Stay or go...

There was a knock at the door of number 7. Peering outside the girl saw a jewellery stand with a compartment underneath, how nice she thought, picked it up, and looked inside…
What if murder was so common it was expected?
Sometimes the most beautiful things hold the darkest secretes.


4. The truth

~I wake up in a room so full of smoke that there is a haze that makes it hard to see the other side of the room. The wallpaper is yellow and peeling and the small of tobacco abuses my nostrils with its repulsive scent. The floor of the room is covered in a mishmash of armchairs and rugs, I come to the conclusion that I am in the living room. The door creaks open and my captor enters the room, (no guesses as to who he is). I am filled with drowning panic when I realise what has happened. I cower into the upholstery, questions swarming into my mind, but up at the forefront of them all is the question ‘Is Anne-Marie ok?’ I know she should be fine, but I don’t know how long I’ve been out cold for, minutes or, hours or, days? And how did I get here and what was the man doing...and...and...and everything!

“’m surprised yu didn’ fin’ ou’ sooner f’rm th’ locals.” The man says in his thick dialect. His frame fills the doorway, blocking my escape route. “Bu’ ‘ll ‘xplain now ‘nyhow so no matter.” He continues, I feel as though there is a story in store for me, and as I have no other option I sit back in the armchair and listen. “Mu wife, she ran ‘way when we couldn’ have kids. Wi’ sum ofer man now ah daresay. Bu’ ah loved her, an’ she lef’ me. Tha’s all tha’ matters now, ain’ it? Anyhow, I’ll tell yu ma story straigh’ an’ outright like, ok? No messin’, yu cun judge me af’er, alrigh’? So, well, me ‘eart was brok’n so ah ordered boxes n’ boxes of statues‘ve her. They wer’ meant for me to luk a’ bu’ then ah had an idea, why not show evr’yone else wa’ i’ feels like tu loose somefink tha’ yu luv. Anyhow, ah made a jewlery stan’ out ‘ve her, din’ ah? Then ah pu’ a curse on it, ‘an wen ah carv’ uh kids name unto i’ n’ give i’ to ‘em then they, then they die.” He finishes with relish, a mad gleam in his revolting eyes. “But I do not understand, why do people not leave?” I question in perfect queens English, trying to put as much difference between this murderer and me.  “’cuz if’n they do then ill fin’ them an’ giv’ their chile a li’l presen’ won’ ah?” He grins, revealing his rotting teeth. “I’s ‘ur choice.” I scream and sprint home, will Anne-Marie still be there when I get home? Oh please god, be merciful. Please. I can’t think about what I have just learnt. The death sentence I have just heard. Surely this isn’t real? But it is.

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