One Up for the Change

One Up for the Change

by Illya Sean Antley

         All I could see of her was the daft shell of what used to be one of the sweetest most loving women in all of North Sadford.  She was once so beautiful, and as mild as a super ultra light menthol.  She had that effect on you.  Very calming was her southern maiden accent that floated through the air as she said “hi” to you, and the way her eyes seemed as though she had been crying because of the diamond like shimmer they possessed.  Yes, very lovely, very sweet, and very married. 

         Martin was Winsly’s husband.  He was by no means a bad man, but most women of a certain age would say he got just what he shoulda’.  For the years of being taken for granted, and the years of slavery brought about just because he had a job and wanted her at home.  For all the hard times and good times, and whatever else times exist in a marriage; he got what he deserved for enslaving one of God’s creatures the way men have done them for years, those thankless fucking bastards!

         Winsly was a beauty in her day.  She wasn’t too bad in this time of her life either.  Though for many years, she was somewhat social with her high school girlfriends, this seemed to taper off as the years passed and her friends seemingly took to the same paths of raising their husbands and making a home.  She was extremely polite to everyone, always minding her manners of society speaking.  She had a sweet and caring look about her.  Her comfort level of dressing was that of a Sunday school teacher, dark pumps and long June Cleaver’s for that girl.  Her hair was long and a faded brown. She usually kept it up in a bun when going out.  She never said a cross word to anyone.  In fact, anyone she had ever had an ado with in the past was soon forgiven be it their fault or hers.  Fact was that she was a woman of strong morals.  Cursing was not in her nature.  On those few and far between nights when her and Martin would rent a movie, she found it amusing but in bad taste for the need of swearing so much in almost any movie.  She was generally g-rated, and generally unnoticed after years of being the perfect wife.       

         The days at Martin and Winsly Deerduff’s home were pretty much like most people of the pre-retired, but getting close age.  Winsly was up by five with the coffee on (not in an automatic machine either, but in one of the old on-the-stovetop type percolators), Martin would have it no other way.  She had neatly laid Martin’s wear of the day out the night before, and moved it to the living room were he would find it easier to get dressed.  He was not a small man by any means and he was very arthritic in his back.  It made it so much easier for him to dress in the living room so he could spin circles like a dog chasing his tail when tucking in his shirt, or trying to loop his belt.  Anyway, after some great coffee, scrambled eggs, toast, and his daily medications, Martin would give Winsly a little peck on the cheek.  She would watch as he climbed or fell into their aging, bay blue sedan, and head to his job of nineteen years as a pressman at the local paper.  Martin always wanted to be a writer for the paper, but he just had no talent for it, and he didn’t really mind getting to read the stories hot off the presses, which were in fact really hot after churning out a few thousand or so a shift.  After years of this, it did begin to give Martin a little trouble in his lower back, in which Winsly would have to Ben Gay him up from time to time, but she did not seem to mind as she felt it was her duty to ease his pain, not to mention he wasn’t so grumpy when he didn’t hurt as much.  While Martin was off earning his wages, Winsly did the house up and the shopping and paid the bills and she may even call a friend from time to time just to chat and pass the day until it was time to cook the evening supper.  The supper was something she actually looked forward to.  Sadly to most, it was a time of day when she felt creative and useful.  She usually stayed on a set menu of Martin’s favorites, and sometimes she would try something from one of the magazines she liked to read.  It would usually be a recipe that revolved around something Martin loved to eat anyway, so it was no big shocker in his routine, and if he didn’t like the meal, there were always things left from the recipe she could use elsewhere.  That was the other thing; she really prided herself on being a smart and thrifty shopper.  She never ever went over budget, but how could she?  She new exactly what to buy and where to buy it.  If she had the feeling that she had a little left to blow, it was usually on a fifty-cent crossword book or maybe even a sinfully delicious dark chocolate bar, which was her favorite since she was a child.

          Now the two did have a daughter.  Denise lived in the city working as a bank teller.  They talked to her every weekend, and when she had a few days off, thankfully from national holidays, she would come and stay a weekend.  Martin and Winsly would listen for hours about Denise’s nights out with friends and her dating and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  Some of it a little too fast for their taste, but it was their daughter, they loved her, and she was home just the same.

          Yes, this was the Monday through Sunday routine for the two for years now.  It was comfortable and it was their life.  There were no complaints, fights, dreams, or anything arousing to raise blood pressures from day to day in the Deerduff house except maybe the neighbor’s dog Smitty the miny Yorkshire Terrier having a night fit barking, or talking about whatever dogs talk about.  Not for some time did things change. There was no need of change, contentness was everywhere.  Sure the two had talked about taking a long trip when Martin retired, more so than the once yearly visit to the related families, but a real trip around the world, or maybe even a new color of paint on the house.  Things were fine, just fine.  As a matter of fact, the only thing Winsly ever complained about recently was the heated feeling that would come over her from time to time.

          On Monday of a week of any weeks, Winsly was doing the household shopping.  Staying well under budget as usual, she noticed she had an extra few dollars to blow this particular day.  She was feeling rather excited that this had allowed her to put a little something away in her purse for a few extras.  She never thought of herself; it was usually what could she buy for the both of them, and was it needed.  Winsly had actually thought about buying herself something.  This was indeed two emotions not in the norm for this lady.  Excited and selfish all in one day?  Not that this was anything selfish by any means, but for Winsly Deerduff to at least humor the idea of an unneeded purchase just for her, almost sent her into a headlong guilt trip.  This too was another emotion not in the electrical make-up of Mrs. Martin Deerduff.  All of this thought and mental commotion had caused another affect on Winsly.  She happened to feel a bit on the warm side, and had a single bead of sweat run out from under her freshly hair sprayed and tightly bunned locks. 

          She had decided to put the thought out of her head.  I mean if all of this was going to happen over just buying a new set of rollers or a fine toothcomb, then one can just imagine her response to the thought of putting a diamond pendant or some such in lay-away, or outright purchase-it must be a sin.  “No!” something inside of her said.  “Go at least see what is in the store besides the same old shit you have to buy week after week!” “You deserve that much at least!”  Winsly let out a little giggle at the thought and noticed a few more areas of moisture appearing all over her body.  Did she actually just think the word “Shit”?    “I think I need a long nap.” She thought to herself and still laughing inside a little.  Without too much of a breath, she headed directly towards the bag-it-yourself lane and began checking out.  She began to perspire a little more and she was in a hurry now for some reason.  She didn’t know why she felt the urgency to get out of the store so fast; there was something else too, the feeling she had just hurt herself somehow.  She felt so ill at ease, like she may be dying or maybe having a stroke.  She could hear a voice in her saying, “No don’t go please, it’s for you, you need this!” “After all these years, it’s just for you!”  Before she realized it, she was slinging that grub around like a pit bull on a Chihuahua.  She was usually a careful bagger, but not this time and never again.  She noticed that a single bead of sweat had fallen from her face right on to her anniversary present watch; it fogged the crystal lens in only a second.  “Oh my god!” “What’s happening to me?”  She looked around as if others in the store could hear her thoughts.  She bagged her items at a lightning pace.  Winsly felt like she was going to faint as her body seemed to burn at a steady seven hundred degrees.  And just like that, someone entered the store letting a cool September breeze sponge down over her’ giving her a fresh breath and taking it at the same time.  “I’m sorry.” Her inner monologue replied.  “What?” she said right out loud.  She slowed down and looked up again.  The few people near her were looking at her with an odd smile.  “Mam, May I help you finish that?”  She gazed at the direction of the voice, not seeing anyone just yet.  “Mrs. Deerduff, may I help you with your groceries?” She focused in until she saw one of the stock boys at the store with his hands out.  “I’m sorry.” She replied softly.  “Sure you can help me.” She tried to sound cheerful, but it was a staggering blur of words she let out.  “No problem Mrs. Deerduff, I’d be happy to help.”  The second he finished assembling her load; she picked up the bag and headed down the sidewalk.

When Winsly entered the house, it for once did not seem lonely.  Usually upon a return form her chores, the house seemed empty sometimes and she had a longing for some company.  This time it seemed she had company, a visitor that would not soon be leaving.  She was exhausted after putting away the groceries and decided to lie down.  Winsly slept for six hours.

          Martin arrived home at 4:45 on the dot.  His arrival was the same as with most days, he had a few beers with him, and his daily lunchtime reading materials, and he slightly slumped over from a day of bending and stooping.  The routine was so intact; Martin even smelled the aroma of one of his favorite meals before he reached the door.  The thing was, there was no aroma, and there was no greet at the door, just Martin standing in front of the door waiting to be let in.  His neighbor’s dog trotted along the fence line looking for a second at Martin, and then looking at the ground.  Smitty stopped and stared at Martin with a questionable look as if he were going to ask Martin “Well, what the hell are you waiting on? Smitty eased down on his haunches waiting as Martin did.  “Winsly, are you going to open the door or what?”  Not a sound except some leaves rustling was all he could hear.  Martin looked up to the porch light for a second, turned the knob and went in.  Winsly was asleep on the couch like a cat in a wool blanket.  Martin, fearing something was wrong, rushed to the kitchen to put down his things, but before he could get there Winsly’s eyes were wide open staring right at him.  “Martin, what are you doing home so soon?” She asked in a monotone timbre.  “Iya’ always get here at this time dear, are you ok?”  “I don’t know, I think so.” She replied.  “I was so tired when I got home from shopping, I just fell on the couch, and poof I was asleep.” She kind of smiled and let out a quick petite laugh.  She propped herself up and tried to stand, falling back into the same cushion she was cold stone out on a few moments before.  Martin watched as she tried relentlessly a few times to retrieve her legs and stand.  “Let me help you honey.” Martin said with a slight grimace as he bent to help pull her up with his one free arm.  She rose to her feet with his assistance staggering only once, and without a word headed for the kitchen.  Martin stared at the spot she once occupied; flashing the thought of how glassy eyed her appearance seemed when she looked him in the face.  She was in the kitchen quickly scurrying about with the cookware while he was reminiscing this two-second image that was trapped in his short-term memory.  “Sugar, maybe you should see the doc, I heard there is some kinda’ flue going around town.” “Maybe you got a touch of it.”  Martin said. “No dear, I’m fine, just a little worn out today that’s all.”  With that Martin put his things down on the coffee table, and offered to take her out for a nice dinner at the local cafeteria.  Of course now, she would have none of that and began cooking the night’s meal. 

          After dinner was finished, Martin, without a word, kicked in to being a helpful husband.  He told Winsly to go enjoy some television and he actually did the dishes up.  It wasn’t something he did often, and for sure upon inspection the following day Winsly would no doubt find stuck on bits of gravy, and whatnot on some of the plates and silverware.  But, he did them just the same.  When he was finished, he stood up straight groaning slightly, walked to the living room, and watched some tube until they both retired to the bedroom.  They both fell asleep quickly as it had been a tiring day for both.

As Winsly slept she dreamed of an unknown place, a very outsized and sinister hall.  Her vision was almost blurry from the heat she felt, and as she could feel herself in this dream, she could feel herself out of it sweating a pool in her own bed.  This enormous, dark, and tunneled out area she found herself in was none other than the backside of hell as she could only imagine it.  Not only could she feel a stinging heat and ashes of pitch lighting on her, but also she could hear voices at a distance moaning in misery and remorse for whatever reason they had lived an immoral life, and were faced with serving an eternity in suffering.  In her observance of this vision, she noticed that in that same distance that the voices arose from, she could see seething shadows blown to the walls by an ever glowing fire moving to and fro; swaying from the escaping heat rays from the earth, but none of the inhabitants of this place were anywhere near her.  Could, if it were possible, this be a location in this place of pain where if only for a little while could one hide from the demons of torture that existed here?  If she were to hunker down in the shadows behind a large extrusion of rock, would she be unnoticed for at least a little while to heal or pray?

          While these images passed through her dreams she began to feel something even more terrifying.  It was the feeling as if something was growing deep within the core of her body.  She could feel its busting emergences in her very marrow.  She felt this intensely, and she felt it for real; so real she began closing the door to her nightmare, and opening up the door to another.  As Winsly was in her waking mode, she heard a voice hissing to her.  The voice was not totally a stranger, but a twisted more sinister sounding influence of the one she had heard in her head at the market.  “Winsly!” It slithered. “I am burning for you, and burning my way into you!” She sat up quickly from the sound and fell to the floor, cringing as close to the bed as possible.  As she wrenched the dust ruffle in her white knuckled hands, she called out to Martin in a dreadfully strained but piercing voice.  “Martin!” “Something is wrong with me!” she screeched. “Martin!” “I am losing my mind!” “I saw hell Martin!” “I SAW HELL AND IT IS IN ME NOW! “ITS IN ME NOW!” 

          Martin rose quickly and grabbed his lower back as he rushed to the other side of the bed.  He was running in a stiff side ways stagger almost hopping, but was still managing not to stub a toe or two on the way through the dark bedroom.  “Winsly?” “Sugar are you okay?” he asked timidly.  She was still in the same position shivering in a cold sweat and repeating in a trembling whisper “It’s in me now.” Martin’s look was almost comical as he looked like a questioning canine.  He bent down and eased her up to the side of the bed pulling the dust ruffle right along with her.  “I’ll get you a cool towel, stay right here!” He motioned palms down.  She didn’t move a muscle and did not even seem to realize Martin was speaking to her.  When Martin returned with the dripping wet hand towel, Winsly was lying in a very bent neck position against the headboard fast asleep still crushing the bed’s ruffle with livid fingers.  As the water drops tapped down on the tops of Martin’s arches, he gazed at Winsly in a way that someone watches a child cry after they have had a vaccination shot. He felt very sorry for her, but knew it was for the better.  He thought as he slid her back down into the comforters of how this was two incidents in less than a day and a half.  Martin had another feeling, he felt alone and afraid for one of the first times in his long marriage to Winsly.  He feared that she might pass in her sleep, and he would be alone for the rest of his life.  It was not a selfish thought thinking of himself involved in this, but it was more of a realization that they were not kids anymore, and that it was perfectly possible that by morning he may find himself to be a widower.

Martin knew there was no way he was going to be able to return to any kind of a comfortable sleep.  He stood there watching as Winsly whispered herself back into a deep slumber.  He closed the door almost completely and went to the kitchen to fire up the old coffee pot.  It was the percolating type that had a small clear knob on the top.  As far back as he could remember he loved to watch the coffee pop up and perk through the knob.  His mother had once told him that this was how you were supposed to get up in the morning; “With a pop and a perk!” she would say.  Any other morning this might be how he got up, but it was only a little passed four.  When the coffee was done, he poured a nice big mug full and went to the living room.  He pulled the curtain open and looked out at his neighbor’s yard where Smitty was fast asleep in his little doghouse.  Martin shook his head thinking of how great that must feel right about now.  He squinted his eyes and scanned his own yard looking for the newspaper.  It was there by the walkway shimmering light off of the plastic bag it was in.  Martin quietly opened the door and stepped out into the humid morning air.  He tiptoed across the yard pulling his shoulders tight up to his neck from the chill he received from the dew on the yard.  As he picked up the paper, the weather bag it was in made a slight sound, which caused Smitty to raise his head and give a little huff.  “Oh shut up you little shit.” Martin groaned at Smitty.  He walked back to the house giggling a little at how Smitty always seemed to be on alert at the slightest sound.  When Martin stepped inside, he closed the door not making so much as a squeak when the latch caught the frame.  He scuffed his feet across the carpet to warm them and simultaneously dry them but as he did so, he had the odd feeling of someone else in the room close by.  He turned quickly to find the thin, dark silhouette of Winsly standing shoulders hanging in the unlit dinning room.  “Martin goddamit! What the hell are you doing!” she yelled.  Now Martin was not only in shock at being surprised by the unexpected appearance of his wife, but of course the bar room language she shot out with a growl.  It was really almost comical to him, and he may have laughed out loud if he wasn’t already holding his hand over his chest from the surprise of both events at once.  “Jesus woman you just about pushed my ghost straight outta’ me!” Martin replied.  “Let me help you back to bed.” “No! I’m already up now!” she said as she stepped out from the darkness into the dimly lit living room.  “Between you stomping around and that god awful smell of coffee floating around, its any wonder the whole block isn’t awake!”  Martin looked at her as if he was trying to figure out whom this person was he was living with now.  Winsly set on the sofa slowly not taking her eyed off of Martin.  Her face was flush and almost twisted with anger.  “Dear, I’m sorry if I woke you but I couldn’t sleep and…” He had almost finished his plea for forgiveness, but he stopped as he noticed Winsly’s head nodding down towards the coffee table.  He trotted quickly to her catching her head against his hip then gently laid her down on the sofa.  The morning’s episode was wearing on him and he began to tire himself.  Martin moved to his recliner and sat for only about thirty seconds before he was fast asleep as well.

It was only an hour or so later when Martin was awaken by the sound of the telephone ringing.  He flew from the recliner holding his back to get to the phone before it could ring a third time, which might possibly give rise to another harsh scolding from his wife.  It was his supervisor Jerry calling to find out if Martin was okay.  Martin was not known for missing so much as a day unless he was really ill.  Martin explained to Jerry the condition of his wife and that he hadn’t gotten but a bit of sleep with all the strange goings on in the house that night.  Jerry fully understood and asked Martin if he needed some time off to care for his wife.  As Martin discussed at a whisper the entire time that he may need a few days to watch over her, Winsly awoke.  It wasn’t the sound of the phone or his stealth movement to answer it, but just the sound of his voice that had brought her around.  She listened as Martin whispered to Jerry about some time off, all the while thinking to herself of how she didn’t want him home for five seconds much more a few days in the same house with him worrying about and following her around like she was some feeble grandmother.  She did relax a bit thinking of how she could use a break from the chores of the household, and his ass was just the answer to that.  Winsly was weighing the pros and cons of her husband being home when the voice from the day before entered her mind.  “That’s fine let the bastard stay at home and help out some!”  “He just thinks his job at the paper is hard, wait until he tackles some of this house work twenty-four hours a day and he’ll be gladly running to work to escape this hell!” “And, we’ll show him what hell is really like!” the voice inside her growled.  “Stop it!” she said out loud.  Martin heard her and hurriedly thanked Jerry for the time off.  He hung the phone up and started walking toward the living room.  When he rounded the corner, Winsly was not there.  She had made her way to the bedroom and had slammed the door shut: yelling obscenities and from the sound of it trashing the room with a vengeance.  Martin was wise to accept this as that she was still very irritated and did not want be disturbed, or hear so much as a peep from him.

          Around noon Martin warmed up some tomato soup and made a sandwich for Winsly.  He tapped on the door to the bedroom and got no response.  He opened the door as slow as he could and looked in.  She was awake just sitting there as calm as you please just staring at the wall.  “Are you hungry babe?” he asked.  His voice broke her trance and she turned her head to look at him.  Her face looked so much better than it had since early this morning, and Martin was relived to see this.  “I don’t know, maybe a little.” Winsly whispered.  “I made this for you, it’s just a little something, but it might make you feel better.” Martin said helpfully.  He handed her the tray carefully and moved back toward the door.  He could see that she wasn’t herself at all, and really should see their doctor.  “Winsly, I’m going to call doctor Mike and see if he thinks he needs to see you.”  “I said no Martin!” “ I’ll be fine if you will just let me get some rest and quit badgering me constantly!” “Jesus, you act like you’ve always been Mother Theresa or something, just let me be for once!”  Winsly ripped out.  With that, he turned sharply and fumbled out the door.  His feelings were hurt by the sharpness of her tongue, and how she diminished the act of kindness he had been trying to show her.  Martin went outside for most of the day and pouted in his own quiet way.  He had no one to complain to except Smitty who was marching sentinel style up and down the fence line waiting to see what if anything Martin was going to do or say; which was nothing more than a look in his direction from time to time. 

          A few hours later Martin grew hungry, after all it was dinnertime and the sun was low in the sky.  If Winsly were still out of it, he would have to fend for himself.  Being a man of good appetite, it did take him a bit to find food in his narrow width of taste, but he managed a couple of sandwiches and a tall glass of tea.  He eased into his recliner and quickly devoured the first sandwich.  Just as Martin was getting ready to dive into his second ham and cheese, a knock came to the door.  Martin leaned over so he could see who it was.  Dr. Mike was peering through the screen storm door searching for someone to let him in.  “Hey Martin, you there?”  “Yeah, just a second Doc.”  Martin set his plate down and stepped outside as not to wake Winsly.  After a brief greeting, Dr. Mike told Martin of how he had heard through the community gab chain that Winsly was ill, and maybe he should come by and see what the matter was.  Martin explained the nutty behavior of his wife, and being that it was an explanation from one man to another; it was almost said completely in smiles back and forth with a back slapping laugh of what men have to deal with when living with women.  Yes, it did put Martin more at ease when the doc gave him some medical explanation for Winsly’s symptoms and behavior.  The first was a light touch of a virus, or the fact that Winsly could very well be going through the change, and there was really nothing for him to worry about either way.  If he could take a little verbal abuse, it would all work out fine. Dr. Mike assured Martin that as of Winsly’s last check-up a virus wouldn’t hang out long in her healthy body. He suggested to Martin to let it go a few days and if she was still behaving the same way to bring her by the office at any time and he would give her some things to help ease which ever of the two it was.  Martin took in a breath of relief and thanked the doc for his visit.  They said goodnight, and into the house Martin went feeling much better than he had in a day or so.  He finished his dinner and reclined his chair. He slept on and off until the nightly news broadcast had ended.  “A chance of thunderstorms tonight.” he mumbled from the final weather update.  As he dosed off for a while, he thought of how relieved his wife would be when he passed on the prognosis the doc had conveyed.

          Martin was awakened with a start when a clap of thunder shook the house.  He could tell instantly by the loudness of the storm, and the curtains slapping violently through the air, that every window in the house must be open.  He moved fast from room to room; slamming each window; not thinking about anything except rainwater causing the carpet to mildew.  He had even entered the bedroom with the same fleeting movement to close the window, but it was not open.  He glanced at the bed, but Winsly was not there.  He still had rooms to check, but was now sidetracked by his wife’s unknown whereabouts.  He slowed his pace so that he wouldn’t round a corner and flatten his ill wife in the dim lit house.  The lightning strikes weren’t helping him either.  He walked down the hall to the kitchen where the backdoor to the mud porch was swinging wide open.  He could tell by the backyard bug light that the rain was coming down in blowing sheets across the yard.  Martin crept into the kitchen going toward the backdoor slipping almost on a puddle that had formed from water splashing in on the doorjamb. He reached out for the handle and was drenched by the downpour coming off the roof.  He managed to get it closed before it was ripped off its hinges.  He opened the drawer underneath the clean dish rack and got a tea towel to dry himself off with.  As he ran the towel over his head and down his face, he noticed that normally during a storm Smitty would scold the Deerduffs’ with a high pitch bark at the backyard fence as if it was their job to bring him in from the weather.  But before he could think any longer about it, he noticed a whimpering sound from down the hall.  “Winsly, babe is that you?” he called out.  There was no answer.  Martin walk in the direction of the bathroom almost tiptoeing.  When he reached the door, he could hear the shower running and Winsly’s plea for something to end.  He couldn’t make out her words completely for the sound of water running in the shower.  The thing that really chilled Martin the most, was that Winsly seemed to be begging to someone in the room with her.  He noticed a responsive voice to her appeals.  It was Winsly’s voice just more aggressive in nature.  It was the tone used to attack Martin the last couple of times she spoke to him.  With the obvious volume difference of the second voice, he could hear it saying, “They are all selfish little bastards like this one here!” “They must all die and not of old age!” “You will never be free of me, or in your life until you do it!”  He noticed that no light came from under the door, and something he had missed while zooming around closing windows earlier; her nightgown laying in the hall a few feet from the bathroom.  It was soaked and muddy.  He picked it up and noticed upon inspection that it was ripped in several places: almost falling to pieces.  Martin could hear her moan: still pleading for everything to end.  He could hear whimpering aside from both of Winsly’s voices.  Martin felt frozen and ill as he grasp for the doorknob.  He wasn’t sure what to expect when he opened the door, but he did know that a doctor visit was in the making for his wife at first light.  As he turned the knob, a sharp yipe and a voice screeching “NOW!” was assumed to be all he heard.

          The scene investigation team of the North Sadford police department was quoted as saying “This has got to be the most gruesome of murders and mutilations of all time!” Maybe so, maybe not.  One would have to listen to Denise Deerduff’s voice recorded account of what she saw upon her arrival home for an unexpected weekend with her folks.  Denise had decided to take some time off to give herself a four-day weekend at home.  She thought she would surprise mom and dad with a visit and decided not to call and let them know.  She could hear the phone ringing in the house all the way from the sidewalk and no one answering it.  She approached the door; it was unlocked, so she let herself in.  The stench in the dwelling was stout enough that she quickly covered her mouth.  She peered out the door to verify that her parents’ car was actually still there, and it was.  Blood was everywhere; on the walls, the carpet was dyed with it, and streaks like something was dragged through it were also heavily noticeable.  Large, healthy blowflies were swarming throughout the living room; wafting the scent right into Denise’s face.  She noticed a separate odor, a more normal odor not mixing with the first.  It was strong, dark, percolated coffee.  Aside from the smells, she could hear the shuffling of feet in the kitchen and someone humming a slow ballad cheerfully.  (Need to finish)