Vengeance — G.W. Mullins

"Mystery, Murder, Paranormal Events, and a story that leaves you guessing as the bodies stack up." - Matthew Trent OutLoud Magazine

An excerpt from Vengeance

A light fog floated like a white blanket above the ground as the shovel ripped apart the green grass that was to become a grave. Darkness clung to him, like a shroud as the shadowy hooded figure dug quickly to avoid the light of morning. With every scrape of the shovel the hole grew deeper and the figure looked more distraught. A storm of sinister emotion rolled across the stranger's face. Killing someone was the easy part, getting rid of the body was a bit harder.

As the hole became large enough for a body, the figure turned and headed to the house. He moved swiftly through the fog to where on the back porch, wrapped in a sheet, lay the body of a girl. As the figure bent over to pick her up, the sheet unraveled and an arm emerged from within. The silver moon shone down on the scene of horror. A golden bracelet slid down her wrist and reflected the moon's light. As the figure looked down in anger, the bracelet was just a painful reminder of betrayal.

Wrapping the sheet back around the cold mass, the figure carried the life-less body to the hole and placed her deep inside. As mounds of dirt covered the sheet, the guilt raged deep inside. Death's cold grip had come more than once that day. The police knew about the first one, they could not be allowed to find a second body.

The fog burned off the land as the first light of day found the hooded figure planting a new garden where the torn earth had become a grave. As the figure looked around the beautiful garden, a feeling came on, one that said it was over. If no one could find the body then no one could call it murder.

As the figure walked around the house to put the tools in the back of the truck, a face of a young blond girl appeared in the window. She watched intently as the figure moved about his business. She pushed against the glass in attempt to free herself from house that had become her tomb. As the tail gate closed on the bed of the truck, the figure looked back at the house. The girl beat her fists as hard as she could on the window. She screamed as loud as she could, but no sound was heard. There was only a light chirping of morning birds and the crunch of footsteps walking away.

Tears ran down her face as she pressed her face against the glass and rested her arm on the window seal. The bracelet she was wearing slid down her arm and as it hit her wrist reflected the bright light of the morning sun. For a moment the reflection caught the attention of the figure. And then the truck pulled off down the long gravel driveway. The girl fell to the floor and beat her fists against the wall, but no one could hear her.