By: Lindsay Li
“Good morning, Mrs. Murray.”
“Good morning, Kaitlyn. What are you doing here today?”
“Oh, me? I’m just buying some groceries for my parents. By the way, Mother asked me to give these to you. It’s a box of her homemade cupcakes.”
“Thank you, Kaitlyn. You’re too kind.”
Wet earth in her fingernails. The clang of a metal shovel as it strikes the ground once more.
“We’re running out of time. Madeleine will be back at any moment. How long does it take to dig a hole? If it were me, I could do it ten times faster than you.”
“Let’s see you try.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Murray.”
“Oh, hello, Simon. I didn’t expect you to come by today. How are you doing today?”
“Fine, thank you, Mrs. Murray. Here, a package from Ms. Paterson. And a letter from the Gardening Committee.”
“Gardening Committee? Did I sign up for it?”
“I believe so, Mrs. Murray. The letter is addressed to you.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you, Simon. Have a good day.”
“You too, Mrs. Murray.”
“Stop crying. You know it was the right choice.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Your eyes say otherwise. Do you regret what you did?
“I didn’t have a choice. You’re a coward. Insulting me when all you did was point the way towards the forest.”
“Well, I can’t bother to get my hands dirty. I had a press conference the same day. What do you expect from me?”
“Next time, you’ll do the work.”
“Fair enough.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Murray.”
“Hello? Who is this?”
“I’m sure that you know exactly who I am.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize your voice. Are you…Kirstin Wheatley? The girl who moved in a couple of houses down the block?”
“Very funny, Mrs. Murray. But I’m sure that you do know my name.”
“No, I don’t. Tell me. What’s your name?”
“Don’t tell me that you don’t know.”
“…”
“My name is Adrienne. Adrienne Murray.”
“Hello, Adrienne. It’s been nice talking to you, but I really must—”
“But wait, Mrs. Murray. Don’t you want to tell me who I am?”
“…”
“Go ahead, Mrs. Murray.”
“W-well, you share a name with my daughter, but—”
“Stop pretending. You don’t have a daughter.”
“…”
“Or do you? Tell me, Mrs. Murray. What happened to your daughter? Where is she? I want to talk to her.”
“…”
“What happened to your daughter, Mrs. Murray.”
“…She’s dead. Buried. Six feet under. Why?”
“Your daughter isn’t dead, Mrs. Murray.”
“W-what? Impossible! I know that she died. I put her into her grave with my own hands! My husband had the knife, and I buried her—”
“Your husband?”
“Your father, Adrienne. But I don’t understand! How are you still alive—”
“Say hello to Father for me, would you?”
“He’s…not here.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. Father’s here. With me.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“You can come to the cemetery, if you’d like. Father is resting in his coffin right now. He says hello.”