Terror in a Small Town

Someone was knocking at the door to the house across the street from Cathy's house. She was keeping an eye on the neighborhood as she put it. "What are they doing? They shouldn't be doing that in broad daylight!" Cathy Salinger gasped as she gazed through her binoculars.

Cathy is the woman from down the street that knew everything that went on in the little neighborhood of Burkensville. She kept a pair of binoculars on the end table by the big window at the front of her house. She lived on the corner, so everyone's house was in plain view and she saw all the immoral acts committed. Her voice was one that a person would never fully get used to. The whole town wanted to get rid of her, but they tolerated her because of her wealth. Mrs. Salinger is 34 years old and still lives in the same house her great-grandmother and great-grandfather had built in the summer of 1887. The house was in pristine condition to be as old as it was. One could say that her family made the town. Cathy liked peeping in on the Thomason family across the street. They were a newlywed couple and had a six month old baby boy.

They were like any other new couple; they had disagreements and yelled sometimes. On this particularly cold November day, Greg Thomason came home from work early to apologize to his wife, Tammy (they had a huge argument the night before and he had left that morning without saying a word.) He had gone by the florist and picked up a dozen long stem red roses as a token of his love and so he wouldn't have to sleep on the couch again. When Greg opened the door, he was used to hearing the sound of his son Ben, but Tammy had taken him to spend the day with his nana. The only thing Greg did hear was the dining room TV on and figured his wife was watching her soap operas on daytime television. Greg went into the dining room, but his wife wasn't in there. "Tammy, Tammy, I've got a present for you, sweetie. Where are you?"

He heard on reply, just the sobs of some overly painted maiden from a far away soap opera land. He began to walk upstairs and every other step he trotted on made a screeching sound. When he reached the top of the stairs, he saw water soaked into the carpet. He listened closely and heard the water running in the bathroom. He still had no idea where his wife was and felt the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. His stomach began to churn as he reached for the door handle that led into the guest bathroom. Just about the time he touched the knob, the phone rang. Greg jumped at the sound and slipped on the water soaked carpet. The closest phone was in the guest bedroom at the end of the corridor. The phone rang several times before Greg had a chance to get to it. He picked up the phone, "Hello? Who is this?"

"Yes, this is Micro Wireless and I wanted you to know that you can save a lot of money if you switch your wireless service to Micro."

"I really don't care what you're trying to sell, I don't want anything!"

Greg slammed the phone down in the cradle and went out of the room. He went back to the bathroom and reached for the handle once more. He turned the knob ever so gently until it clicked and opened. The door made an awful noise as Greg opened it. He could feel the warmth of the hot water running and was temporarily blinded by the steam that escaped when he had opened the door. After a second or two, Greg was looking down at the remains of Death's work. His wife lay in the tub, naked, dead. Her body was red from the hot water that was sloshing over the sides of the tub. Her hair was floating near the surface of the water, but her head was resting at the bottom of it. Her eyes were still open and the look of complete terror was still etched on her face. Greg felt his lunch coming back up. Before long, he was hunched over the toilet. He didn't want to get near the tub, but he had to turn the water off. He ran out of the bathroom and headed toward the phone. He picked up the phone and began to dial for the police, there was no dial tone. "What the hell is going on? Have I not had enough? God, what have I done?"

Greg slammed the phone down and stormed out of the room. He went past the death soaked bathroom on his way downstairs to get his cell phone from the foyer table. He was consumed by the devastating idea that his wife was dead. Tears swelled in the corner of his eyes and began to flow down his cheeks. He fumbled with the phone and finally got to an emergency operator. The operator on the other end of the phone was none too interested in the job she held and that feeling came out as she spoke. "Yes, what is you emergency?"

"I need the police at 142 Maple Street as soon as possible. My wife was dead when I got home from work this afternoon. Please come quickly. Oh God, help me!"

"Just stay on the phone with me, help is on its way. What is your name, sir?"

"My name is Greg Thomason."

"Okay, Mr. Thomason, can you explain to me what happened?"

"What? I can't hear you. You are breaking up."

And that was the end of the phone. The battery wasn't fully charged and the thing just went dead. He went to the downstairs house phone and dialed his mother to make arrangements for Timmy to stay there for a few days until this thing panned out. He walked over to his mahogany cabinet in the corner of the living room to pour himself a glass of bourbon to help him calm down. He sat down on the couch right in front of the television and sipped on his glass half full of the brown, murky substance. "God, what am I going to do? I'm not complete without Tammy. God, help me get through this."

Just as he finished the last drop of bourbon in his glass, there was a knock at the door. It was the police and Greg eagerly invited them in. He closed the door behind them, and led them to the bathroom upstairs. When he opened the door, the investigator was stunned at the sight of the bloated body lying naked and burned. Greg walked down the hall. He felt so bad about his wife being dead, but he felt even worse because he didn't have a chance to apologize. The police quickly blocked the bathroom off and began the long and tedious process of finding and tracking down fingerprints. Greg paced up and down the hall and glanced at his watch every five minutes. The sun was going down, which gave a crimson glow to everything around. The police drained the tub and covered the body with a white sheet out of the linen closet. Greg could smell this wife's flesh and it made him become nauseated and light-headed. The police gathered all the prints they could find and began asking Greg a long line of questions. Things like what happened and would anyone have a reason to kill Tammy. Greg told the detective in charge the whole story from beginning to end. He explained the fight, the wanted forgiveness, and the flowers. That's when Detective Somerset began to question things about Greg. He wondered if Greg could be the killer. It was time for the police to begin to put together suspects. They left Greg with a business card to call if anything came to light, and called the coroner to come and take the body to the morgue. About ten o'clock that night, the police left the Thomason house and Greg was left alone. Left alone with the realization that his life was over. He fitfully slept that night, and in the morning he got on the phone to start making arrangements for the burial of his wife.

All that evening and into the next morning, Detective Somerset poured over the evidence collected from the Thomason house. He dared ask himself if Greg could really kill his wife. He had been in the police business for the past twenty years, and yes a husband could find a reason and a way to kill his wife. But, was Greg responsible for this murder? The evidence didn't say so, but Somerset had to follow all possible leads. Somerset spent most of the week after the homicide in the neighborhood around Greg's house, asking questions, taking pictures, and trying to decipher the clues that he came across. On Friday, a whole seven days after the homicide, someone broke into Greg's house. He was away at his mother's house. He wanted to spend some time away from the house with little Timmy. When Greg arrived home, the door was standing ajar, and mud tracks were leading into the home. Greg immediately called Somerset to tell him of the break in, and stood outside until he got there. Both men stepped into the foyer of the house, and besides the mud prints on the floor; everything else was as it was before Greg had left home. "Who has done this?" Greg said half to himself.

"I don't know Greg, but you should look around and see if anything is missing. I will walk around myself and see if the intruder is still here."

Greg went to the mahogany cabinet in the corner of the living room and all of his expensive shot glasses and stirrers were still there. The television and electronic equipment were intact. As it looked, nothing had been tampered with. While Greg was looking around, Somerset went up the stairs to look into the bedrooms and closets. When he got to the top of the stairs, he turned to his left. Timmy's room was located just past the guest bathroom on the right. The door was slightly open, and Somerset could hear gentle humming coming from inside. Somerset drew his service revolver from its holster and started toward the door. From the small opening, he could see a woman sitting in the rocker near a window. She was rocking and humming and holding something in her arms that resembled a baby. She was oblivious that anyone was in the house. Somerset went back the other way to the guest bedroom and called for backup. Something about that woman was making his gut quiver. He motioned to Greg downstairs to be quiet and stay still. Somerset then stepped back toward Timmy's room. He slowly pushed open the door, and the woman jerked her head up at the movement. Wild eyed, she cast the baby shaped mass onto the floor and lunged at Somerset. Tearing and clawing, she tried to get the gun out of his hand. She was a tiny woman, but was putting up a hell of a fight. Greg heard the commotion from downstairs, and rushed up. He burst into the room, "Leslie, what the hell are you doing?"

At the sound of Greg's voice, the woman, Leslie, went limp in Somerset's arms and her ravenous eyes turned to those a frightened doe. "Billy, you're late. I've been waiting here for a while trying to get Jr. to sleep."

Of course, Timmy was still at his grandmother's house, and the baby shaped mass in a heap on the floor was just a stuffed animal from the crib. While Leslie was distracted, Somerset was able to grab his handcuffs and subdue the woman. After she was taken downstairs and put into the back of a squad car that had pulled up, Somerset came up to Greg who was sitting on the porch. "I take it you know this woman?"

"Yea, that is Leslie Compson. She lives about a mile down this road in a small cabin. Her husband, Billy, died about a year ago. He was in an accident with their baby, Billy Jr. and they both perished. Leslie was at home when the accident happened. Other than an occasional wave going by the house, I haven't really had much to do with her. Tammy always said that she didn't feel right about the way that woman looked. What was she doing here, Somerset?"

Somerset didn't have to say anything; they both knew a gruesome truth that was better left unsaid for the time being. Somerset combed the house again for anything else that he might have overlooked and was gone. Greg sat on his porch as the sun shone onto the top of his head. Cathy was at her usual perch and watched Greg. Her heart hurt by the feeling she was getting from the look of him. She crossed the road and walked up to where Greg was sitting. "Are you okay, Greg?"

"Yes, Cathy, I will be alright."

"What was that woman doing over here?"

"I think that was Leslie Dupree form down the road. You remember, the woman that lost her son and husband about a year ago. Detective Somerset found her up in Timmy's room rocking and singing to a stuffed animal. When I went into the room, she called me Billy and said that she was trying to get Jr. to sleep."

"Whoa, I'm so sorry to hear that. Is there anything that I can do? Is Timmy okay?"

"Yes, thank goodness he is over at my mom's house. I'll be okay. Thank you for stopping by."
And with that, Cathy crossed the yard and headed back to her house. Greg went inside and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Later that evening, he got a call from Somerset. Leslie confessed to murdering Tammy. Leslie had come to the Thomason house, walked in the front door, and heard the water running upstairs. She ascended the stairs and found a naked Tammy about to step into the tub. In a blind rage, Leslie drowned Tammy in her own tub thinking that Greg was her late husband and that he was cheating on her with Tammy. When the psychiatrist evaluated Leslie a few days later, they come to the conclusion that Leslie had suffered a tremendous blow to her sanity after the accident that claimed her child and husband. When she was walking by Greg's house, something in her mind snapped and she was forever lost in a world of mental havoc. The case of Tammy Thomason's murder was closed and Greg was left to try to get his life back to order.