The Watcher

Somehow, somewhere, somebody knows. Unaware he was being watched, the man glared down at the dead woman. With a smirk on his face, he lifted the axe high overhead and aimed for her neck. When the axe blade hit its mark, a loud thunk echoed through the dark woods. Blood splatters colored the white bark of a nearby birch tree. The decapitated head rolled downhill, scaring a rabbit who shot out of a clump of weeds. Twigs snapped and dry leaves crackled under the weight. As if a bowling ball rolling toward a strike, the head quickly made its way to the river below. After a loud splash, quiet settled over Gunther’s woods.

Meanwhile…

“Mary!”

Mary’s eyes flipped open. Sweat covered her body. She swallowed hard and took a deep breath, and then slowly, carefully, turned her head enough to see the alarm clock next to the bed. The numbers were blurred. She blinked, and tried again, but she couldn’t read the time. Instead, Mary thought she saw the outline of a face, yet it wasn’t exactly a face. It was more like what she would consider an energy field. Mary rubbed her eyes. She chastised herself for watching too many Sci Fi movies before bedtime, and then looked again. The face was still there, hovering over the edge of the bed.

“Mary!” It called again.

The voice was that of her sister, “Lizzy? Is that you?”

As Mary stared, the mouth opened and screamed the words, “Get up! Run!”

Mary didn’t wait to be told twice, she was out of bed in a flash. She snatched her silk robe off the chaise at the foot of the bed, stuffing her arms in the sleeves as she ran down the winding stairway from the third floor to the second, finally reaching the front hall. Normally proud of her family’s opulent home, she wished it were a shorter trip to the exit. The robe billowed out behind her as she ran across the marble floor. Finally reaching her destination, Mary turned on a lamp, fumbled in the drawer for keys to the Mercedes parked under the portico, found them, and flung open the door. The door opened with such force, the knob embedded itself inside the wall. Mary raced outside, only to be stopped by a warm wall of human flesh. Mary screamed.

It was too dark to see the man’s face, yet she knew it was a man by his muscular build. His arms grabbed hers and pushed her back, “Mary! It’s me. Willard. What’s wrong?”

Even though she didn’t particularly like Willard, she was relieved to see him. She knew Willard from school. He was two years older, but their school was small, only fifty-two in her graduating class. Everyone knew everyone. Mary didn’t vote for Willard when he ran for sheriff. He gave her the creeps. She often saw him staring at Lizzy, and not in a good way. Still, Mary threw her arms around him as if he were a long lost friend. After all, he was the Bradshaw County Sheriff.

Once Mary stopped shaking, Willard tried again, “What’s wrong, Mary?”

Mary swiped a sleeve across her eyes, “I saw Lizzy.”

“What do you mean, you saw Lizzy?”

“I saw her. She called my name.”

“You couldn’t have seen Lizzy. You do know that don’t you? She’s gone. Seeing her buried today probably gave you nightmares, that’s all.”

“I saw her!” Calmer now, Mary thought about what she was saying, “Well, I thought I saw her. I know I heard her call my name. She was trying to warn me.”

“Warn you?”

“Yes. Warn me. She told me to run.”

“Run where?”

Emotion caused a quiver in Mary’s voice, “That’s all she said. I was leaving when I bumped into you.”

Willard pulled Mary back into his arms. She closed her eyes and relaxed against his broad chest. The fear she felt earlier, eased. That is, until she opened her eyes. This time there was no mistaking the face in front of her. It was Lizzy. The head was not supported by a body, yet a finger across the lips told Mary to be quiet. The mouth silently told her to run. Mary nodded. The head became misshapen, and then transparent, before disappearing into the blackness of a moonless night.

Mary took a step back. Willard let go. “I’m alright now,” she said as she took another step backward, and another. “I think you’re right, I must have been having a nightmare.”

Willard saw the fear in her eyes, as she backed toward the safety of the house, “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Mary’s attempt at laughter came out as a screech when she spoke, “Don’t be silly, of course not. I’m just tired. I need sleep.”

As Mary said goodnight, Willard took a step forward, stopped, and retrieved something from behind a shrub. The lamp light from the hall table became a spotlight, illuminating a coil of nylon rope. A hangman’s noose dangled from one end.

Willard’s strong hand whipped out and grabbed Mary’s arm, “Not so fast, honey. We’ve got some unfinished business.”

She tried to pull away, but his grip was strong, “Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m taking what belongs to me.”

“I-I d-don’t understand.”

Willard made a sweeping motion with his free arm, “All this. This rightfully belongs to me. I’m Jeffrey Winfield’s first born, not Lizzy. I’m his real heir, not you. My mother wasn’t good enough for the Winfield family. So you and your stuck-up family left us to rot in that shack down by Mueller’s Creek. I’m merely setting things right.”

Struggling to free herself, Mary tried to distract him, “What are you talking about? You’re crazy!”

Keeping his vice-like grip on Mary’s arm, Willard turned slightly and pulled down the collar of his shirt, giving her a view of the back of his neck, “Recognize this birthmark?”

The birthmark was about the size of a nickel, only it wasn’t round. It was shaped like the cursive letter R. Mary’s eyes moved to her arm, just below the elbow, observing an identical mark. Her indrawn breath told Willard she understood.

“Too bad you were so distraught over your sister’s murder that you hung yourself, isn’t it? Now get back inside.”

Willard twisted Mary’s arm behind her back, and shoved her forward. Once inside the house, he handcuffed her and forced her to lie on the cold marble floor. He cocked his pistol, “Stay there or I’ll put a bullet in your head.” He placed the noose around Mary’s neck, and then half dragged; half carried her up the stairs. When they reached the second floor landing, Willard tied one end of the rope to the railing, and shoved Mary forward.

“Please, don’t do this,” Mary said.

Willard merely looked over to the life sized painting of his grandfather, and spat out, “This is the last of your beloved grandchildren.”

As Willard was about to toss Mary over the edge, the front door flew open, and the deputy sheriff rushed in, “Hold it right there!”

“Eric!” Mary screamed.

Intent on his mission, Willard continued toward the railing, “Get out of here Eric. This isn’t your business.”

“It is my business. I swore to uphold the law. Crazy Lou said he saw you kill Lizzie, but I didn’t believe him. I thought he was just telling another of his stories.”

“Look little brother, I know you think you’re in love with this little tart, but she’s not worth your time. She’ll dangle herself in front of you until she’s tired of playing games, and then toss you out like a bag of trash. She’s a Winfield. That’s what they do.”

While continuing to point the gun at Willard, Eric walked slowly toward the stairs, “She’s also your sister. Blood. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Yeah. It means something. It means this place should be mine. I should have grown up inside this house, had the best education, and been respected instead of shunned.”

As Willard reached toward Mary, his intentions clear, Eric aimed his gun. “Don’t do it.”

Willard didn’t listen. Eric fired. Mary stared into Willard’s dead eyes, watched him fall, and then saw Lizzie’s face once more. Lizzie smiled and winked, before disappearing through the closed door of her old room.

Mary held onto Eric for support, before her wobbly knees collapsed, “How did you know to come?”

“We got your 9-1-1 call.”

“I didn’t call.”

“You didn’t? The call came from this number. If you didn’t call, then who did?”

Mary looked toward Lizzie’s closed door and said, “The Watcher.”