Mrs. Weatherby
She stepped out of her bedroom in her wine-red dress, her hair pulled back, her nails and lips carefully painted.
He sat at the table, gaping, silent.
“Lost for words?” she taunted. "Wait till you see what I’ve cooked up for us tonight.”
She went to the oven, and took out the stuffed quail. She picked up the caviar from the fridge, and aged wine from the cellar.
“Oh, it’s worth it, we’ve waited 20 years to try it. After all, it’s our anniversary. Don’t you want to try some?” she asked, her smile dazzling.
He said nothing.
She frowned.
“William, is something wrong?”
He just stared at her.
“Does the food not look inviting? Is it my dress? Do you want me to change?” she asked, troubled.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “William, I don’t like it when you aren’t smiling.”
But William didn't smile.
She blinked her tears away, checked her reflection in her spoon.
“Nothing can ruin tonight, can it?” She went to his chair, and sat in his lap.
The phone rang.
She gasped, and ran to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Weatherby, is your husband home? He’s been missing from work for about a week now, we really need him back on the job,” an angry voice barked at the other end of the line.
She hesitated.
“Er... yes, he’s home, but he’s been feeling a bit under the weather, I've told you before. I’ve just made him a nice dinner to cheer him up, you see.”
“Mrs. Weatherby, I need to talk to him. If this absence continues, we may have to
replace—”
“But Mr. Graham, it’s our anniversary tonight,” she whined, “Please, could you give us this one night to ourselves? He’s always been busy at your company.”
There was static.
“Oh alright, then, but I want him at his desk tomorrow morning.”
She cut the call, and left the phone off the hook.
“Ah yes, now no one will bother us,” she said, smiling at her husband. "I’ve got you all to myself.”
She went to his chair, positioning herself on his lap again.
“I’ll make you smile, Will darling,” she said, determinedly.
She pulled the knife out of his chest.
“Smile,” she whispered, as she slid the knife through his lips, and dragged it up his left cheek, then his right.
She rested her head on his bleeding chest.
“Happy anniversary, darling,” she whispered, happily.
William Weatherby couldn’t stop smiling.
Shruti is a student who scribbles poetry and fiction on the back of her school books. She is easily distracted by glow-in-the-dark objects and prefers living in the weird world in her own head.
Ananya is a design student and dog lover. When she's not busy drawing odd faces, she loves munching on some grape-flavoured Tang while keeping her stationery intact. She has a weakness for fine-nibbed black pens and
handmade books.
