Masquerade Murder

I sprinted into the hall, throwing open the first door I laid eyes on. The door closed with a gentle creak as I set my back against it, sinking into the floor. The room was pitch black, silent, and the only sanctuary I could grasp. You have to run. You aren’t safe here. It felt as if my head were laying on the train tracks, my pessimism being a train barreling towards me. Every logical word became cloudy, drowned out by run. Run. RUN. I pushed myself to my feet, fumbling about the darkness on feeble knees. My vision began to return as my eyes adjusted to my lightless surroundings. Horror set in once my hands became clear. Crimson claret coated my clammy palms.  A heavy wail bubbled in my throat, desperate for release. My mouth fell ajar, followed by stillness, as if my windpipe had closed, unable to allow passage of any sound. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, spilling out and onto the gaudy mask I’d pieced together. Any sense of grounding slipped away, my body soon hitting the floor once again. I’d always been told that one day my emotions would get the better of my, that one day I would lose control. Yet in the moment I felt my fingers wrap around his throat, or a knife plunging deep into his tissue- all I felt was control. Pure and absolute power consumed my being as I watched the man responsible for my constant stream of tears begin to sob at my hands. I wanted him to feel the pain he caused me the night he decided to drink his life away, climb into a car, then mow down my bike. When my head collided with the concrete that night, everything went dark. I heard a voice reaching out to me. When I left the hospital, they told me it was probably the shock talking- but the voice never left. It’d been a year since the incident, and the voice had begun to fade. One year was all it took, all the imprisonment he needed to be freed had been served. Murderer. That’s when it came back. Murderer. When I saw him at the party, I wished he’d shut up, maybe then I could still have a good time. Murderer. I couldn’t stand to see him smile. Murderer. I didn’t mean to kill him! MURDERER! Sirens began to wail in the distance, breaking through my foggy mind. Run. It told me. Run. It commanded me. RUN. Obeying orders, I hobbled to stand, making way for the door. I tore out of the room, my eyes burning with the sudden brightness. I made it through the hall and into the ballroom, peeling the mask from my face. In a panic, I rubbed my hands down the fabric of my shirt, leaving scarlet trails. Two men burst through the door, guns pointed at my face. My breath shook as I raised my arms above my head.

Every eye in the courtroom was fixed upon the woman. She’d just finished her story, now quaking in her seat. A suited man rose, adjusting his tie, “Thank you, Miss Claress. You may return to your seat now.”

  Sofia Claress, stood, hands shackled in front of her orange jumper, then returned to the defense. The prosecuting attorney spoke, “I’d like to call the victims mother to the stand.” 

He fell silent as the mother approached, sitting solemnly at the witness booth. “Mrs. Tribilt, you were the one to phone the police the night of your sons murder, correct?” He questioned.

“Correct,”, the gentle woman softly replied.

“What caused you to phone the police that night?”

I’d been ecstatic the night my son came home. I’d already made my way to my bedroom, leaving my son to clean up after his welcoming home party.  I was lying in bed, ready to fall asleep when I heard a rapping on the door. I heard my son answer the door, sounding rather surprised to see whomever had shown up. I smiled, happy to think my son to still have friends in town. My smile dropped when I heard my son yell, when I heard pots and pans clatter to the ground, followed by a deep thud. I stood, holding my nightie close to my person as I made my way into the hall. I called to my son, passing through the living room, then to the kitchen. The front door was locked. I asked myself, Why would someone come in through the back door? My questions were answered as I entered the doorway, seeing a woman atop my son with a knife in her hand. I covered my mouth as I saw my son look at me, his last words telling me to run. I didn’t think twice before rushing back to my room, unaware of the tears streaming down my cheeks. I grabbed the telly, quickly dialing for the police. I closed the door, then hid under the covers as I told them that someone had broken in and attacked my boy. I remained hidden when I heard my bedroom door open, and a woman came in crying. I kept still under the sheets for what felt like an eternity. Only did I surface when I heard her leave. I heard the sirens, then followed the woman into my living room. It must have been uncomfortable because she’d dropped her ski mask in my living room floor. When the police arrived and began to take her away, she kept rambling about everything being ‘her party’ and that my sweet boy had ‘ruined everything.’

“Do you see the woman who attacked your son in this courtroom right now?” The attorney questioned, answered quickly by Mrs. Triblit’s swift point to Sofia. The air was heavy with anxiety, it was impossible to do anything but watch whomever was speaking. “Thank you, you 

may return to your seat. The prosecution rests.” The defense couldn’t bear any witness, so they rest as well. The silence broke with the judge’s gavel, “The court is now in recess.”

Sofia sat, unable to move from her seat. She hadn’t felt such utter powerlessness since the moment after that night. She watched as quiet souls, fled the room. She watched as Mrs. Trilbit passed by- though she wouldn’t make eye contact with Sofia. What should have felt like years, seemed only seconds. The judge returned, prosecution took seat, gallery buzzed with anticipation, and jury convened. His gavel rang out, “Court is now in session. Has the jury come to a verdict which you all agree upon?”

The foreperson stood, “We have, your honor. We, the jury, find the defendant, Sofia Claress, not guilty by account of insanity.”