Sex and Murder Magazine

By R. K. Gemienhardt

I entered the house through the unlocked front door and stood in the entryway to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. It was deathly quiet as I walked into the living room; the only sound was the soft, steady hum of the refrigerator motor. The house smelled faintly of apples and cinnamon, like a freshly baked apple pie and I paused at the dining room table and took a few minutes to place the last dozen pieces of a jigsaw puzzle into their proper place until a basket full of puppies and kittens stared back at me.

As much as I wanted to, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer so; I slowly climbed the stairs to the young couple’s bedroom. I walked to the husband’s side of the bed and swung the baseball bat in one fluid motion. It connected with his face and splintered his teeth, splattering blood across the room. The woman woke but didn’t scream. She seemed confused as she looked from me to her dead husband, and then back to me. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood-stained bat in my hand, but by then it was too late and my bat connected with the side of her head with a sickening thud, knocking her to the floor.

Their daughter’s room was directly across the hall. She was still fast asleep, her little thumb jammed into her tiny mouth. She was only four years old and looked like an angel. I wondered what she could have done to deserve God’s wrath; I didn’t want to kill her but God commanded it. I hesitated as she stirred awake, rubbing her bleary eyes with her chubby fists. She looked up at me with affection. “Hi Grandpa, what do you have behind your back? Did you bring me a present?” she whispered.

“Yeah pumpkin. It’s a surprise, so close your eyes,” I answered.

My only Granddaughter closed her eyes, a smile of anticipation creeping across her face, as I brought the bat up over my head. Mine is not to question why.