The Complete Collection by Susan Shultz

Author:Susan Shultz [Shultz, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Full Fathom Five Digital
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The old woman sits in the quiet house alone, sipping a cup of tea.

She has aged in the last few days.

She can’t shake this feeling of uneasiness. Alone, but not.

There is something else here.

In the distance, three gravestones keep watch.

She did feel some regret for the baby, but that moment passed soon enough.

The little wretch deserved it, as did that useless girl.

She took her in, gave her a roof overhead, fed her, and then…

Repaid how?

With a betrayal. Engaging in such shameful behavior, with a common blacksmith no less…

An embarrassment.

What choice did she have?

The baby was asleep when she smothered it.

It was probably the best thing for the child.

Still, she misses her son. And the next winter will be hard with no help.

Perhaps she could hire someone from the town.

But wait.

“What is that noise?” she says to no one.

The noise is coming from upstairs.

Rock. Creak.

Rock. Creak.

Rock. Creak.

It’s the rocking chair, she thinks.

But it can’t be.

A chill runs down the old woman’s spine.

“Who’s there?” she whispers.

Rock. Creak.

Rock. Creak.

Rock. Creak.

Hesitantly, the old woman makes her way up to the room, the one that has been locked since Jessie’s death.

The rocking chair keeps rocking.

Her bitter heart races. The girl tricked her. Fooled her with some magic into thinking she was dead.

She’s not so dead after all.

The cane is gripped tightly in her hand. She once taught the girl respect with this cane. She would be happy to do it again.

Gladly.

She reaches the door and finds herself too terrified to open it. The rocker is still slowly creaking, back and forth.

She pounds on the door with her cane.

“Who’s there!” she cries.

The rocker abruptly stops.

The key is in her hand, but she can’t bring herself to use it.

Though it pains her back, she leans down to peer through the keyhole.

On the other side of the hole there is an eye staring back at her.

She tries to catch her breath, move quickly down the stairs.

And then she realizes the eye on the other side of the door wasn’t brown.

It was the tiny, pale blue eye of the infant.

She screams.

And screams.

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