I will start off by saying it was an accident. My wife could be a vindictive, evil, mean spirited bitch, but I never meant to kill her. She threatened to leave but that wasn’t what caused me to grab her, it was when she threatened to take my daughter away from me. My little Tiffany, my only reason for living.
It was late at night and Tiffany was asleep when Kristen started in on her tirade about how she was done with me and done with the marriage. I told her she could leave, that if she was that unhappy she could just go and I wouldn’t try to stop her. It was when she headed for Tiffany’s room though that I reached out and grabbed her by the arm. She fought against me and said horrible things about how she would make sure I never saw my daughter again, my child.
I told her there was no way she was leaving with Tiffany, that she would need to kill me before I let her take my daughter from me. Things were heated, more so than they ever had been before. That’s when she slapped me across the face and started clawing at me.
I was only trying to defend myself, and I pushed her…
She lost her footing and I heard a sickening crack as her head struck the corner of the coffee table. I saw the blood pooling around her skull immediately. I went to her side and looked into her blank eyes, hoping I was wrong, hoping I hadn’t done what it looked like I had. I screamed for her to wake up, tears in my eyes. By that point I hated my wife, I wanted her gone, but not like that…
It was an accident.
I almost called the police, I really did. I didn’t kill her on purpose so I had nothing to hide I thought. A man of honor and scruples is what I always tried to be, but then I thought of Tiffany. How could I tell my daughter her Mother was dead, and that I killed her? Even if it was just an accident, Tiffany was only four how could she ever understand? I put the phone down and started thinking of what to do next. Luckily we hadn’t woke Tiffany with our fight, still I needed to move quickly as she could get up at any moment needing the bathroom or wanting a glass of water.
I rolled Kristen up in the rug she had fallen on, it was actually easy and luckily the rug was thick enough that none of her blood had seeped through to the hardwood beneath. I needed to think of a place to put her, I couldn’t dig a grave right in my backyard, someone might notice. I had a tool shed though with an earthen floor right beneath the floorboards. I set to work right away.
The whole process went faster than I expected, ripping out the floor boards, digging the grave, and burying Kristen rug and all before replacing the boards. Afterwards I packed some of her things and threw them in the trunk of her car; I even got a stroke of luck when I found a nice little Dear John letter written to yours truly tucked away behind her jewelry. She had been intending to leave me for months, and in the letter she even called out how she was going to make sure I never saw Tiffany again. Not cause I was a bad father mind you, no quite the opposite, she was going to do it just so I would be miserable.
Evil, vindictive, bitch – I thought to myself. I know I wasn’t perfect, but when it came to my daughter I did anything for her. It made me feel justified in what I’d done, I still felt guilty for killing her and needed to remind myself it was an accident over and over again, but still…I felt no remorse for hiding it. The Dear John gave me perfect cover too if anyone came looking for her.
“I don’t know, I just woke up and found this letter one morning. I guess she had a change of heart about taking Tiffany and just left.”
I thought it would be easy, and for the first week it was. No one from her family who would have cared she vanished was still alive and anyone who she may have called friend bought the excuse of the letter wholeheartedly, I guess she had spouted off about doing it enough times. I even got “I’m so sorry” sentiments from some of our friends, saying how I was too good for her anyway. It all seemed like it was going to be okay.
Tiffany was the hardest to explain it to, I just told her that mommy and daddy had a fight and mommy needed to leave for a while. When she asked when mommy would be back I told her I wasn’t sure, but that her mommy loved her and would think of her every day. In the meantime, daddy was here and he would take the best care of her he could. She seemed a little confused but accepted it. It wasn’t perfect, but I figured it would do for the short term.
Yes, everything was going to be okay…until the rot set in.
I first noticed it around the toolshed. The wooden planks had become covered with mold seemingly overnight. I wondered to myself if burying Kristen there had anything to do with it but quickly dismissed it. I had buried her deep and I didn’t know how bodies decomposed, but I was sure something like that couldn’t happen. It was more likely just a coincidence. The shed was old and likely had a mold problem that was being exacerbated by the recent humidity or something. It was an easy and safe answer for me and I told myself I would tear down the shed soon and replace it with another one.
Problem solved.
Over the next few days, I noticed the mold in other places. In the shower at first and the kitchen - places you would expect to see mold grow in an unkempt house. I am a studious man, though and always kept our house clean. I inspected the whole house and found the rot in nearly every room. Plaster walls and wooden beams just covered in the stuff, disgusting greenish brown mold. I debated calling in an expert, it was clear we had a mold problem and I knew those could be dangerous. I was afraid, afraid that if I did that he would inspect the shed. It was covered in the stuff and I just couldn’t have him poking around in there. I decided to find a way to deal with it myself. Luckily I hadn’t seen any in Tiffany’s room, so I hoped she would be safe while I figured things out.
I had taken a vacation from work, so while Tiffany was at daycare the next day I set about tearing out the infected parts of the house, I quickly realized I was in over my head. The wooden beams behind the walls were rotting, and the visible mold had gone up nearly 3 times what I had seen the previous day. It didn’t make any sense, I couldn’t wrap my head around how it was growing so fast.
I can remember sitting outside just sipping scotch and smelling that musty earthen smell coming off the shed each time the wind would blow. It made me want to be sick all over myself, that same smell was overtaking the house. I needed to figure out a way to deal with what was happening to my home, I resigned the next day that I would need to tear down the shed and move Kristen’s body so I could figure out what was going on. I didn’t relish the thought of doing it, but I needed to call in an expert.
That night I checked Tiffany’s room for mold before I put her to bed…it still seemed clean but I made her wear a mask anyway and told her tomorrow we would be sleeping in a hotel. She seemed cheerful and excited about going someplace new with daddy. It made me smile. I put on my own mask and went to bed, after I dropped off Tiffany at daycare….I would get to work on tearing down that shed and moving the body.
I fell asleep that night with the thought on my mind that this was all Kristen’s doing. I dreamed of her, blood pouring out of her head as she laughed at me, still half wrapped in that rug. She cackled like some kind of witch, wanting me to know that this was her curse. She had done this to me. Her eyes remained wide and her laugh sounded toxic even as her body rotted away. Greenish, brownish mold covering her skin and rotting away her features. Her body turning to a disgusting mush of undulating liquid rot. That smell filled my nostrils and I could taste it in my mouth.
I woke up in the dark, choking and ripping the mask from my face in an attempt to breathe better. Each wheezing breath was filled with that stench, it was in my mouth and my lungs. The smell of dirt and mold, it was rot through and through. That’s when I felt it… The mattress was soft and wet. I pulsated slightly as I seemed to sink deeper into it, my fingers sunk into what should have been foam but it felt fuzzy and soggy, and I was able to bring up a fistful in my hand. The stench grew stronger when I did and in a fit of sudden disgusted realization I leapt from my bed and flicked on the light switch. I gagged and retched when I saw it.
My entire bed was covered in mold, it had rotted all the way through as I slept. My clothes were damp with it, my skin was awash in grey stinking sludge. It was more than my bed though, the walls had started to fall apart from being consumed by it, and I could feel it squishing between my toes as I ran head long towards the bathroom. It had taken over my entire bedroom.
I nearly slipped on slime that covered the bathroom floor and flicked on the light switch only to see it had overtaken the bathroom as well. Black patches of rot covered the ceiling and grunge lined the sink. Even the cloth on the shower curtain was falling apart. I turned on the sink and relished the sight of the clear, clean water that flowed from the metal tap. I started washing it off my skin and rinsing it from my mouth as I did so. I swished water around and spit, only to see black and green chunks of rot land in the sink as I did. I gagged again and knelt down at the toilet bowl to throw up. Even the taste of bile and the night’s previous meal couldn’t seem to wash the taste of mold from my mouth.
It was her. I didn’t know how it was possible but she was torturing me from her grave beneath the tool shed. I laughed and cried at the same time at the absurdity and disgusting nature of what was happening. In a manner of a week this rot had overtaken everything. I knew, I know, and I’m sure it was her doing. I cursed her name and spat out more globs of rot that were stuck in my teeth. I could swear I heard her laughing as I did.
“Daddy.” The words came softly and weakly behind me, and I froze in horror. “I don’t feel good.”
I turned to see my daughter, her mask off, standing in that rot infested room behind me. Her skin was greying and I could see patches of mold growing on her skin. Terror rushed over me as she walked closer, she was starting to cry and so was I. I reached out to grab her and that’s when I felt the true horror of the situation in her skin.
My fingers sunk deep into her, she was soft and fell apart like rotten fruit as I touched her. She was crying and saying it hurt as I pulled my hands away and chunks of her flesh fell to the floor in grey clumps. I sobbed and wanted so badly to hold her but every time I made any kind of contact she fell apart a little more. She rushed into hug me and threw her bleeding slimy arms around my neck, I gagged and felt guilty as the smell of decomposing flesh hit. I wanted to hug her so much but she was falling apart in my arms, her breaths becoming raspy and stilted. Her legs gave out beneath her and I caught her limp wilting body. I ran my fingers through her hair out of instinct and came away with chunks of flesh and mold in my hands. There was nothing I could do as I watched my little Tiffany fall apart and rot in my arms till there was nothing left but rot covered bones.
That was two days ago. She is letting me rot slowly and live with the knowledge that she succeeded in taking her from me. That even in death she is somehow the most vindictive and evil bitch I’ve ever known. I knelt at her grave yesterday - the shed now nothing more than a pile of mold - begging her to give my daughter back. Telling her it was an accident, telling her I was sorry, telling every fucking thing I possibly could. She didn’t listen, and today I can’t speak, my tongue has rotted away.
A chunk of flesh fell off my face only a few moments ago and I think it’s nearly over for me. So consider this my confession, or my last words, or whatever you want to consider it. It was an accident, I didn’t mean to cause this…I just didn’t want to lose my little girl and instead I lost her and everything else. I am going to lay in the rot of my floor with what’s left of her and hope I fall asleep and never wake up again.
