Death On A Summer's Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
I've killed him. He's dead and it's hot. The bugs are bad and I need to get rid of him before it gets hot. I need to find a place to get rid of him...

Submitted: August 14, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 14, 2012



To Hide A Murder
A short story by Peter James Wrolling
The bugs are usually bad this time of year. But, Jesus. Eating me alive. I want to go inside. The stars are out, it's nice. Not too hot, well, at least not now. Tomorrow will be hot. I should get rid of him before it gets hot. Once it gets hot, he'll start to decay, and with all these bugs, he'll draw a lot of attention.
Maybe I won't get rid of him. Maybe I'll just let him lie and act like he doesn't exist. Sure, I could go to jail, but where else am I going anyway?
Lucky he isn't heavy. I drag him behind the shed below my house. Well, it isn't my house, but my parents' house. Shit. Forgot about them. Not sure what I'll tell them. I guess I'll have to wing it, just like in every other situation, even though that's what got me into this in the first place.
If I'm lucky, there'll be some coyotes out tonight that are hungry. Maybe they'll drag him to the woods where he'll never be found. Probably not, though, I'm just being positive.
I go to the edge of the woods and throw the knife as hard as I can. This is a decision I regret as soon as I make it. I’ll never find it, but someone else might.
I decide to dig through his pockets. Loose change, some house keys, no car keys, he's not old enough to drive yet. A cell phone. I smash it to bits and toss it in the woods with the knife.
I go to my porch. The light is on, and bugs swarm the bulb, blotting it out. I sit on the swing. The bugs get annoying in a hurry. One lands on my mouth and I kill it. God, they're so bad this year. It's the heat. It gets so hot during the day. I have to deal with this before it gets hot tomorrow. The bugs. They'll attract attention.
Focus my mind. I open the trunk of my car, not that I have a license anymore. Golf clubs and a tire, I toss them into the trees to my right. I drag him back into the driveway and toss him in the trunk. Blood pools into the carpet, thick and dark. His hair is matted with it. It's curly and thick. I wish I had hair like that, mine always stays flat and thin. No wonder I always cut it off. His skin is clear and light. No marks. Mine is hideous.
I'm staring into space when a car pulls into the driveway. Well, it's a truck. My parents.
“What are you doing“, they ask as I shut the trunk. I don't answer, I simply shrug. They say, “whatever“, and go inside. I should go inside. There are too many bugs out here. It's too damn hot. Well, it'll get hot tomorrow. I have to deal with him before it gets hot tomorrow.
I pull the keys out of my pocket and start the engine. She sputters a bit. I throw her in reverse and turn her around. I pull out of the driveway. Where should I take him? The woods, somewhere? No, not in this little beater of a car. The dump? Too many people, too far away. The lake? Too obvious. I keep driving. After stopping and getting gas, I continue driving aimlessly until midnight passes. I need to lie low, the curfew they have is ridiculous. I take back roads.
I'm speeding. I go around a turn and my tires screech. Next thing I know I am on the side of the road and the dead deer is fifteen feet ahead of my car. The radiator is demolished and she won't start. She's smoking, and so am I.
Maybe I should just give up. Go by the hospital and just throw him out. Leave a note saying that I found him along the road.
But wait. The situation is the perfect solution. I pull the deer to the side of the road and hide it. Then I open my trunk and place him on the road where the deer was and let his blood pool a bit. The front of my car is bloody.
I grab my phone from my pocket to call an ambulance. Is this believable? Would they think that he was just walking down a dark road at one in the morning and that I just hit him? And I don't have a license, either. I put my phone away.
No, no. This won't do at all. I put him back in the trunk. I finally get my car to start and drive her to an open field and park her. Turn off all the lights. It's so dark. There are clouds to the east but the western sky is clear and starry. I watch for a bit. Airplanes. Satellites. They probably already know what I have done.
I get my phone back out and dial a number. It rings twice, and she picks up.
“Hello?” Her voice was always my favorite thing about her.
“Hey. It’s me.” Silence.
“Yeah, no shit, it’s you. Look, what do you want? It’s two in the morning. And I’m not alone.”
“I just wanted to hear your voice. I’m probably going away for a while.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” There is genuine concern in her voice.
“Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it. I just wanted to say goodbye to someone.”
“Well, if it means anything to you, I’m glad it was me.”
“Me too. And it does.” We say goodbye and my phone is silent.
I lay on the hood and fall asleep. Waking up several hours later, and it is hot. Eighties, at least. The bugs are bad. It's so hot. I should have taken care of him before it got so hot. This is going to get a lot worse now. I open the trunk and step back from the horrid stink, vomiting. He is rotten, bloody and stiff. The bugs swarm him. It's so hot and the bugs are bad.
I get as close as I can to the car without vomiting and close the trunk. I jump in the front seat, it stinks, but only a little. I start her and drive away. I still need to think of somewhere I can put him.
Then it hits me. The cave. Outside of town, the cave. They've found bodies in there before and never busted anyone. I go for it, but don't know the way.
I stop at a gas station and fill her up again. I'm low on cash. I ask the way to the cave. It takes the man a minute to realize what I'm talking about. He stares at me like I'm an idiot. I tell him my girlfriend wants to meet me there and he looks at me questioningly. He tells me where to go and I speed off. I'm so good at keeping a low profile.
I get to the cave. They piled a big mound of dirt in front of the entrance in the nineties to keep bums out. There's still a small opening in the top. Enough to fit through anyway.
I should have brought a flashlight. It's dark as hell and I can't see a thing. He is laying at the bottom of the mound along with God knows what else. It stinks in here. It took everything I had to get him to the top and push him into the cave.
I'm pounded by fear. Noises all around me. Sounds. Smells. I want to leave, but I fall. I land on him. He is so stiff. At least it's cool in here. No bugs. Outside it's even hotter than it was. And the bugs are so bad. I can't stand the bugs. The fear I was feeling a few moments ago is replaced by guilt.
I can't do this. Can't just leave him here. Can't act like nothing happened, it would destroy me. I am dead tired but I manage to drag him to the top of the mound again. Some kids are screwing around with some broken glass. I wait for them to leave then drag him to the trunk of my car.
I should just give up. Just drive back to my house and just stay there. Tell my parents and his parents. His dad will shoot me. Maybe that would be for the best. My parents will kick me out of the house and I will be on the streets.
I start her and drive into town. There is a large brick building towards the center of town and I park in the lot next to some very decorated cars. I walk inside.
I tell them that there is a body in my trunk. They all stare at me like I am kidding. Probably because of how young I look. My eyes are sunken, I'm sure. I probably look half-dead myself. I tell them that I stabbed him and tossed the weapon. I tell them that I tried to make it look like an accident, but flaked out halfway through. I tell them that I wanted to take care of it quickly, but couldn't. It's really hot now, and the bugs are worse than ever. I tell them that I was going to put him in the cave, just let him there like so many others have done before. Then I tell them that I just wanted it to be over, to not worry about things anymore. To not have to worry about guilt, fear, paranoia. That I wanted to do the right thing.
They cuff me and throw me in the cell. The toilet stinks. The window is open and it's hot. The bugs swarm the toilet. There's so many of them. It's so hot. I can't sleep on the stone slab they call a bed and it's so hot.
It's hot and the bugs are bad but it's still better than dealing with my problems. I was never good at change. That's something that never changes about me. I can become an adult, a criminal, a killer, but I still will never welcome change. Until now, now I don't have to worry about things changing for quite some time. And I guess that's okay.

© Copyright 2018 Peter James Wrolling. All rights reserved.

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