A Burning Box … (I made up a short story with this title)
By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
She was being stalked; she knew that. By whom, she didn’t know. She sensed a presence nearby … it meant her harm.
Hatred burns like hell … she felt the heat from it. Someone hated her with a passion. She couldn’t think … why … someone would hate her so much.
There it was, again. She felt the heat from hell burn her skin. Someone was close by … they meant her harm. She scanned around her, without seeming to.
A dark shadow stepped behind the tree a hundred yards behind her. That was her stalker! She continued to walk down the sidewalk, soon … she’d be at her destination. It was beginning to get dark.
She reached the library, walked through the gate, up the steps. She wondered if the presence would follow her inside. Instead of going straight in, she knew she had time enough to duck down behind the shrubbery close by. She was afraid, but … she needed to see who her enemy was.
What the enemy didn’t know was, Victoria wasn’t afraid of them. She was afraid it was someone she knew, loved. She couldn’t bear what she had to do … even if it was a loved one.
She heard the footsteps come through the gate. She watched in shock … her sister was walking steathily up the steps. She saw her stand outside the library door, peering inside the glass. Victoria knew she was looking for her …
She saw a glint off something in her sister’s hand! She felt her breath catch in her throat. A knife! Her sister had a knife! To use on her! Pure, white, hot anger spread through Victoria. The heat from this fire was hotter than any hellfire! She would fix her sister … fix her good. She wouldn’t live to learn her lesson.
Victoria waited until Charlotte became tired of waiting for her to come out of the library. Charlotte turned to walk down the stairs, out the gate … Victoria was soon behind her. She was the stalker, now. She was stalking her enemy … her sister!
Victoria slipped her hand inside her pocket … felt for something she kept on herself at all times. A small snub-nosed gun that fit her hand perfectly.
Soon, Charlotte reached their home where both lived, sharing everything. Victoria wondered what had made her sister turn against her enough to want to kill her.
Charlotte entered the house, closed the door. Victoria waited for thirty minutes before entering, quietly. The front door opened silently. Victoria slipped inside. She was on alert, just in case Charlotte wanted to waylay her. She was going to have to do it … if she didn’t, Charlotte would do it to her. She was going to have to … kill her sister.
She heard a sound on the other side of Charlotte’s bedroom door. She decided she would wait a few minutes to listen, feel things out. While she waited, she thought about the big, old house they lived in, owned. It used to be a funeral home. It never bothered them.
Soon, all became deathly still. Victoria waited. She walked silently to Charlotte’s beroom door. Thankfully, all the old doors in the house were well-oiled, opened quietly. She waited until she felt Charlotte was asleep.
Victoria opened the door, it never made a sound. She could see the shadow of Charlotte laying on her bed. She began to tiptoe to the bed, gun in hand. Victoria didn’t know what hit her! She fell to the floor! Pain ripped through her arm …
She had been tricked. Charlotte knew Charlotte had caught onto her! Victoria’s anger filled her body … there would be hell to pay. She was going to send Charlotte there!
Victoria jumped up … she saw Charlotte’s shadow. She fired her gun. She heard a groan, knew she’d hit Charlotte. Charlotte began screaming from the pain, rage.
You bitch, you shot me! Charlotte jumped to her feet. Victoria was waiting for her. She was going to kill her ass … if she didn’t … Charlotte was going to kill her. It was a fight to the end … who would win, it was anybody’s guess.
Soon, both met in the middle of the floor. They began screaming at each other, ripping each other’s long hair out. Fingernails scratched, tore open skin. Teeth bit, tore out chunks of bloody flesh that fell onto the floor. They danced the dance of death … in the dark.
The moans, groans, screams ceased. They fought silently to the death. Someone was going to die tonight.
Victoria put her strong hands around her sister’s neck … she put a choke-hold on her. Charlotte clawed Victoria’s hands with her nails. Blood dripped on Charlotte’s neck. Victoria didn’t let go … she waited for Charlotte’s last breath.
She didn’t have to wait long. Charlotte tried to take her last breath, couldn’t. Her body began to shake violently; soon, it lay still. Victoria didn’t let her go … not yet. She had to be sure Charlotte had died. If she didn’t, it’d be her ass that would die.
As she held onto Charlotte’s neck … she thought about … why Charlotte wanted to kill her. Greed. Their grandmother had died, leaving all her wealth to both of them. Victoria never sensed that Charlotte didn’t want to share with her. Charlotte wanted it all.
Victoria knew what Charlotte was going to get … it’d be soon in coming. She got up off Charlotte’s body, went to the door, opened it. She was going to drag Charlotte’s body to the basement where the old incinerator was. She knew it worked … she and Charlotte fired it up ever so often. They roasted hot dogs in it!
There were boxes still in the basement that were used to cremate bodies, years ago. Victoria pulled Charlotte’s limp body by her feet; her head thumped hard on each step as Victoria pulled her down the steps.
She left Charlotte’s body in the middle of the floor. Victoria went to the old incinerator, turned it on. It began to heat up. She turned to Charlotte’s body … it was time to put her in a box.
She looked at her sister’s face in death. Victoria’s anger had cooled some. She pushed hair back from Charlotte’s face. Her lips were apart; her eyes still open. Victoria gently closed Charlotte’s eyes.
Victoria put Charlotte’s body in the box; used the lift to roll her body to the incinerator’s door. The box began to get hot …began to burn as soon as Victoria pushed it all the way in. She closed the door; watched the fire through the glass door.
She said goodbye to her sister in her mind … as she sent her to hell … in a burning box.
*** Photo/Story is of me, owned by me … Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee
*** Several of you asked me about a story with the title Skip made up … this is it. 🙂