Buried Beneath Her Bed / Chapter 5: Blood on the Mattress
Buried Beneath Her Bed

Buried Beneath Her Bed

Author: Miguel Shields

Chapter 5: Blood on the Mattress

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5

Honestly, this move was risky.

Because I didn’t know who would come.

It might not be Caleb; it could be Lillian herself, or her parents.

But I knew Lillian’s job made it hard for her to leave work unexpectedly.

Chances were good she’d send Caleb over.

Creak—

The door opened.

It was a young man.

How lucky.

I watched him through the crack in the closet door, rage surging inside me.

I grabbed a coat hanger and tiptoed after him into the kitchen.

When he was carefully checking the stove, I suddenly wrapped the hanger around his neck from behind.

“Go to hell!”

“Lillian is mine!”

I shouted at him.

I don’t know how long I held on before he finally stopped struggling.

The coat hanger dug into my palms, metal biting skin, as he flailed and kicked, knocking over a mug on the counter. My arms burned, but I didn’t let go. I collapsed to the floor, trembling, completely drained.

I had killed a man—for the woman I loved most.

I did my best to put everything back the way it was, then stuffed the man’s body into the bed.

I would wait until tomorrow, when I had more time, to cut him up.

But by doing this, I’d have to lie on top of his body and squeeze myself into the mattress compartment again.

Spending a night lying on a corpse made me feel nauseous and uneasy.

But when I thought of Lillian lying alone on top of me, none of it seemed to matter anymore.

I held my breath as I saw his sneakers—dirty white Nikes—pause in the doorway. He didn’t even notice me until it was too late. The struggle was ugly and short, the clang of the hanger echoing off the cheap linoleum. Sweat stung my eyes as I dragged his limp body back to the bedroom, the TV still playing some sitcom rerun in the background. The mattress groaned under the new weight as I shoved him into the cramped space, whispering apologies I didn’t mean. My fingers were shaking, the coppery scent of fear hanging thick in the air. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and every time I blinked, I saw his face, eyes wide and accusing. Even as bile burned my throat, I forced myself back into the compartment, the sickly knowledge of what I’d done pressed against me. But the hope of Lillian—just Lillian—kept me from breaking.

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