried that he would not have the strength, but after a few moments of straining, there was a snap, and the bone broke.

  He finished taking the arm off with the saw and repeated the process with the remaining three limbs. When completed, he made two trips to the shed, depositing first both arms, then the legs. Jordan was significantly heavier than his wife had been, and carrying both legs had been difficult, making him wonder about the torso. The answer came to him, and he managed to wrestle the torso into his wheelbarrow. With great difficulty, he tipped it into the shed and closed the door. The parts would need bagging, but it would have to wait for the morning; his chest felt ready to explode.

  He locked and bolted the back door before sinking to the floor. He held his head in his hands, staring at the blood on his kitchen floor.

  He was not sure how long he stayed that way, or even if he slept, but early morning birdsong roused him. From his position on the floor, Ted could see the sky. It was deep blue, streaked with swathes of red from the rising sun. The village would be waking soon, and he needed to clear up after the evening’s heinous acts.

  When he opened the back door, the first thing that hit him was the blood; the patio slabs were painted red. Stepping carefully over the congealing blood, Ted went for the hose, coiled in the shed. There were flies all over the severed limbs, and he waved them away as he reached for the hosepipe. Attaching it to the outdoor tap, he began to hose the blood away. It ran onto the gravel path and the soil and began to drain away. When he had recoiled and returned the hose, Ted stopped and looked at himself in the rapidly improving light. His dressing gown was matted with blood; his pyjama trousers stained red. He held both his hands, palms up, in front of him and stared at them. He felt nothing. There was an emptiness that had been growing inside him, and that emptiness was threatening to consume him. He wiped his blood-stained hands down the front of his dressing gown, but when he saw they were still filthy, he began rubbing them together and down his thighs. He continued this for several minutes before his tears came. He opened his mouth in soundless wracking sobs and crumpled to his knees. He fell onto his side and lay on the wet patio slabs, shaking.

  When he was eventually able to get to his feet, the sun was visible above the horizon. Ted went into his house and up to the bathroom. He tore off his blood-soaked dressing gown and pyjamas and climbed into the bath. He turned on
the shower and stood under the hot water for another half hour or so. After drying himself, he returned to his bed and lay down, exhausted.

  When he awoke several hours later, the sun had climbed to its zenith. Ted sat up and looked out of the window. The village was awake; he saw people and cars, but he thought of Jordan. Dressing quickly, he rushed down stairs and out to the shed. The limbs were exactly where he had left them, as were the flies. He ripped the plastic bags off the roll and stuffed a limb inside each bag, using two bags on the torso. He shut and locked the shed door.

  Ted walked around the front of his house and saw the full extent of Jordan’s plant carnage. In the light of day he could see that the damage was far greater than he had estimated. Plants had been ripped out of the ground and thrown across the garden; some were on the pavement beyond the wall; his treasured climbing rose – Sissy’s climbing rose – had been pulled away from the wall. It lay forlornly on the grass, petals strewn across the lawn. Unfastening the cuffs of his shirt, he knelt down and started to replant some of the healthier specimens by hand, digging shallow holes before dropping them in and patting the soil around their bases.

  He was bedding in his third pant when he heard a familiar voice. Eyes half closed and unshaven, Ted looked up. Mrs Butler-Thompson stood at his garden gate.

  “Mister Harris,” she said, looking up and down at Ted. “You look in need of a good night’s sleep.”

  Ted stood up and wiped his hands. He tried to smile as he looked at Mrs Butler-Thompson. “When you get to my age, that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

  “I’m sure,” she said, not looking at Ted. Her gaze played over his garden, and she leaned to see around him, to his back garden.

  “Are you looking for something?” He made no effort to block her line of sight and simply stood, shading his eyes from the glare. He had no more energy for the fight.