Toxic Tales

What's in a Name? Part 3

The end of the week came, and I went to the miller's home with the gold I'd finished spinning. I heard soft crashes and stumbling when I knocked on the door. When the man opened the door, I saw (and smelled) that he was drunk; there was a nearly-empty bottle of rum in his hand.

"I thought your father was coming," he slurred, stepping clumsily backward to let me in.

"Your constant demands have made him sick, so I have come in his stead." I walked into the room and placed the spool of golden thread on the dining table. "There, you have what you want. Now, leave my father alone!"

"Why should I?" The miller threw himself onto a nearby rocking chair and drained the contents of the bottle. I felt my repulsion increase.

"My father is elderly and tired," I responded, walking close to him in order to look him in the eye. "He has no need for so much distress at this point in his life. How did you even know about his crime in the first place?"

The man burped loudly. I recoiled from the stench. "Wanna know a secret, sonny?" he asked. I sighed, exasperated.

He leaned closer to me and whispered loudly, "I had no idea he'd done anything—I guessed!"

That shocked me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I figured all upstanding gentlemen like him have secrets, so I just said I'd spill his if he didn't give me the gold. If he'd denied it, I would've found another way."

I felt fury rising within my chest. "It's always unfortunate when pathetic, useless drunkards have brief moments of cleverness."

The miller shrugged and laughed loudly. "And get this—I still don't know what he did!"

"Then how could you abuse him this way?!"

He shrugged again. "I need the money."

I couldn't control myself. My vision turned red, and without really knowing what I was doing, I reached forward and grabbed the front of the man's shirt. I pulled him upright out of the chair and brought his face close to mine. The empty bottle shattered on the floor as it fell out of his grasp. I felt satisfaction at the fear I saw in his eyes.

"I find it hard to believe that you are pressed for funds, considering the fact that your harlot of a daughter sells herself at the pub every night!"

"That's not true, I was at the pub today, and she—" The miller stopped speaking. He looked at me with a confused expression. "What'dya mean by that?"

"Oh, come off it!" I shook him harder. "Everyone in town knows about her—and has probably had her! She's propositioned me on more than one occasion."

The man's eyes clouded over for a moment; then, he grew angry and tried to get me to release him. "You lie! It's not true!"

One of his sharp nails scratched my hand, and I let go. He stumbled back into the rocking chair, but somehow managed to regain his footing. His chest was heaving with anger.

I did feel a twinge of regret for divulging this apparently unknown information. Fighting my usual stubbornness, I managed to apologize. "I'm sorry, I assumed you knew."

The miller crouched down and reached into his boot. He withdrew a sharp dagger and, clutching it, began slowly advancing toward me. I tried to back away in caution, but the table blocked my way.

"My daughter," he said, low and threateningly, "is a respectable, upright young girl. She's gonna marry the king, and I'll be damned if you or any other awful man tries to spread such lies about her!"

I remember the following scuffle in a series of flashes—He charged at me with the knife—he missed—I managed to catch his arm and tried to pry the dagger loose—he swiped at me with his other hand—I made a fist and struck a blow to his face—he dropped the dagger—I picked it up and—

What happened next is an action that I have regretted every moment of my life since then. Without thinking, I grasped the dagger in my hand and plunged it into the miller's chest.

Blood pooled immediately around the wound. He looked at me with a bemused expression before he fell to the ground. I began to panic, leaning down over him and casting about the room trying to find something to help him...but I knew it was too late. Within a few seconds, he exhaled a final time and closed his eyes. He was dead.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the horrid sight of the man I had just killed. The dagger was still in his chest; I didn't know whether or not to remove it. Even if I had wanted to remove it, I couldn't move; my body seemed to have become rigid with shock. The sound of a cow lowing outside brought me back to my senses, and I knew I had to leave as soon as possible.

I stood up to go to the door, but then I heard someone on the front step. It had to be Bridget. Panic filled me once more, and I bolted to the window before she could enter. Looking back for the briefest moment, I saw that the spool of gold thread I had brought with me was still on the table. I didn't want to risk getting caught, but I knew if the spool was found, I was a dead man. By some miracle, I managed to grab the thread and make it out of the window before Bridget entered the room.

The cries of anguish she made upon finding her father dead have echoed in my ears ever since.