Trophy wife

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: The Dark And Suspenseful

Submitted: September 16, 2018

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Submitted: September 16, 2018



Her heart pounded in her chest like a base drum and cold clammy sweat covered her back, standing there in just her underwear she felt even more vulnerable. Time was quickly ticking away on her now and he would be here soon, she knew the consequences of him finding her like this would not be good. The more she thought about him the higher her anxiety levels went, they had reached a point now where she was finding it difficult to breathe and her chest felt tight. At times like this Melanie was always convinced that she was about to have a heart attack. A brief image of a newspaper headline flashed through her mind, “Twenty four year old socialite found dead in her underwear, heart attack suspected.”

The sound of car tires on the gravel driveway outside finally propelled her into action, the tears had begun to fall now destroying her makeup. The makeup she had spent hours painstakingly applying, he would be beside himself with fury when he clapped eyes on her. She moved quickly through the rows of dresses in her enormous walk in wardrobe, grabbing dress after dress from the rails and just as quickly discarding them. The pressure low down in her abdomen told her she needed to pee badly, but the fear of how he would react drove her to search more desperately. Melanie finally chose two dresses and hurried outside to the bedroom, which one would he prefer she frantically asked herself.

The bedroom door burst open before she could make up her mind, and he stood staring at her a mixture of disbelief and anger on his face. “You stupid fucking cow, I told you this was more than just any old dinner party. I specifically told you that I was having important guest over, people that I need to impress. How I ever allowed myself to marry a moron like you is beyond me, you make me sick even looking at you.” His voice was so loud now she thought her ears would burst, when he began walking towards her Melanie was sure her heart would stop. Just then old Bridget Maher entered the room and quickly walked between him and Melanie. “It is all right sir, everything will be okay. She just needs a little help to get ready; your beautiful wife will be the bell of the ball”. Bridget’s soft brogue seemed to diffuse the situation and he turned on his heels and stormed out.

Bridget had been the house keeper ever since Melanie’s husband was a child, and she was the only reason Melanie manged to survive in this hell hole. The slamming of the door was the final straw; Melanie felt the heat on her legs as her bladder gave out. The fear and embarrassment overwhelmed her now and she collapsed sobbing on the floor, Bridget knelt beside her and hugged her until the tears stopped. Whatever Bridget had put in the drink made Melanie feel all warm and calm, and Bridget helped her shower and get ready in her usual efficient manner. Melanie was dressed with her makeup and hair done before she even realized it, looking in the full length mirror Melanie herself even thought she looked beautiful.

George Bromley the second stood at the foot of the main stairs, a large brandy in one hand and a fat Cuban cigar in the other. He watched his much younger wife descend the stairs in all her finery and he just grunted and muttered something about time. The drink Bridget had fixed her upstairs was a gift that just kept giving; Melanie managed to get through the entire party without a hint of anxiety. Melanie mingled with all the guests graciously accepting their compliments on her appearance, she indulged in witty conversation and people appeared to hang on her every word. Even when old George tried to belittle her, Melanie just manged to smile and shrug it off. By the end of the night George was flaming drunk and had disappeared to the boat house with one his female employees, Melanie took this as her cue and went to bed.

The following morning Melanie awoke and the fear and anxiety had returned, she lay awake feeling like that, until Bridget brought her breakfast. The only saving grace was the fact he had not come to her room last night, for quite a while now he had taken to satisfying his depravities elsewhere. Melanie had quickly gone from being a child bride to being an accessory, something he wore on his arm to impress people. She would sometimes fantasize about leaving him and starting a new life somewhere else, but the truth was that she had nowhere to go and even the fine clothes she had were his possessions. Melanie had become the proverbial bird in a gilded cage, and just like those birds only death would set her free. Melanie was happy when Bridget came into the room; it gave her a respite from her own thoughts.

Shortly after the night of the party things began to change in the Bromley household, George took to completely ignoring Melanie. He would look straight through her whenever he passed her in the hallway, prior to this she was expected to dress like a princess and entertain his guests. The only time she was allowed to leave the house was to appear on his arm like a new toy, but now he never took her out or for that matter brought guests home. This new behavior only served to make her more fearful and anxious, but the thing that frightened her even more was the way he began to treat Bridget. George had an evil streak a mile wide and treated most everyone with disdain and downright cruelty, but for some reason he had always refrained from treating Bridget like this.

Melanie had always put this down to the fact that Bridget had been employed as the housekeeper before he was even born. However something in the dynamic had fundamentally changed now, George began to find fault with everything the old woman did. There had been always something about Bridget that Melanie admired and loved, it was a deep strength, compassion and wisdom. Melanie wished she had the inner strength to stand up to him and stop him from abusing the old woman, just as Bridget had done time and time again for her. But the truth was that George had broken any spirit she might have had a long time ago, so with a heavy heart she watched the light of defiance begin to fade in Bridget’s eyes.

Melanie awoke in the early hours of the morning with an over whelming sense of foreboding. George had unleashed a torrent of abuse on the old woman the night before, and Melanie had locked herself in the bedroom. Too frightened and upset to intervene, even after she heard his car drive away she remained in her room and cried herself to sleep. He would not return until evening time again and even then it would be just long enough to shower and change, so Melanie made her way to Bridget’s quarters to check on her. The old woman’s breathing was shallow and erratic, but she still managed a kindly smile for Melanie. Melanie leaned forward and stroked Bridget’s hair trying to hold back the tears, just before she passed away Bridget grasped Melanie’s hand and pressed a piece of paper into her palm.

Before the funeral even took place George had moved in the new housekeeper, she was a buxom blonde girl even younger than Melanie. By the way he could not keep his hands off her Melanie knew that she would not only replace Bridget but Melanie also. The morning they laid Bridget to rest in the small church yard, George and his new housekeeper laughed and giggled through the whole service. Melanie watched them flirt like teenagers as the sound of the cold clay hitting the coffin echoed in the morning air, later as they left the grave side Melanie saw his hand caress the blonde’s bottom and something changed in her. A cold feeling of hatred came from deep inside her, and it brought with it a determination she never had before.

It was not long before the roles in the house were reversed, Melanie found herself in the role of servant for George and the blonde girl. The so called housekeeper would swan around in fine clothes and go out socializing at night with George, anytime he spent at home now was spent in the guest quarters where he had installed his new trophy woman. Melanie became more and more determined to leave him, and she swore to herself that when she did she would return someday for her revenge. Bridget’s room became her sanctuary; she would sit there for hours and have long conversations with Bridget in her mind. It was on one of these visits to Bridget’s room she found the crumpled piece of paper. The piece of paper Bridget had pressed into her hand lay by the bed where she had dropped it.

Melanie studied the crudely drawn map; it was of pathways leading through the forest that surrounded the big house. All of the pathways led to a circle drawn in what looked like the center of the forest, a single word was written in the circle in Bridget’s hand writing, and the old woman had written “Cottage”. Melanie had no idea what this meant, but for some reason Bridget had thought it important. Melanie would spend a lot of time looking at that piece of paper in the hope that she might understand, but nothing came to her even though it was emblazoned in her mind. She promised herself that one day she would get up the courage to leave the big house and find that cottage.

Melanie was busy in the kitchen preparing food for George and his new trophy woman. For some reason George had decided they would dine in tonight. It was late evening and dark outside when she heard the car drive in, but instead of the sound of car doors opening and closing she heard the shrill sound of the horn. The horn continued to sound in long bursts until she went outside to see what he wanted, the moment she stepped onto the gravel the headlights came on blinding her. Something was very wrong here and she turned to go back inside, but before she could even take a step the car hit her. The shock masked any pain and she felt herself fly though the air, the moment she hit the ground the car drove over her and darkness descended.

The agonizing pain brought her from the darkness; she opened her eyes to a different type of darkness. Every inch of her body burned with white hot agony, the skin from her face and legs hung in tattered sheets. Melanie had been dragged across the gravel beneath George’s car; and the slightest movement brought agonizing groans from deep inside her. The moon appearing from behind the clouds illuminated the place where they had dumped her; Melanie had been dumped like a rag doll somewhere in the forest. All she longed for now was to close her eyes and drift away, a part of her was relieved that she was finally free of him. The next time she came around it was to the sound of Bridget’s voice. “Get up and find the pathway, make your way to the cottage”. Her voice sounded softly in Melanie’s head over and over again until she started to move. The grey autumn dawn had appeared by the time she managed to drag herself to her knees.

Melanie lost consciousness several times in the next few hours, but each time Bridget’s voice brought her back and urged her on. When she finally reached the cottage the door was open and she crawled inside, this time when she passed out no voice brought her back. The next time she opened her eyes she was in bed and her wounds had been cleaned and dressed. Melanie slipped in and out of the darkness; she would wake to fresh dressings and a full glass of some bitter brew. How long she lingered in this twilight state she could not say, but one morning she woke up and the dressings were gone. This was the first morning of her new life, Melanie was reborn. The little cottage was filled with books containing recipes for healing potions, and potions that could be used for other things.

The hooded figured slipped silently into the big house, George and his new trophy wife were not at home and the intruder was well aware of this. The potion was both colorless and odorless; no one would ever notice it mixed through the brandy. Once the preparations were finished the hooded figure made their way to the former servant’s quarters to wait. George and his wife had scarcely sipped their brandy when the potion began to take effect, by the time they were halfway though they could not keep their eyes open. George woke to the sound of the hammer striking the nails, he felt queasy and disorientated. It took a few moments for his mind to register exactly what his eyes were seeing.

The hooded figure was busy nailing something to the wall above the fireplace, only when this task was completed did the figure step aside. George struggled to his feet and stared in horror at his new wife’s head fixed to the drawing room wall, the figure had removed the hood now and it was when he saw Melanie’s disfigured features he began to scream. Melanie walked slowly towards him, and laughed softly when she saw the wet stain spreading on his suit pants. The terrible facial injuries she had received distorted her speech giving her words an unearthly quality. “There you go George she really is a trophy wife now.” His face had taken on a strange purple hue by now, but it was only when she spoke again that his heart gave out. “Bridget sends her love George; she is looking forward to meeting you again”. George was dead before Melanie had even finished speaking.

© Copyright 2018 Patrick G Moloney. All rights reserved.

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