"A surprise... funny... pay... police... do after... what if... what weapon... trouble... right Derek?"

     Rebecca Fairfield had been trying to get hold of her husband Fred at his office. Though the line was fuzzy, Rebecca was sure it was Fred and his friend Derek Alden. As she heard the click of the phone being hung up, several haunting words repeated themselves over and over in her head. Nosy, rid, wife, surprise, police, trouble. Wife! Weapon! Wife! Rid! Weapon! One horrid, hideous little idea crept its way slowly into her mind. Murder! A stab of fear gripped its icy, chilling fingers around her like a strangling rope. One last bit of sense tried to tell her she was jumping to conclusions but fear won the tug of war game inside her head. Murder! There it was again - that icy idea. Her husband was planning to murder her! He had acted awfully strange lately, as if he had a secret. And he had. She thought he had been working too late, but now she knew the real reason. Murder! She sank to the floor and just stared ahead of her at the leg on the coffee table, dumbfounded and stunned. And there she sat, as the hands on the grandfather clock worked and toiled to steal another minute, another hour from her hands.

     Rebecca Fairfield had been married to Fred Fairfield for almost a year. They had met in Africa, where Fred had been hunting in the jungle and Rebecca had been sightseeing. She had liked to travel then but now she was content to stay at home. Fred’s hunting prizes and trophies, along with bearskin rugs and the heads of the animals he had killed were collected in his "Hunting Room," in their quiet country home. Rebecca never went into that room, but Fred did all the household business by his desk at the window. Rebecca hated the room; the animals seemed to plead, staring at her with blank eyes misted over with a horrid look of death. It was as if they wanted to tell her some dreaded secret, like - You are next! But the other rooms were charming and she was quite happy in her new home, that is, until now. That horrid idea was so bothersome, it kept stabbing her with fear. Murder! She started, as she realized she had to get out of here before...

     Bong! The clock struck one. Rebecca darted upstairs, dashed down the hall into the bedroom and raced to the closet. She grabbed a suitcase, stuffed as many clothes into it as possible, and -

     "Rebecca! I’m home!"

     No! He can’t be home, she thought frantically. It’s too early! She stood her eyes widened, her heart beating a million times faster than normal, and she was paralyzed, glued to the floor with fear.

     Step. Step. Step. He was coming upstairs! She shoved the suitcase under the bed and ran to the window. It wouldn’t open!

     "Dear Lord, help me, " she groaned. It wouldn’t open. Murder! That tiny, harmless word wedged its way again into her mind. Murder!

     "Good afternoon, dear, " Fred greeted her.

     "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" She howled.

     "What’s the matter?! What’s wrong?! What happened?! What is it?" Fred asked worried and concerned.

     "No... no...nothing. I...I...ah...you...just...fr...frightened me, that’s all. What... what are you doing home so...so early?"

     "I took the rest of the day off!" He smiled warmly. How could he be so annoyingly cheerful when he was about to murder her? She didn’t want to answer that. He took the day off just to see her - or rather - just to see her as a corpse! Her heart sank. She was doomed.

     "I... ah... I’m gonna go for a walk, okay? See ya later!" She skipped nervously out of the room, but Fred grabbed her arm.

     "No, wait. Let’s go downstairs. I have a little surprise for you."

     She tried to protest but he pulled her downstairs straight in front of a door she was not quite happy to see - the door to the "Hunting Room."

     As he opened the door, she looked straight ahead of her on top of the mantle. There hung neatly on the wall was Fred’s hunting gun! Murder! It was big and fierce and Rebecca felt as though she had gained a hundred pounds just looking at it. She was always dead scared of that thing, but it meant a lot to Fred.

     And now I know why, she thought sarcastically. She dropped heavily to the floor, her head spinning. Murder! Murder! Murder! And suddenly, everything went dark.

     She awoke, groggy and scared. Murder! That awful word would not give up!

     This must be the end, she thought. He had killed her and she was dead. And then, she saw his face, a false look of concern painted across it. It wasn’t over - yet.

     "Dear, what happened? Are you all right? Here, let me help you. Can you walk? What happened?"

     She couldn’t let him know that she had learned of his plan. There might still be one last little tiny bit of a chance left to escape. She had to think - and fast. She wouldn’t let him suspect a thing or she would be a goner faster than you could say the word -

     No, she didn’t even want to think that word again.

     "I’m all right. Really. I’m fine. It’s just this room. I...I can’t stand it. It gives me the creeps. All the dead animals. I’m fine though, " she said, her voice shaky and unsure. Why do you care if I’m all right or not anyway, she asked silently.

     "Oh, I’m sorry dear. I forgot you hate this room, but I only wanted to get something for you. For the surprise." And what a surprise, she thought grimly.

     Fred walked over to the mantle. The mantle! The gun! Murder!

     Rebecca gulped. Slowly he reached up over the mantle for the horrid "thing," as Rebecca referred to it. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her heart stopped. A wave of paralysis swept over her again. And then she saw something interesting. A little object, lying on the desk waiting to do some work. Just a plain, ordinary, everyday little letter opener. But not in Rebecca’s hands. No, in Rebecca’s hands it became something extraordinary and rare. In her hands it was a weapon. Murder! That word really wasn’t too bad after all. It was just a word. No, now it seemed friendly and comforting. It was a good word. It soothed her. A transformation took place inside if her. A sheet of steel closed over her heart, making it harder than stone. Her eyes, usually so beautiful and radiating happiness and sunshine, shaded over and darkened, now shining hatred. She became malevolent and malign at the touch of the cool metal letter opener hitting her shaky hand. That ordinary object was like a magic wand of a fairy, able to change her so suddenly. But it wasn’t a magic wand and she wasn’t in a fairy tale. This was real.

     Murder! She inched along, as a cat - a dangerous cat. A cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting victim. And pounce she did, just as Fred was turning around. His last sight was of his wife, with her deadly hands just about to plunge down...

     It was over. It was the end. But she was still here! She was alive! She was slightly surprised at the ironic ending. She was to be murdered, but instead, she had murdered the murderer! He thought he was so smart, but he forgot about her! Of course she would find out about his ridiculous plan! She wasn’t an idiot!

     But then she began to calm down and the steel over her heart began to break. Her heart melted, no longer hard as stone. Her eyes brightened and happiness and brightness shone through once more. She was Rebecca again. Then the realization of what she had done came over her. The evil watcher on her shoulder, upset with this change in her whispered, "You are not a corpse!" But someone else was. She shuddered and wanted to cry. Rebecca looked down at the still figure sprawled on the floor and she suddenly felt stunned and shocked. She wanted to scream but nothing escaped her. Then she looked at her hands. No! There was the weapon! In her hands! She dropped it quickly. Murder! She fell on the couch and cried, the tears streaming from her eyes. The eyes that had lost sunshine again and was replace by fear, a deeper fear than she had ever known before. Who was that masked rider who bound her with the lasso of fear again and again?

     She had committed a murder! She needed to confide in someone, but no one was there. Then a calm came over her and suddenly it was very quiet - quiet as a grave. The phone rang. She limped over to it and picked it up.

     "H...H...Hello?" she whimpered.

     "Hi Rebecca! Did Fred give you the surprise?" The voice on the phone was so cheerful and upbeat. It was also annoying.

     "Who... Who...Who’s calling?"

     "It’s Derek! Derek Alden! You sound as if you don’t know me!"
     "Oh, hello Derek," she said unemotionally.

     "Well! Did Fred give you his surprise?"

     "How could he if I’m still talking?"

     "Huh?"

     "I have a confession to make. I heard the conversation between you two today, and though it was fuzzy, I knew of his plan to murder me!"

     "Mur...mur...murder you? How ridiculous can you get Rebecca? He’s - I know I shouldn’t be telling you this but - he’s bringing you home a ruby! A real ruby! Isn’t that wonderful?"

     "You’re bluffing!" she said, unconvincingly. "Why did he say he had to get rid of me then? And what did he mean by "weapon" and "police?"

     "Rebecca! I’ve never heard you talk like this before! He was talking about his nosy secretary, Miss Harper, and how he would have to, ah, "get rid of her" if he wanted to keep the ruby a secret. You see, he didn’t want every thief in town to know of his fortune. He said if it was stolen he would call the police and tell them he would pick out a weapon and kill the guy. You know Fred and his stupid jokes. But anyway, did he give it to you?"

     "No, no he was not able to."

     "What do you mean he wasn’t able to? What’s with the past tense? Rebecca! What’s happened?"

     But he never got an answer.

     "Rebecca? Rebecca?"

     Rebecca had a sudden, queer, unknown feeling come over her and the phone dropped from her limp hand. She felt faint. What ruby? A little voice in her head kept saying four dreadful word over and over again, never giving her peace, always taunting. You are a murderer. You are a murderer. And it was true. She was a murderer.

     Where was the ruby anyway? She looked down at the dead figure. There in his hand was a small gray box. She took it from his cold hand. A perfect ruby shaped like an eye - an evil eye - lay in the box. An eye the color of the deep red blood that trickled everywhere. It was true! He was going to give her a ruby! He wasn’t getting the gun! He wasn’t even thinking about murder! But she was. You are a murderer! She had killed her own husband! You are a murderer! The voice was at it again! What did she have to live for? Then she looked up at the mantle. Funny, how she happened to focus on that thing, just as that little voice whispered a new idea...

     Next door, at 16 Maple Drive, Doris Struther was dusting in her quaint little home when she heard an odd noise - a noise she had seldom heard before.

     "Henry! Henry!" she hollered at her husband (he was a little deaf). "Did ya hear that? A loud noise! Almost like a - well - almost like a shot..."

The End.

A Little About Myself
I am fifteen years old and a freshman in High School. I love to write, especially short stories and poetry. I have several poems published; one in Creative Communications’ newest edition A Celebration of New Jersey’s Young Poets in the category of one of the top ten poems in the seventh, eighth, and ninth grade division. I enjoy reading fictional novels, mostly classics and mysteries. A favorite pastime is acting. I have been in the choruses of Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and Annie in grammar school, and last year I was the stepmother in Cinderella. I also like to paint, using acrylics and watercolors, in my free time.