Misconceptions : Gothic Short Story

Part 6

I am driving to her house and visions of our happy future together dangle before me, so close I can almost touch it and even as I near the house, my mind experiences every moment in flashes. I roll to a gentle stop, get out of the car and walk towards the door.  Children laugh somewhere in the distance…

At last Arabella stands before me in the open doorway and receives me with a smile. She stands to one side and allows me to enter her home. The odor of which she spoke of assaults my senses…the unmistakable scent of death is ghastly attrocious.  I survey the familiar scene. Every detail is already firmly fixed in my mind’s eye, held there to reminisce about whenever I choose, though soon I will no longer need to just reminisce but will experience it for real.  

 “That odor is horrible!  I suggest we start searching upstairs.  It’s probably a rodent that has died in the attic”  I tell her confidently.

“No, sir.” she replies just as confidently. I’m sure it is something in the cellar, but for some reason I cannot locate it.”

 A slight sensation that could be an inkling of fear creeps into me. She’ll know, she’ll know, Oh why did I not think of this sooner.

 “Well why don’t we head down there then? The quicker we find it, the better off you’ll be,” I voice with a smile and hope she does not perceive the edge of fear that lies beneath my words.

 “Good.  I’m glad you’re here.  This place is kind of spooky!”

This time she takes the lead, assuming I do not know the way.  As we head down the dark stairway into the cellar a shiver trembles through my body, the room is rather chillier than I recall, but I shake it off. However, the cold is nothing compared to the stench that bombards our senses in nauseous waves.

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, you can leave whenever you want,” she gasps out in apology. 

Knowing what must be done, I continue onward and rack my mind for some elaborate excuse that will get her out of the way. Nothing sensible comes to mind and suddenly she asks me to retrieve a couple of pair of gloves from under the kitchen sink.  I am convinced nothing can possibly happen in such my short abscence and, all too ready to leave the maldorous cellar, I hurry up the steps to fetch them.

Upstairs, as I first clutch the gloves, a blood curling shriek echoes forth from the cellar, and briefly cements me to the floor. The horrified scream, fraught with intolerable grief, shakes my very core, then silence.  I regain my senses to rush down the cellar steps, but stop as the scene of Arabella crumpled on the floor meets my eyes.

“What’s wron… Oh my, oh my.” I come to a halt as I finally see what has brought such a terrified scream from her. Unfortunately, she has moved the packing cartons and uncovered the body.  It is John, or at least I can only assume it is him, for this bloated, discolored corpse betrays not an inkling of resemblance to its former self.

‘Not John, not John, not him too…,” she trembles out,” Oh not him, anyone but him…”

What does she mean not him, not him too? I come close to embrace her, but she shrinks away from me. 

“Who is he? I mean was he,” I say trying to not let on how that had hurt me.

“It’s him, why does it have to be him? He was the only one left, the only family I had, and now… He’s dead, my brother is dead…”

A dazed look overcomes her face, as if she cannot believe it true. Though I am more stunned. Her brother? Her brother? How could I be so stupid, so ignorant and blind. It is over… How can she love a man who murdered her own brother, her only brother, the last of her family at that? Where has the air gone? I need air, and oh how the walls seem to close in on me. I need to leave. Now. I run out of the house where fresh air relieves me and drive home. Tears stream down my face in torrents as I navigate the roads, yet I have not the slightest idea where I am or where I am going.