Jim stepped past Ted, knelt and pulled a handful of compost from the little door at the bottom of the bin. Reflexively, Ted held his breath as he watched the black earth tumble out. Jim produced his testing kit and sampled the compost. He held the green liquid up to the women. “Same results,” he said. “Sorry for the inconvenience, Ted.”
Ted breathed out. “No problem. I’m sure you’re only doing what you have to.” He shot a glance at Mrs Butler-Thompson, then walked back towards the front garden, arms stretched, ushering the little group away from the composter.
“What’s that?” Mrs Butler-Thompson walked past the outstretched arms and leant down to pick something up from the spilled compost. She arose with what looked like a tiny fragment of bone between her thumb and index finger. She turned around and held it up to the others.
Ted stepped closer and looked at the bone. His stomach lurched. It looked like part of a finger to him. “I don’t know. Maybe part of a bird?” He shrugged.
Mrs Butler-Thompson looked at him, then at the bone again. After examining it for a moment, she looked back at Ted. “What do you think, Mister Booner?” Without turning, she held the bone out, which Jim Took from her. He held it in between his thumb and index finger. Bringing it towards his eyes, he scrutinized the tiny piece of bone.
“Well,” he sounded unsure, “I guess it could be a bird. A big one, though.”
“Are you certain?” She took the fragment back off him.
“Not really. I suppose it could be some other animal, a hedgehog, fox or squirrel, perhaps?”
“Hmm.” She looked at Ted and frowned, before pocketing the bone and dusting her hands off.
The group made their way back to the front garden and turned to Ted. “Thank you for your assistance, Mister Harris.” Marjorie offered her hand, which Ted shook. Jim made a short salute, touching his forehead with his first two fingers, and the group left the garden.
Ted waited a minute or so before lowering himself back into his chair. His racing heart began to slow, and he closed his eyes. He was starting to drift into an exhausted sleep when he heard someone clear their throat. He looked up to see Mrs Butler-Thompson standing over him. She bent down so her head was level with his. She lowered her voice and spoke with a hiss.
“I know what that bone was, Mister Harris.” Ted felt her spit on his face as she spoke his name. “Was that my Jordan?” Ted remained seated but sat upright. He clenched his jaw, but remained silent. “Because if it was,” she said, standing up and breathing deeply, “if it was, you’ll have more to worry about than the bloody ‘Haverly in Bloom’ competition.” Her voice remained low. Ted could not remember her ever cursing before. The tingling sensation in his face was back. “And that hole’s not for a pond, is it?” It was barely a question. “I will be back this evening to give you a chance to explain yourself. If you don’t tell me what I want to hear, it will be Constable Barnes and not the Parish Council that will be visiting you tomorrow.” She turned and left Ted staring after her, as she walked off.
Ted went into the back garden and picked up his spade. Slamming it into the earth he continued digging his hole. A glance at his watch told him he needed to pick up the pace.
Part Thirteen
Throwing the spade out of the hole, now almost waist deep, Ted took one last look at his rig; the wooden pegs that turned up the tarpaulin and held the soil in place creaked under the weight, but they stood firm. Each peg had a cord running from it, collected together in the centre of the hole. He was forced to get a knee on the grass to climb out of the hole. When he was out, he lay on his back looking up at the fading light. Mrs Butler-Thompson had not been specific about her return time, but it wouldn’t be long.
Climbing to his feet he did one last check of the stakes that raised the back of the tarp. Cut from sturdy blocks of wood, they seemed solid. He walked around the rig, giving each stake a small tap with his foot. Satisfied, Ted went inside to shower.
The water was hot, and he leaned against the wall, letting it flow over his face. He wept as he contemplated what he had to do. His choices were limited, he argued, none of them being ideal. As he towelled himself dry, he looked at himself in the mirror, glancing to the photo of him and Sissy that was mounted on the bathroom wall. The photograph had been taken on holiday, Ted couldn’t remember where. They were on a beach and he had wrapped his wife in a towel and picked her up. There were no signs of grey in their hair, and his physique was muscular and tanned. They looked happy.
He moved into the bedroom and dressed. He wore his pressed trousers and yellow shirt, buttoning the cuffs at his wrists. He selected a red tie and fastened it tight to his throat. His suit jacket hung on the back of the cupboard, and he picked it off the peg. Shrugging his shoulders, he slipped it on and fastened the two buttons. Downstairs he slipped his smart shoes on and gave them a quick once-over with the polish. The last thing was his hair, which he combed until he was satisfied with it.
He moved into the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Filling the floral-design teapot, he sat down at the table and rotated the pot away from him. He sat staring at it for a while before reaching for it and slowly turning it round, so the handle faced him. He let his hand linger on the pot for a moment, while he looked at a picture of Sissy that he had placed on the table. He took out the white handkerchief that was in his top pocket and wiped his eyes, before neatly folding it and placing it back in his pocket. He poured two cups of tea, pushing one across the table.
As Ted sipped the tea, he watched the last vestiges of daylight slip away, the sky turning a vivid red as the sun sank below the horizon. When he had finished his drink, he picked up the photo frame and removed the back, sliding the picture out. He put it in his pocket and went to the back door.
He went outside to his shed and found his garden knife. He had recently fitted a new blade, which he extended. He touched a finger to the end, drawing blood. He slipped the knife into his pocket, and walked round to the front garden to wait for Mrs Butler-Thompson.
She was already approaching his gate as he came from the back of his cottage. Without waiting to be asked, she pushed the gate open and came into his garden. “Well?”
Ted suddenly felt very tired and very old. He had kept Sissy’s secret for two years, and it was getting heavier. Jordan had been the tipping point when he realised he needed to take action, and his choices had led him to this point. He would never have believed he was capable of what he was about to do, but something had hardened inside him; he was no longer sure what he was and wasn’t capable of. “Mrs Butler-Thompson.”
She looked him up and down, taking in his smart attire. “Going somewhere?”
Ted ignored the question. “Would you please accompany me into the back garden?” He shambled back the way he had come, not waiting to see if she would follow. She did.
Ted stood at one of the corners of his hole, Mrs Butler-Thompson facing him. She stared at him, hands on hips. “Do you know what happened to Jordan? Yes or no?” Her question was to the point. He had expected nothing less.
“Yes, I do.” He hung his head and spoke quietly.
Mrs Butler-Thompson took a step towards him. “Just tell me, is he dead?”
Ted lifted his head and looked at her. “Yes.”
She let out a sob and fell to her knees. He moved to help her up, but she swatted his hands away. She looked up at him, crying now. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
Stepping back, Ted took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m afraid I did.” He was struggling to keep from crying himself. “I didn’t intend for it to happen.” He began sobbing as he continued. “He found out about my wife and was going to tell you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
She wiped her eyes. “Where is he?”
“In there.” Ted pointed to the shed. “It’s not locked.”
This time she accepted the offered hand and climbed to her feet. She moved over to the shed with faltering steps and reached for the door, pausing before grasping the hand
le. Ted stood in silence watching the woman pull the door open. She stood in the doorway, peering in. Now in darkness, there was little that could be seen inside the shed.
“The light is on your left,” Ted offered, almost apologetically.
Mrs Butler-Thompson fumbled for the light switch and flicked it on. There was a pause. “Where is he?”
“In the bags.”
She backed out of the door, without saying a word. Both hands covered her mouth. She turned to Ted and spoke, almost inaudibly. “What did you do? Oh my God, what did you do?” The scant light from the kitchen window illuminated the trembling woman.
“I killed my wife and I killed your grandson, and I’m sorry.” He was still crying. “My wife is in there.” He pointed to the compost bin. “Was in there, at least.”
Mrs Butler-Thompson looked at Ted, then at the open shed, then back to Ted. He stood, hands clasped in front of him. “Oh my god,” was all she could manage.
“It’s not what you think--”
“I think it’s exactly what I think.” She had managed to gather herself, and she moved towards the front of the house, never taking her eyes off Ted, who made no move to follow her. “I’m going to get the police. Oh my God,” she said as she hurried out of sight towards the front garden.
Ted waited to hear the gate bang shut before he moved. He took the photo of his wife out of his pocket and caressed her face with his fingers. With his other hand, he pulled out his knife. After a moment, he returned the picture to his jacket and slid his sleeves up, unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt. He dragged the knife down his forearm, elbow to wrist.
Bright red blood began to pump out, spraying across the garden. He repeated the process on the other arm, before stumbling into the hole he had dug. Lying down, he took a hold of the tangle of cords and held it in both hands. “I’m so sorry,” he said and yanked the bundle of cords up towards his face. The wooden pegs holding the soil back snapped away, and the earth began to tumble back into the hole, filling it up.
Part Fourteen
Mrs Butler-Thompson returned several minutes later with four police officers in tow. “Arrest him,” she said as she entered the back garden. She stopped when she realised that Ted was no longer there. She looked around before finally letting her gaze come to rest on the fresh patch of uneven earth where there had previously been a hole. She raised both hands to her mouth as realisation dawned.
“Where is he, Mrs Butler-Thompson?” The young officer spoke quickly.
Mrs Butler Thompson stood in silence for a moment, thinking. This will wait for a couple more days. Let’s get the judging out of the way first, was what she thought. “He must have gone,” was what she said.
“Well he can’t have gone far on foot.” The Young officer began speaking in to his radio while the others went into Ted’s house.
When she was finally alone in the garden, Mrs Butler-Thompson moved over to the shed. With a hand to her mouth, she swung the door closed. Taking a quick look around, she snapped the open padlock shut, and dropped the key into her pocket.
END
About The Author
Steve Boseley is a freelance writer living in Nottingham, UK. He has had several short stories published in online magazines, and in print, most recently Locked In (Death Throes, 2013), Intensive caring (Death Throes, 2013), The Photo (Microhorror.com, 2013), The Tree (Schlock!, 2013), Claire, (Blood Moon Rising, 2014), Gino’s, (The Aylum Within), Into The Scar, (Alfie Dog Fiction), The Island, (Alfie Dog Fiction).
His horror and paranormal fiction has appeared in several print anthologies, with Road to Nowhere appearing in the 2014 Halloween edition of Dead But Dreaming.
When he’s not writing, Steve works for a charity supporting disabled people, and even finds time to talk about his life with Multiple Sclerosis, and some of the difficulties faced as a wheelchair user. Some of that side of his life is available to read on his blog, maninachair.weebly.com.
Other Short Fiction By Steve Boseley
Other horror and Paranormal fiction available from Steve Boseley:
Available free at maninachair.weebly.com
Locked In
A Fine Day
Antigonish
Last Night
I Miss My Brother
Claire
The Tooth Fairy
Outbreak
The Hole
Feeding Time
The Quantum Universe
Sizzling
Bad Day
Captive
Intensive Caring
Available through Alfie Dog Fiction
Into the Scar
The Island
Available free at Smashwords
The Girl in the Park
Coming soon
Reproductive Cycle
The Photo (revisited)
Connect With Steve Boseley
Follow Steve on Twitter: https://twitter.com/maninachair
On Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/109473163668256275088/posts
Subscribe to his blog: http://maninachair.weebly.com/index.html
Die, Blossom, Bloom Page 6
