Free Blackened Spiral Down by Pete Altieri Page A

surface.  The idea that she was still alive inside the bundle gave me the chills, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it.  It was unfortunate, but I was not willing to surrender my family fortune, my marriage, and my standing in the community over this young girl.  Yes I had grown to love her, but it was not enough.  I realized then that I had done something horrible, and there was no turning back from it.
    The bubbles eventually stopped, and I made it to the shore, where I got dressed before anyone would miss me back at the farm.  Beatrice spent the entire day asking everyone if they had seen Rosemarie, since she had not shown up at the cookout.  I did my best to avoid her, because the image of the bubbles rising to the surface of the pond was all I could think about when the subject came up.
     
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    The next two months were difficult as the search for Rosemarie went on, with the police coming out to the farm to talk with me, my wife, and our employees.  Her family was nearly hysterical with worry, but there was nothing that turned up at the farm, and thankfully no one said anything that would have tipped the police off about our affair.  I spent many sleepless nights those first two months, worrying that someone might have noticed the two of us had become closer than we should, or that an employee might have caught a glimpse of us coming out of the hunting cabin.  No one did. 
    Beatrice became ill, likely from worrying about her niece, and from her advancing age.  At Christmas of 1924, she put in her two weeks’ notice and decided to retire.  I was relieved, actually, since seeing her every day made it nearly impossible to not think about Rosemarie.  We gave her a handsome bonus and set her up with a nice apartment in Danbury, where she lived close to the rest of her family.  I figured it was the least I could do after what had happened.  My wife always liked her, so she didn’t seem suspicious at the gesture.
    The following 4 th of July is when things began to change.  We had just cleaned up after our annual cookout, and the last of the guests had gone home.  Amanda had gone to bed early, as a busy day in the hot July sun had gotten the best of her.  The boys were also asleep, and I was drinking a beer on the back porch, enjoying the solitude, when I heard a distant sound that put the hairs on my neck standing at attention.  It was an eerie high-pitched laugh that came from the direction of the old hunting cabin.  I noticed that it was almost midnight, so I knew it was unlikely that any of the guests could still be around.  As I sat there holding my beer, the laughing continued.  It sounded like it was getting closer!  My eyes were fixated on the blackness of the woods that surrounded the back yard, but I couldn’t see a thing.  I noted that the usual choir of crickets and typical night sounds were strangely silent.  Then I noticed a horrible odor that almost made me gag.  It smelled like rotting meat, or a dead animal of some sort, wafting my way.  It was faint at first, but then it got increasingly stronger.  Now I stood up, not knowing what direction the smell was coming from.  It seemed to almost surround me from every direction!
    Suddenly there was a hand on my shoulder, forcing me back down in my chair!  It was ice cold and wet.  The rot smell was never stronger as my body froze in fear at what was behind me.  I closed my eyes tight, hoping that this was all a dream and that I would awaken and be in the comfort of my own bed, with Amanda sleeping next to me.  When I did open my eyes, the horror show that unfolded before me made me cry out.  It was a terrible sight to behold!  It was Rosemarie.  She was dead, but I knew it was her.  She was standing before me, dripping wet, her rotting flesh gone in places, leaving bone visible.  Her face was eaten away from being underwater all this time, and her body was as lithe and lean as I remembered.  The black tarp that I