dearly Departed

Thriller Stories | Nov 2, 2012 | 10 min read
64 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Catherine Louise Moultry plopped her feet on the ottoman and picked up her wine glass. The television was playing softly, so as not to wake up her two grandchildren sleeping upstairs. Her daughter was staying on to visit with her great aunt after the funeral, and wouldn't be in until tomorrow morning. Catherine was determined those two would sleep undisturbed or she'd know the reason why. At five and seven years old, those two little girls made Catherine feel every day of her fifty years and then some.
The wine was cold and slightly sweet, with just enough of a bite to keep it interesting. She keyed the remote, looking for something to watch that did not involve cartoon sponges or mindless comedies. She found a program on one of the documentary channels that interested her, and sat back awaiting elucidation.

The funeral was yesterday. Her daughter and son had driven north to lay their father to rest. As far as Catherine was concerned, it wasn't soon enough. She had been married for over twenty years when he had tried to kill her. His mental faculties had been on the wane for quite some time, and one day he simply snapped, with neither rhyme nor reason. His failing acuity was sufficient to have him committed for two weeks. While he was in the care of the county, Catherine had filed for divorce. Two months later, the judge had declared them divorced. She never saw him again.
Catherine didn't hate her ex. In reality, she felt sorry for him. But she knew she had to protect herself, and divorce was the only way. His siblings had immediately stepped in and took him home with them, calling Catherine "heartless", along with several other, choicer epithets. The family's vilification lasted only a few days, until her ex had put his hands on his sister's teenaged daughter. Suddenly, they arranged for him to go into a nursing home.
Their children corresponded with their father, and spoke to him occasionally on the phone, but he had been so abusive to them when they were home, the kids had little desire to initiate communications on their own. The grandchildren didn't even know him.
Catherine was started to nod. She caught herself, and jerked awake just before she dropped her glass. She took the last swallow then carried the glass to the kitchen. She put the glass in the sink, returned to the living room and turned the television off. She headed to the stairs and switched off the downstairs light. Her right foot was on the fifth step when she heard the front door rattle.
She paused in mid-step, her bare foot poised above the riser. Who the hell could that be at this ungodly hour of the night? She looked back downstairs. Her purse was on the hall table. Inside was the .38 Smith & Wesson she had bought when she first filed for divorce and she had learned that her husband was trying to walk away from the home to get at her. It only took a short time for her to qualify and get her carry permit. With the rash of home invasions, she had gotten in the habit of carrying the weapon.
The doorknob rattled again. Catherine dashed for her purse and the gun inside. She didn't know who it was, but she wasn't about to have whoever it was inside her house. Particularly with her two grandchildren upstairs.
The gun, for all the company's claim that it was a "ladies" piece, felt heavy in her hand. She checked the load, released the safety, and held it pointed down at the floor. Just in case her nocturnal visitor was just a neighborhood kid coming home late from a party, the last thing she wanted was to shoot an innocent person.
Catherine stood to the side of the door. "Who's there?" She spoke firmly, trying not to let the fear that gripped her show in her voice.
The intruder rattled the doorknob again. Stronger this time. "Weezy. Let me in."
Weezy? Only one person ever called her that. Only one person knew how badly she despised that bastardization of her middle name, and he used it every chance he got, as if it was an endearment. Catherine knew better.
She knew too that it could not possibly be James at that door. She had talked to her daughter just a few hours ago. He was well and truly dead and in the ground and three counties away.
"Weezy!. You open this door. Now!" The door shook harder, the knob twisting and vibrating as something slammed into the oaken panel.
Catherine's first thought was to fire one single round, right through the door. She tamped down the urge, just in case her visitor was some idiot with a peculiar sense of humor. Besides, it couldn't be James. It couldn't.

The door shook, hard. There was a peculiar sound as the lock began to give way. The door frame separated and splintered. The door swung inwards, and Catherine had to step back to keep from getting slapped in the face just before it slammed into the wall.
He stood in the doorway, the light from the street lamp casting shadows and obscuring his face. He was tall, broad shouldered, but his body was pudgy running to fat. He wore a plain white shirt and dark trousers. Catherine took in the picture in one glance. She may not be able to make out his features. But she could tell, in that split second, that this was her ex husband. Her late ex husband.
She stepped back further, putting as much distance between them as possible. This couldn't be real. She was asleep. She had to be. She leaned against the wall. The cold plasterboard against her face gave lie to her thought.
"James?" Catherine spoke softly, hoping that he was a figment of her overly tired dreaming.
He turned toward her, turned on her. "Weezy. You didn't let me in." He reached out and touched her arm. She recoiled farther against the wall and shivered at his touch through her sleeve.
Oh dear God. It was James. In the flesh. The very dead, very cold flesh. Her inclination was to dash up the stairs and lock herself in the bathroom. She shook that thought away, knowing that the girls were upstairs.
"Weezy, why didn't you let me in?" There was an iciness in his tone that matched the cold of his flesh. For the first time, she dared to really look into his face. His skin was pallid, the eyes flat and sunken. His mouth still had the cruel curve in the corners that had made her cringe when he was in one of his rages.
Catherine took a half step, trying to get around him, in case he decided to head up to the bedrooms. She had no idea how he got here. Hell, she didn't know how he got 300 miles away from the six foot deep hole where he had been buried.
She raised the revolver, assuming the stance she had learned in her carry permit class. She aimed it at his head, right between his eyes. That was how they killed all those zombies in the movies, wasn't it? "What do you want James?"
James turned toward her, pivoting his whole body rather than turn his head. "This is my house. I live here."
Lord she hated when he used to say that. If she got home from work early he would be sitting there on the sofa instead of going to work. She'd ask him why he was home. His answer was always the same. It was his house and he lived there. One more step, just a little to the left and back, trying to edge her way to the kitchen.
"You don't live here James. Remember? The judge gave me the house. You went with your brother."
"THIS IS MY HOUSE." He screamed, making her cringe and flinch, the way she had during their marriage.
"No, James. This is not your house. This is my house. You don't belong here. THIS IS MY HOUSE damn it! Mine. Not yours."
Catherine took one more step back. Her hand faltered slightly. She had been aiming at his head. Now the barrel was pointed at his chest.
She thumbed the hammer back and squeezed the trigger. Softly, slowly, careful not to let her hand jerk with the recoil. She fired a single shot. The report reverberated through the house.
The slug hit him dead center in the chest, in the middle of his sternum.
There was no blood. He stumbled back, but remained upright. He looked down at the hole in his shirt, his expression disbelieving. "You shot me."
A small voice called from the back bedroom. "Nanny?"
Catherine lowered the pistol for a moment, then raised it again. Again, she thumbed back the hammer. This bastard was not going to get past her. She steadied her hands, resuming her two handed stance.

He took another step toward her. "You shot me. YOU SHOT ME."
James was looming over her now as she stood with her back against the wall. She was aiming up, under his chin. She knew if she pulled off a shot now it would take the top of his head off. She was hesitant, not wanting to do this. She was terrified of this man, had feared him in life, and now in death feared him even more. But she had held feelings for him at one time, had birthed two children by him. She didn't want to see his head explode.
Then he put his hands on her. His grip tightened on her shoulders, the fingers biting into her flesh. She could feel the cold seep into her, chilling her to her very soul. Any feelings she may have had for him had died when he had raised a hand to her in anger.
She raised the gun, until the barrel touched his chin. She could see the bore dig into the skin beneath his jaw.
This time, the report was muted when she pulled the trigger. There was no blood, just a splattering of tissue and bone and skin against the wall and ceiling. His cranial cap and half of his face exploded, spraying Catherine with bone fragments.
The body stood, the feet braced as if expecting the impact of the charge. His grip tightened even more on her shoulders, in what she could only imagine was a death grip.
Catherine put her left hand in the middle of James' chest, where her first shot had entered, and shoved, hard. He didn't budge. She used both hands and shoved harder. He stumbled back then leaned into her. His momentary retreat was enough to let Catherine move away.
She dashed around him, and straight up the stairs. She wasn't sure how much the body could do in this state, but at least he didn't seem to be able talk anymore. What remained of his jaw worked silently. His eyes and forehead were scattered around the room. Maybe, just maybe, she stood a chance.
At the top of the stairs, her youngest granddaughter stood in the doorway to the bedroom, rubbing her eyes with her fist. "Nanny, I heard a loud noise."
It didn't take long for Catherine to gather both children and lead them to the door. She looked toward the stairs to make sure James hadn't followed her. She could hear him crashing about downstairs.
She rushed the children down the steps and out the front door, grabbing her purse from the hall table as she went. Catherine still didn't know how James had gotten there, or what he wanted. She just hoped there was no zombie apocalypse going on.
Her car was in the drive way. She picked her car keys from her purse and pressed the lock button on the remote. There was no time now to deal with car seats. Getting a ticket was the least of her worries. She put the children into the car quickly and ran around to the driver's door.
She slid behind the wheel and quickly locked the doors. She put the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. In the headlight beams, she could see James standing in the doorway, his arms waiving in the air aimlessly.
Catherine slammed the shifter into reverse and backed quickly out of the driveway. The tires cried against the macadam as she jerked the gearshift into drive and she laid a length of tracks on the street in front of her house. She didn't know where she was going, she just knew she had to get away.
She got to the corner and looked in the rear view mirror. James was standing in the middle of the yard, his hands flailing in the air.

The car careened around the corner, out of the subdivision and into the main street. Catherine looked for signs of life, signs of a store open or better, a police car. The light at the end of the block turned red, and she braked quickly, hoping the kids were okay.
A car pulled up beside her. She looked over at the driver, hoping against hope it was a cop, or at the very least a nice burly biker. Instead, it was a tiny gray haired grandmother. This was the last person she wanted to involve. As soon as the light changed, she floored the accelerator and squealed wheels as she pulled away from the light.
There it was. A convenience store in the next block. And there was a patrol car parked out front. She turned quickly into the lot and jammed on the brakes just before the front wheels jumped the curb.
Catherine didn't leave the car. There was no way she'd leave these two babies alone, and she was afraid to leave the safety of the vehicle. She did the only thing she could think of. She hit the panic button on her car remote.
The horn and lights all went off in sequence, making enough racket to wake the dead. She could see the officer inside standing at the counter. He turned toward her and gestured for her to disable the alarm. She didn't.
The officer seemed to sigh in exasperation as he came outside. He figured he had a drunken woman on his hands. She rolled the window down.
"Ma'am, can you turn off that alarm?"
Finally she pressed the button turning off horns and light. "Officer, I'm so glad I found you. There's a man in my house." She was sobbing now, half incoherent.
The policeman shined his flashlight into the back seat and saw the two little girl wrapped in blankets, sitting on the floor behind the front seat, ignoring their booster seats. "Ma'am, those children have to be restrained."
Catherine was at her wit's end. She pulled the key from the ignition and handed it to the cop. "Please officer. There is a man in my house. 431 East Rockland Road. I shot him, twice. He is still there. Please officer. Get him out."
The police officer keyed the radio on his collar and spoke into it briefly. He told Catherine to take the children into the store and to wait until he returned.
Twenty minutes later, Catherine heard sirens, seemingly from all over town, all headed in the direction of her home. She could hear a dull thud in the distance, and could have been the report of a gun. It seemed to go on forever. The clerk asked if she and the children wanted to sit in the storeroom. She refused. She did not want to be anywhere someone could come upon her unawares. She had taken up residence in the sole booth used mainly by hunters and fishermen killing time while drinking their final cup of coffee.
Dawn was beginning to break two police cruisers pulled up in front of the store. The officer, "her" officer, got out of one of the cars and went into the store. "Ma'am. I don't know what that was, or where it came from. But you're not gonna have to worry about it any more."
Catherine looked at the officer, not sure if she should hug him. Instead, she just thanked him. "Is it safe to go home? Just to get some things?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's a crime scene. We can't let you in there right now. We've got an officer outside. She'll take you and the kids to a shelter for the night, then they'll see about getting you a hotel until you figure out what you want to do."
She smiled gratefully and took the children's hands. She led the tired youngsters to the waiting squad car and got into the back seat when the officer opened the door. She noticed the wire screen between the back seat and front, knowing it was for the officers' protection. That didn't bother her.

A woman was behind the wheel, and another officer seated beside her. Catherine paid them little attention, intent on making sure the children were buckled into their seats, then situated herself between them. The officer put the car in reverse, backing out of the space and onto the road.
The car stopped at the traffic light on the corner. Just before it changed, Catherine said, "You don't know how much I appreciate this, officer."
The car was rolling forward through the intersection when she heard, "Weezy."

Dearly Departed by Helen Chapman
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Reviews

Belinda k Nov 3, 2012

HELEN!!!! As usual, perfect. I love so much, but I want to hate you. Man. Envy is cruel.

Velma golden Nov 3, 2012

Belinda, know what you mean, when you see or hear,something really good, all abilities go bye-bye.Now yes, yes, the story was exceptional,and even tho I wish i could write,as well, I do not envy you, but extoll you to keep us enthralled with more of your

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