A Murderer's Guide to the Perfect Crime

The Veiled Grove from which Apple Trees Grow

The twitching branches of the corroding trees watched the man as he made his way through the forest. Using nothing but the light from the sky, he trudged further through the trees. He was nervous. This was the first time he would be doing this, but the scripture had given him very specific instructions, with promise of a good reward. So he fought back the tremors that were threatening to take him over and clutched the blood-red apple in his hand. He reached a clearing in the forest, where a lone house stood towering over him. He sucked in a breath, threw the hood of his cape over his head and walked up to the door.

He rapped the wooden door. hand done. After a moment of waiting, there was no answer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was not prepared for this. His eyes dropped down to the keyhole of the door and he peered into it.

Red eyes met his and he jumped back. It was then that he heard the lock click and the door open.

He expected to see red eyes, but the eyes in front of him were blue.

"Hello," the man in front of him said. "What might I help you with this late at night?"

"Um," he hesitated. "I—I'm lost, you see. I wandered into this forest with no directions and now I don't know my way back. Could I perhaps seek refuge in your home for tonight?"

A long pause. "Sure! Come on in." A large smile found its way on the man's face.

He walked over the threshold of the house and looked around. The walls were barren of pictures. were a few dishes in the sink and a clutter of apples on the table. The only thing he smelled was the strong odour that overtook the entire house. It was disgusting and frankly made him want to puke, but he withstood it and followed the unknown man.

"Here, have a seat." the man said pointing at the chair. "I'll get a room ready."

The man disappeared down a dark hall, the creak of an old door announced his entrance. Now was his chance. He walked across the room to the kitchen where a knife rack stood. But before he could grab one, he stopped. In the sink were apple cores, seeds separated into a container.

'But why not throw them away?' he thought. He couldn't think for much longer. Footsteps were approaching so he shoved the knife into his coat and grabbed his apple in the other.

"I've just realized," he heard the voice from the dark corridor. "I haven't introduced myself." The man appeared in front of him. "I'm Abram," he said, shoving his hand forward.

His eyes widened. The last thing he should do is get close to his victim. The name itself came with too much. Tonight, he would kill this man, and he did not want his real name attached. He reluctantly shook Abram's hand."Nathaniel," he lied. 'For good reason,' he told himself

"Take a seat, Nathaniel," Abram smiled. " I've just finished baking a pie, that's why there're so many apples spilled around," he laughed.

"That's wonderful," Nathaniel faked enthusiasm. "I—uh—don't have much to repay you for your hospitality, but I do have this apple I picked on my way here. I was going to eat it myself, but I'll give it to you as a means of thanks." He pushed the apple he held with a death grip towards Abram.

Abram's smile fell. "No thank you, I have enough apples."

"I insist, Abram." Nathaniel grimaced inside.

"No. I said I am fine." Abram turned around. "I'll cut you a slice of pie."

He had refused the apple. The only thing he could do now was use his last resort. Nathaniel stood behind Abram and pushed his knife to touch Abram's back. He closed his eyes, ready to push it through flesh when he felt the tip of a blade pressed against his throat. He jumped, opening his eyes.