The Accomplice (11-20)

For more check out The Accomplice (1-10) and (21-30--coming soon))

Chp. 11*****

â?? On her way home from school that day, Sally thought she was becoming unsound. Perhaps I can take blame for that; you see, Sally walks home everyday with Bethany McCoy and Elizabeth Slater. And sometimes Paul McElroy, the older boy who pulls her braids and tells her dirty things in class. I tell you Mrs. Beagle, Paul was not right, he was unwell. If I hadnâ??t killed your precious half-wit daughter, Paul McElroy would have raped and murdered her. Anyway, on her way home that sunlit afternoon, Sally passed the pond. As she passed, she fought the urge to jump into the cool, murky waters and taste death for herself. But she didnâ??t. She walked by the old gallows deep within the wods, even though she never had before. Someone had lowered one noose, low ebough for a child to choke in. I wonder who could have done that. As Sally passed, she thought she heard them, begging her to help them. Do you know what they told her, Mrs Beagle? Well, ill tell you. They told her she was beautiful, and they only wanted to hold her. Sally wanted to help them, but she resisted.â??

Chp. 12*****

Sally soon felt better, almost joyous. She then came across a berry patch. You know how she loves berries. After her long agonizing walk home, she couldnâ??t bear to say no any longer, so she stopped to pick berries. Sally was careful how she ate them, for fear of staining her blue Sunday dress, for fear of angering you. But she was, of course, a child. Her blue Sunday dress had turned purple just beneath her collar. She didnâ??t notice. But someone else did.â??

Chp. 13*****

â??â??Hello, Sally.â?? Leaned against a tree was Paul McElroy. Not only, Mrs. Beagle, did I kill your precious Sally, but I saved her as well. Paul McElroy was a sick being. So, rather than allow him to have his way with your daughter, I murdered him too. Right in front of little Sally Beagle. I couldnâ??t have him disrupting my vengeance.â??

Chp. 14*****

â??By the time Little Sally made it to the her precious apple tree, she began to bleed. Horizontal cuts on her wrists burst suddenly, followed by cuts on her throat. Soon Little Sally was hanging in the apple tree, dead, and bloodied. â??Congratulations, Mrs. Applefield, yes I know your maiden name. Your daughter has been killed.â?? She found in blood across her walkway. And again I say, Mrs. Applefield, Congrats.â??

Chp.15*****

â??Iâ??m standing at a pond. A pond somewhere between Willow Street and the gates of your dead husbandâ??s precious Quinsby Rye. There used to be festivals at this pond. Every summer. There were candied apples, sugared plums, pie eating contests, dresses to buy, obscenely large sun hats adorned with ribbons and bows. There were pumpkins, and squash. China dolls for sale. And many a drunkard. Fiddle players and maypole dances. But most of all, exploding candles. The younger children danced about the maypole as glowing ashes littered the sky. Weâ??d sing and dance, and run about. I attended only seven of these ceremonies.â??

Chp.16*****

â??The eighth annual summer festival held in my lifetime was held on my birth date. I watched the dances, heard the drunken sing, caught glimpses of forbidden love hiding behind picnic benches, and watched the fantastical explosions of color and light from behind barred windows. I had been taken prisoner inside a mental ward. I was announced a danger to others and myself.â??

Chp.17*****

â??I was spoon fed thrice a day by a slave named Nirah. She tended to all the children. â??happy birthday, happy happy day, happy birthday, this is your special dayâ?? â??Missy, what you humminâ?? now?â?? Nirah called us all â??Missyâ?? or â??Massaâ??. It was not becoming. And I told her so many a time. â??Happy. Happyâ?¦. Dayâ??â??

Chp.18*****

â??I finished to song to myself, and continued to rock back and forth on my behind, knees pulled up to my chest. â??Child, you stop that sangin.â?? Another attendant scolded me. I looked up at her and began to smile. That scarred her. â??Stop it, Devil Childâ?? I slowly got up and walked to the bars that separated me from her. â??I will bend these bars and you will bleed, imploring me of forgiveness. I will slit your throat till the saw blade comes through to the other side.â?? â??I said stop it, demon!â?? â??What makes you think you have authority to command me, and in my domain!â?? I kicked her. I kicked her again. I grabbed her hair and banged her head into the bars, as I continued to kick. Laughing all the while. Nirah saw this and came to the nurseâ??s rescue. The nurse looked up at me, ebony skin stained red, â??the only place left to go, child, is hellâ??. I spat on her and kicked, even though my kick would not reach.â??

Chp.19*****

â?? Nirah came back after cleaning the womanâ??s cuts. â??Missy, now know the gallows been waitin on youâ?? I spat on her as well. She did not care. â??I been knowin you long, Missy. Missy aint got no friends? Family?â?? I screamed and kicked her. â??You worthless hag! Its my birthday, my family is out there! Dancing! Singing! While they abandoned me here! What family?â?? Nirah looked down at me. â??Sâ??horrible, Missy. â??S horrible.â??â??

Chp.20*****

â??I shake my spiritual head in attempt to kill the memories. I see the sun, floating high above the pond, but I cannot feel its summer warmth. I cannot feel its burning beams of golden light. I see the damp, olive blades of vegetation, but I fail to feel the dew that settles upon them, as they sprout beneath me feet. I was not an emotional person within my lifetime, and that will not change just because I am dead. Today is would be my fifteenth birthday. Almost seven years since Ms. Thompson murdered me, since Tubby Larson put his subconscious death wish in motion by letting, willing, her to kill me.â??