Wakeup

The body was sprawled on the floor like a grotesque, inanimate doll discarded by a fickle child. A trickle of blood oozed from its head. It seeped slowly into the dark, carpeted floor planking, making it darker still. 

The killer had recovered from the first emotional surge of shock that followed completion of his planned crime. He made a careful search of dead man’s bedroom. For days, he had been torn by the fear that his blind employer might have guessed his intentions.

His search allayed his fears. Everything in the room was placidly and mutely at place with the world. Nothing screamed a revelation of unnatured horror.The dead man’s clothes hung emptily in the closet. Over the fireplace mantel, the gleaning fishing rod testified silently to the old man’s interests. It had been his pride. An “enchanted wand”, he had called it. Fish came to it like iron fillings to a magnet. Even his good friend, the Ali, had gruffly and testily admitted its magical powers as he returned empty-handed beside his laden fishing companion.

The killer left the room. He set about rearranging the picture of death in the kitchen. He lifted the dead man’s head then dropped it with a sickening thud against the heavy metal stand holding the fire-irons.The blood stained it a dull lusterless red like cheap, thin paint. He picked up the poker that had been murder weapon and washed it in the tin sink of the farmhouse. Returning to the fireplace, he worked it back and forth in the hot ash powder before replacing it in the stand.

He kicked over a footstool. Several other touches completed his work. The picture still held the aura of death. However instead of murder it now suggested an unfortunate accident. A blind, old man had tripped and cracked his skull open…..

“Oh! God.” “It was just dream… thank God.” I said, breathing deep.

My nerves were on the edge with fear. I ran to balcony. The wind was blowing heavy rain and hailing.