sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴛᴏʀɪᴇs

My Little Pumpkin

The night is cold and I stand on the grave in the forest of the one I didn’t kill, though the crimson is on my hands. Though I didn’t kill her, guilt weighed heavy shoulders to the point where it felt suffocating. My arms and coat were sprayed in the red of my doing, but I felt nothing for whom I killed. The murder of a murderer, and the victim was the one I hold dearest. Yet, I remain guilty for both brutal deaths. So I shall tell you what happened, from start to finish.

My early teenage years were rather enjoyable. I had a loving family, friends, and my lovely girlfriend, Diana. Diana and I were inseparable, we loved each other all throughout highschool and beyond. After highschool I seeked higher education as a carpenter, mostly for my creative interest in carving and building. But still, we went to parties and gatherings and a few years after we were married. At that point our bond was stronger than no other. We bought a home in the pine forest of Northern Oregon. It was perfect and isolated with no one to bother our time together. The home wasn’t too big and it wasn’t too small. I never thought my life would get any better, until a fateful night when I found out Diana was pregnant with my child.

For a moment it seemed unreal, but it was the best news of my life. I couldn’t believe I was to have a baby with the love of my life, but Diana thought differently. She was repulsed, she didn’t want any of this. She believed that the child was going to tear her apart and ruin her, as if it was the end of her beauty. I was mortified by what she thought and I tried to comfort her all I could. But Diana’s opinion on the child never changed, and for the next months it only got worse. At times I would have to stop her from drinking or trying to do activities that could hurt the growing baby. She always reacted with violence or long cursing rants. With each month that passed Diana started to become more and more hostile towards me and her own body. I wasn’t worried about her outbursts, I figured it was part of pregnancy, that was until evening when she had self inflicted cuts on her own stomach. I was scared stiff by the sight of it all, but thankful that the cuts weren’t deep enough to harm Diana or the unborn baby.

But that night was when I had to intervene and get Diana help. It was difficult to find someone who was willing to help her, most wouldn’t or they were too busy to want to. Frustration was the only thing I had felt. Diana stayed home more and more as the months went on while I went to my job, making just enough money to supply for the two of us. The months were long and filled with constant fighting, though it was never physical, it usually ended up with someone hurt. Diana was always in a bad mood and would be easily agitated by minor things. I would often come home to a trashed home or broken dishes and to her sobbing. I was never mad, I instead always comforted her and cleaned her mess while she rested on the sofa or bed. Even after a long day of work I didn’t mind coming home to pamper my wife, I found it to be more important than my poor insomnia.

The ninth month had come and a beautiful, healthy baby girl was born, Eve! The first time my wife held Eve in her hands she cried her eyes out like there was no tomorrow. No matter what we had tried she wouldn’t calm down from her weeping. That was, until my wife got too flustered by the constant whining and put Eve in my arms. After a few seconds of holding her Eve drifted off easily. My wife was overridden by envy. I offered to let Eve sleep in her arms but she simply declined. Diana simply called Eve a “Little devil” and laid back to rest. I was taken aback by what she had said, so I gave her a much more loving name, My Little Pumpkin.

As the months passed the abuse from Eve’s mother got worse, and I suffered as Eve’s only protector. Every night when I would come home at late hours I would find Eve unattended or Diana too buzzed to know what was going on. I began to live with a pit in my stomach and my freetime was scarce. Though I was exhausted each night, I made just enough time for Eve, no matter how sleep deprived I was. We would enjoy many different things like coloring, cartoons, and even playing with small wooden carvings of animals I had made for her.  I would make sure Diana never felt left out by offering to clean or make dinners while her and Eve would play. But every time I mentioned Eve she would go off on a tangent about how she was too tired and needed to be away from her. All I did was agree, letting her do what made her happy.

On one particular night, I was coming home late. I drove our car up the long, gravel driveway in the dark until our house was in view. I saw there were no lights on inside and the front door was open, so I got out of the car while the headlights shined on the door. An immediate sense of dread flooded my body and I ran inside hurriedly. The kitchen was silent except for the soft sound of dripping water. The sink was full of red-tinted water. My heart thudded in my chest and I started to search for my wife. The bedroom was locked and there was no answer from the other side. I banged on the door in urgency and Diana opened the door looking almost happy to see me. I asked her where Eve was and she told me they were having quality time. I felt confused at first but soon I was overjoyed.

Diana was about to shut the door when she asked me to take the trash out so it wouldn't interrupt her and Eve’s time together. I didn’t question it and agreed, figuring I may be able to have some time for myself. I made my way to the kitchen area to the trash, remembering the red water in the sink, but it was completely drained. I still felt worried as I took the bag of rubbish outside, questioning if I had just been seeing things. But my attention was grabbed by the weight of the bag, it seemed heavier than normal. When I was out near the large dumpster, I decided to set the bag on the ground and peer inside.

The color drained from my face as my eyes landed on the lifeless body of my daughter in a mix of broken wine bottles. Her skin was a sickly pale blue and she had dark blood leaking from her nose and mouth. A wave of nausea hit me and I quickly but carefully pulled her from the bag, laying her and the bed of grass. I stood and looked down at the body, while a large force of adrenaline pumped into my veins. My eyes darted back to the door and to Eve once again. I felt as though an all encompassing evil was taking over me. I took a broken wine bottle by the neck and dashed inside and to the bedroom. My mind set on cold-blooded retribution. I slammed the door open which startled Diana awake. I was done holding everything together. Without a second of hesitation I brought the sharp ridges of the glass bottle down on her stomach. Bashing her over and over and over relentlessly until her screams of agony stopped. The house grew dead silent and my fit of rage was finally over. My hatred turned to deep guilt to sudden panic and I dropped the bloodied bottle onto the ground.

Disgusted with what I had done, I dashed from the room and outside to Eve, who was still lying dead. I scooped her up in my bloody arms and hugged her close to my arms, choking out a sob and I ran away from the scene. I sprinted into the foggy woods as far as my legs would carry me. After miles of running I collapsed to my knees, my legs strained from exhaustion. Eve stayed dead in my arms for that night, and I felt a piece of my life ripped away from me. That next morning I had dug a grave with my own hands, my face stained with tears and my legs sore from the previous night. I gingerly laid her body in the hole, taking hours to say my goodbyes. When she was covered with the earth I lied on the grave for a long while, not daring to leave her by herself.

From that day forward I lived completely isolated from everyone and everything, making sure no one disturbs Eve’s eternal rest. I will never forgive myself for what happened and I will never forget how I failed as a father…