Not Alone

{User:D. Wayne}

As soon as I entered the house I could tell something wasn't right. It didn't seem that anything was moved. Nothing was missing. And not a thing was touched. I was unable to see anyone. Yet, I was keenly aware of another person's presence. I wondered what this individual could want from me. Was he or she an intruder? Did he or she want to rob me? Or ransack the place? Kill me? And why? what did I do? Maybe they were looking for something unknown to me. No, the door was not forced open. Was this an inside job? Did this foe know me? Was someone out for some kind of revenge? I began to search my mind to discover the link that such a person could possibly have with me. And I came up empty.

I proceeded into the foyer, which joined the other downstairs rooms but I was reluctant to take off my jacket and set my keys down on the vestibule as I usually do. Instead, I called out, "Is anyone here?" I only heard the reverberation of my own voice. I stopped when I thought I heard something. Like someone was moving somewhere in the house. But I couldn't locate its source. then I realized it was the creaking of the floor boards on the floor above. I listened as the creaking moved from one place to another. It moved toward where the stairs begin to descend. It made a gentle tamping sound on the stair carpet. My heart began to palpitate. And I shook with fear. What was going to happen to me? I trembled as I made my way toward the stairs, while I looked around in a desperate search to find the source of these peculiar sounds. Suddenly, as I peered up the staircase at an angle, I saw a small figure bouncing between the balusters. And when I least expected it, the creature jumped right in front of me, scaring the life out of me. It was Lassie, my cat.

I vocalized a sigh of relief and proceeded to the vestibule that separated the doors to the living room and dining room. That's the place where I first got a full whiff of the foul odor coming from the dining room. That's when I realized that the trepidation was far from over. It was hard to place this smell even though it was so familiar. When I thought back I remember the last time I saw my uncle Joe was in my childhood. And when I recalled the odors associated with that man, I knew what sort of element I was faced with. It was the peculiar odor of beer and vomit that stimulated these thoughts. I say this because the stench was always associated with shouting and anger. But how would this fit in with an intruder in my house, I wondered? As I moved through the rooms, it became more apparent to me that a drunk had taken refuge in my house. But how did he get in? I expected a drunk to emerge from a stupor any moment, from any corner and try to kill me perhaps. Worse, I expected to find an endless mess of an uncle Joe magnitude in the middle of my house.

And yet, as I entered each room, there was no such discovery. Was I imagining all of this? I could no longer discern the smell. Had it vanished or was I getting immune to its offensiveness? Then, in the kitchen, I saw the open window as the pungent odor seeped into the house, once again. And as I approached it was clear to me that the smell was coming in through the opening. When I tried to peer outside, I was unable to see anything but the smell was substantially stronger. I obtained a flashlight and began to search around the house. The smell was strongest just near the kitchen window. I started pushing the high bushes to see what was there. Then, among the shrubs, I saw something that truly horrified me. And there were millions of flies swarming all around me. It was a corpse.

I couldn't even identify the body. When I called the police, they were as mystified as I was. But when they began their investigation, they started to turn up evidence that not only surprised them but also surprised me. How did my hair wind up mixed in with the decaying remains? I said to the police, "I have no answer for that." Then they found the murder weapon right in my kitchen cutlery drawer. When it was analyzed in the forensic lab, it was found to contain the victim's blood. Have I somehow killed this poor individual?

Identifying the body was a much more complicated task. They were only able to ascertain that the corpse was male. I searched my brain to try to find out who I could have murdered inadvertently. There were the Jones kids. They were a royal pain. I used to chase them off my property daily. I remember when the old man mysteriously disappeared. Could I have caused his demise? Then there was the crazy man who tried to swindle me out of my life savings. Didn't that warrant revenge? Oh yes, then we have the spector of greed, who was so well endowed that I might be part of a conspiracy? Oh yes, it was Gwendelin Thompson, wife of the late Jimmy Thompson, better known as old JJ Thompson. He was loaded and Gwendelin wanted to get rid of him. Was it he?

The investigation went into the second week. Little by little this dead man was coming back to life and I didn't like it one bit because fingers were starting to point at me. This man was dressed in clothes from my wardrobe. Clothes samples matched unusual garments that hung in my closet. Now I wondered if the murderer didn't put the victim there.

Finally the dentist who had records of this man was able to identify him definitively. But that came only after extensive detective work. When police investigated what the neighbors knew they were surprised to learn that there was a man engaged in coming in and out of the property with a dog. The question was why? For one thing, the body was face down on the ground with a knife wound in the heart. Smudge marks were found on the windowsill that matched soil found on the victim's hands. This person was obviously running away form something.

When the police returned, I held my hands out for the cuffs and closed my eyes so that I could hide amidst the shame of the hideous crime. But to my consternation, the police told me that the incident was not a homicide at all. In the forensic lab they were able to discover additional evidence that pointed to an interesting scenario. Dog hairs were indeed found on the victim's clothing, indicating that the victim must have had a relationship with the dog. There was alcohol found in the body. The murder weapon also had bite marks on the handle, which were created by the dog. Detectives theorized that the man was drunk that day. When he heard the door opening, he probably tried to escape by the kitchen window. He must have had the knife in his hand to utilize as a weapon. When he climbed through the window, he most likely had fallen. As he fell, he was apt to put his hands out in front of himself to protect himself in the fall. Then the knife stuck in on impact, thereby puncturing his heart and killing himself. When the dog made this discovery, it would have been natural for him to have licked the wound. In the process, he pulled the knife out and then carried it back into the house. It had been found and washed and put back in the drawer where it belonged.

"But who was the man?" I asked the police, eager to know. The police officer smiled with a satisfying, omniscient expression and said, "He was your uncle Joe."


THE END