by M. J. Joachim
The room had only been painted a few months before. Annabelle sighed at the thought. Slowly, she backed away, as another cockroach reared its ugly head. Carefully, she laid the bait in the hallway, near the door. The cockroach scurried back inside, never venturing out to taste the temptation.
Walking down the hall, Annabelle could see the light turn on each evening. She heard noises – from the t.v., the window and even the closet. On occasion, her aging uncle would appear. He was a big man, very big!
After raiding the pantry, fridge and booze cupboard, he would stomp back to his room, leaving trails of wrappers, chunks of food, piles of dirty dishes and sweaty, sticky clothes in his wake. Annabelle winced and dutifully cleaned up each mess in turn.
It had been a few weeks now since she’d heard or seen her uncle reappear from the dreaded room. The light burned out the night before. Worried, she reached for the doorknob, slowly turning it, so as not to upset her uncle.
Nothing. No shouts to “Keep out!” No angry words about minding her own business. Not a single sound was heard.
She couldn’t open it. She couldn’t even turn the handle.
Slowly, she climbed onto the roof and began drilling a hole, so she could see inside. There, beneath the pile of rubble and debris, her uncle had buried himself alive.
That's all for now.
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