The Ghost Behind Closed Doors

The first murder I witnessed was my own. I was thirty-seven when I took my last breath. It was tragic and horrifying. As I began to bare witness to other deaths, I saw new depths of evil and how truly gruesome the manner and circumstances could be. This caused my own to pale in comparison. What set my murder aside as unique, was the fact that my assailant walked free. He was never indicted or even questioned as a possible suspect. My demise was passed off and believed to be an unfortunate accident. I was the only one who knew the truth.

Mistakes relentlessly run through my consciousness, taunting my poor choices. Reminding me of the reality I lived and how I had so successfully blocked it out and replaced it with denial. The day for waking up and facing hard truths has come and gone. Now I hover in the space between time and existing. Hauntingly aware of all that is still living, my being is outside the laws of nature. Unrestricted I travel to and fro without warning from times forgotten back to present day where I am a spectator to private intimate affairs, witnessing the inevitable conclusion to what transpires behind closed doors.

I married my to be murder in the late spring. I was twenty-four he was thirty-two. We had been together for a short intense year. During this one year, we had wonderfully romantic first dates, I was showered with roses, kisses and he spun magnificent tales of our glorious future together. As our wedding approached, I was faced with the first choice I would regret. Continue my education or get married. Why I never thought to ask could I do both? Why had I made this first monumental choice to lay aside my dreams, put myself in the background, and be wife to this man excluding all other endeavors? Looking back now, as I am a vaper of nothingness, I see the reasons my soul can not rest. I chose day after day, to give up more and more of my personhood laying my heart and trusting my wellbeing in the hands of a monster hell bend on destruction.

Hiding behind dark glasses, long sleeves, and a friendless socially isolated life, I made the second choice I would regret. I told no one of my suffering. I lied. Pretended my marriage was pristine. Spend my days cooking and cleaning in a desperate attempt to please my abuser into stopping the pain he was inflicting upon me. My silence embolden him to increase the intensity and frequency of his attacks. I was not surprised when the night of my murder arrived. Even through the thick haze of denial, I knew what lay at the end of the road I walked.

The third and ultimately fatal choice I made that I regret, was to stay. To calmly walk upstairs, draw a hot bath, undress and submerge my tired achy body under the bubbles. He was downstairs stewing over my latest failure bringing himself up to a fever pitch of rage. I was fully aware of this progression. My own voice whispered so softly I almost missed it, but I heard it clearly. This is why I wander the earth unembodied, forever consumed in the horrors of my trauma with no relief. I chose to ignore my soul as it murmured a hopeless final warning; run. I could have saved myself. Started a new life of healing and freedom. My choices were my own. I do not get to blame another for the outcome. They led me to the end of the breath in my lungs and into an eternity enslaved by the reoccurrence of vicariously reliving my mistakes.  

Drown in the tub was the official autopsy report. Must have fallen asleep slipped under the surface and never awoken. There was no mention of the look on his face as he slowly opened the bathroom door. Solid steel cold, his eyes locked on mine, holding an emotion beyond fury. His lust for blood was palpable. The hunger for ultimate power that would satisfy his wretched base urge to control, hung heavy in the air. Already naked, cock out, semi hard, one step and he was behind me in the tub. Lowering his strong muscular body I felt him press against my buttocks. For a brief moment, I almost believed he would be satiated with a quick rape and life would go on. Within an instant one enormous hand wrapped around my neck while the other slid down to rest between my thighs. One swift fluid motion had me pined beneath the water. No escape. Minutes later, I died in his forceful arms, cold despite the warmth of the water.

I could always sense when the next murder was coming up. There would be a pull from deep within my consciousness as my surroundings morphed into oblivion then abruptly came into full focus with intense clarity.

My first vision of the latest victim was of her sitting down to dinner with her killer. They were quiet at first, taking small bites of food. She was sipping red wine from a colorful long-stemmed glass, and he was drinking whiskey neat. I wished with all my might, knowing the falsehood of my wants, that this snapshot of a happy couple would last forever. Without warning, startling both the living and deceased, the man brought both his hands down palms out against the table causing their drinks to slosh over. The woman stunned, just sat there and stared at him.

“I told you I hate onions!” He shouted at the top of his lungs. “This shit of a meal you dare call dinner has onions in it!”

“I’m sorry I thought I got them all out.” With a downcast gaze the woman replied sheepishly.

“You are such a bitch! I don’t know why I put up with you!” The man’s face was turning the same color as the wine as he continued to yell.

“I don’t know why I put up with you either.” As she said this, she raised her head and looked her tormentor directly in the eye.

At that moment I grasped more then just the words she said. I understood she would become free tonight. The simple phrase she uttered had more courage and showed herself to be so much braver then even she comprehended herself capable of. It also cost her her life.

The man roared to a standing position clutched his glass and heaved it with all his might. It struck the woman on her forehead just below the hairline opening a gash that immediately covered her face in thick hot blood. Unfazed, the man leapt up onto the table, crawled through what was left of dinner and backhanded her off her chair onto the floor. Pouncing down upon her like the predator he was, he straddled her with her arms pinned down beneath his knees.

“I’ll give you a reason to leave you fucking cunt!”

Blood continued to pump steadily from the woman’s wound causing her pale brown hair to turn unnaturally red. The man backhanded her three more times in quick succession, the last mercifully knocking her unconscious.

She lay unmoving on the hard floor as he stood up and looked down at her broken body. His chest heaved as he drew in breath after breath heart racing from exertion and thrill. He rubbed his soar knuckles and callously watched the blood and life drain out of his wife. She never regained consciousness. It took a long time for her heart to give up trying to beat as the blood oozed forth uncontained. The man eventually gave up watching his handy work and went to take a shower. This left me alone with her. I willed my unhoused spirit nearer and nearer until I was close enough to whisper in her ear. As she died, I spoke these words to her. I said these same words to each victim I had the horror of encountering.

“You did what I could not. Your valiant effort to stand up for yourself and say enough, will be rewarded. I am destined for misery pain and suffering because I was a coward to the end. I never believed I was worth more than how I was being treated. You are different. You know your value, and as your soul vacates your body tonight, it will rise into the heavens to join the multitude of others. Be free and at peace.”

The End