A Warning to the Murderous by Glenis Ann Moore, Corpse Reviver

It didn't take me long to work out that I was dead. One minute I was arguing with Joe at the top of the stairs, I felt his hands on my back and then I was looking at my crumpled corpse at the bottom: eyes staring, head at an odd angle and my darling husband smiling next to me. I watched him calmly walk down to check on my body and then call the emergency services, his voice cracking with false emotion, and how he lied to them about the whole thing. I knew then that he would get away with it and there was nothing I could do about it.

             It seemed that I was stuck in the house so I could hear everything he said to explain away my unfortunate 'fall', how he pretended that he was mortified by my death to our friends but how later he would talk to his mistress on the phone asking her to wait a few months before moving in to allay any remaining suspicions. She obviously knew what he had done and didn't seem to care too much, which felt odd to me as who in their right mind would want to live with a murderer.

             Everyone who came to the house looked right through me. It was only the cats who indicated that they knew I was there. They walked round me and purred when sitting next to me. Buster even tried to rub against my legs and looked rather surprised when his head passed right through them.

             This strange behaviour annoyed Joe something rotten. I knew that he had only put up with the cats because of me so, with me gone, he began to maltreat them: leaving them out all night in the cold, forgetting to feed the. However, it was when I saw him kick Buster that I really saw red and the plan began to form in my mind. What if I could use the cats to enact my revenge?

             I had realised early on that the cats couldn't hear my normal voice but maybe I could make another sound that they would be able to hear. So every day, while Joe was at work, I experimented. I tried whistling, tapping the work surfaces, clicking my fingers but nothing seemed to work.

             I was about to give up when I heard Buster make his usual chirruping noise which meant that he wanted some fuss. I chirruped back and then it happened. I suddenly realised that all three cats were staring at me so I tried some other cat sounds and they all worked particularly a loud yowl, which made them all jump up and run towards me at speed.

             That night, after Joe had spent an hour on the phone talking to 'her', I watched him start getting ready for bed. The cats were hiding on the landing keeping well out of his way but I needed Joe at the top of the stairs so I chirruped to Buster to get him to chirrup back. I knew that Joe would curse and start to come down to let Buster out. As Joe reached the top step I saw my chance. Filling my dead lungs I yowled as loudly as I could and then just watched as the cats ran into Joe tripping up as they swarmed down the stairs to surround me.

             Then I was looking at his corpse at the bottom of the stairs: eyes staring, head at an odd angle and I smiled at his ghost at the top. 'You shouldn't have kicked Buster', I said as I saw him start to softly cry.

 

About the author 

 Glenis has been writing poetry since the first Covid lockdown and does her writing at night as she suffers from severe insomnia. When she is not writing poetry she makes beaded jewellery, reads, and sometimes runs 10K races slowly. She lives just outside Cambridge, UK. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)