House Call

Bloodbath or wellcheck? It was one of those where it could go either way.

"I've just killed my husband," she'd said on the phone. What normal person takes another's life, then calmly owns up to it?

Maybe she was lying? Hallucinating? Either way, it wasn't normal.

The driveway was neat. Lawn mowed, edges trimmed meticulously. Snapdragons in pots either side of the door.

Crazy people could be tidy, right? Maybe he'd walked on her freshly-mopped kitchen floor in muddy boots.

I knocked.

I heard her shuffling step, saw the shape of her through the opaque glass. She opened the door a crack and peered out at us through fussy little spectacles. I think she was nervous, but people often are. We make them feel guilty.

After we identified ourselves, she slid the chain off the door and pulled it wide.

"You'd better come in," she said, adjusting her shawl. "Come on through." She led the way to the kitchen. "Can I get you anything, officers? Tea? Coffee?"

My first instinct was to decline; I don't drink caffeine after 1p.m. but if she's crazy, we don't want to upset her.

"That might be just the ticket," I said.

It was unnerving how normal she seemed. She bustled a bit too much with the kettle. Like she was avoiding what came next.

"Could we speak with Mr Hobbs, please?" I said.

"No." Her voice was calm, but her hands trembled. "I'm sure I explained to your colleague on the 'phone," she continued. "He's dead. I killed him."

She motioned us to follow, and went through to the living room. It was as beautifully kept as you'd expect, except for the blood. Mr Hobbs sat in the armchair, his eyes staring at the TV. A football match was on. An axe was lodged in the top of his head. The upholstery was quite ruined.

When Mrs Hobbs reached down to pluck the TV remote from his hands, her shawl slipped, showing the bruises on her throat and collarbone. She switched off the television, and put it back on the arm of the chair, diffident even now.

"I knew what would happen if they lost," she said quietly.

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Edited to fix mistake and add A/N

Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Sunday 20th October

Quick Author's Note

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 294 daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January. I'm nearly at 300!!

ONLY SEVENTY-TWO DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Image: I hated this image, but Unsplash had nothing suitable, and AI couldn't manage a simple front door and a normal looking house. SIGH.

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments. Bear with me while I catch up on reads (I will have much more time to do this at the end of the coming week. In the meantime, I do appreciate your eyes!)

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Thank you again!