September 8th, 1953, was a day I will never forget. I knew the moment our home football team lost that the night couldn’t end well. My boyfriend, Bud, was our quarterback, and he never took a loss lightly. He felt all the pressure was on him, and whether they won or lost, it was entirely his fault. Nothing could change his mind—not even me. We had been dating since Sophomore year, and we were set to graduate in the spring. I was excited for us to move on to bigger things; well, some of us were moving. Bud was staying behind to work in his father's auto shop while I was hopefully going to college after the summer. Bud had always been quick-tempered, but he also had the sweetest heart.
As Bud ran off the field, I reached out to hug him and cool him down. “Don’t, Lizzie!” he snapped at me, pushing me away. I watched as he trudged toward the locker room, and I waited outside for him since he was my ride home. The rain started to pour as I waited. Bud’s friend James and I stood under the awning and talked until it got late, he had to leave.Lighting cracked and the ground seemed to shake. When Bud finally came outside and saw me, he sighed in frustration. “You’re still here?” he exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, but you said you were driving me home,” I replied.
“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled.
“Do you want to stop by the parlor and get an ice cream? It's raining cats and dogs out here, cream soda sounds really nice, don’t ya think?” I asked, trying to sound optimistic.
“No, I don’t,” he snapped.
“Okay, well we can always go another time. I thought you played well tonight, but it’s okay; you always have next time. Like I always say, at the end of a storm, there is always—”
“WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?!” he yelled.
I felt tears forming in my eyes. “Okay, sorry,” I whispered.
“Just get in the car already, will you?” he said.
“Yeah, fine,” I muttered.
“What did you say to me?!” he shouted.
“Nothing, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be here right now.” Tears began to stream down my cheeks. There was something about people raising their voices that always made me cry.
“Then why did you come here, huh? You could care less about football. You only care about gossiping with your friends. Who was that guy you were with when I came out? Was it James? Are you talking to James? I know you like him!” he barked.
“No, I don’t. I came to watch you play,” I tried to reason. “You know I only love you, not James. He’s just an old friend.”
“Right, sure. Whatever you say,” he sneered.
“No, Bud, please believe me.” I placed my hand on his cheek. “You are the only one on my mind; no one else matters.”
Suddenly, a cold slap met my face. This wasn’t the first time he had hit me.
“How do you think I’m so naïve? I’m not blind; I can see what’s going on. You hate football games, and you sit and talk with him outside of the locker rooms!”
“Bud please, you give me no choice, I’m done. We are done. I’m going to walk home. I can’t take this anymore” I declared. I opened the door and started to walk away, refusing to look back. The rain hit my shoulders and the wind whipped across my face, the red ribbon was ripped from my hair.
“Lizzie, don’t you dare walk away from me!” he shouted, slamming his door.
I turned and looked back,it was hard to see through all of the rain but all I saw were the lights of his car. Then I heard a metal-on-metal sound, followed by heavy footsteps. Thump, thump thump.
I turned again to see him coming toward me with a crowbar in hand, walking quickly. He grabbed me by the arm and threw me against the car, raising the crowbar over his head.
“Please, no! Don’t!”
By the 13th, Lizzie was classified as missing, Bud’s car was found in a ditch behind the high school. The truck was examined and nothing was found in the car expect for a crowbar and a human heart. Sadly Bud was never taken to court.
Part two: James
Liz and I had been friends since Junior High. We met in our mandatory theater class in the sixth grade. She was in the back row because she has always been tall and I stood in the row just ahead of hers. I hated being watched by our director and I felt the blood rush from my face and the world seemed to spin. Just as my eyes fell shut I was caught by a gentle embrace. Liz placed me down and asked if I was alright, from then on, I knew she would be my best friend.
We stayed friends throughout sixth grade and seventh, but then our worlds changed when a new kid moved in, his name, was Bud. As soon as he walked in those double doors on our first day of eighth grade, I knew that something had changed. I had never been popular by any means but Bud made me feel cool. All of the guys admired him and wanted to just be associated with him, but he was a type of narcissistic. He thrived off of the power that attention gave him, no matter how it affected the people around him. He seemed to find a new target every week, but he found one that stuck, my best friend Liz. He found her locker and would put anything he could find in there, old gym socks, month-old lunches, even the mop water from the janitor's closet. I loved Liz like a sister but was too scared to stop him.
One day, March twenty-third to be exact, Bud hit a nerve on me. He somehow found out about Liz’s parents and he thought this would be a great time to bring it up. Her mother passed away when she was eight years old, but she told people that she left.
Of course, Bud had no idea that her story was a lie, so he teased her for it, bringing up anything remotely related to her mom. After comments in class, the hallways, and at lunch, I finally snapped. I couldn’t stand by as my one true friend was attacked by the “nice guy”. I tried to tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about but nothing could get through to him.
“You like her or something, huh, is that your pretty little girlfriend?” he said condescendingly.
“No, of course not, but I think you should stop,” I said, my words coming out smaller than I had anticipated.
“You know what, I’m going to give you one chance to pick who you want to be around, her” he pointed at the sad lump of a girl crying in the corner, “ or us, your real friends”
Liz barely lifted her head to look at me with tear-stained eyes when I said “Sorry Liz, I gotta go”
I had seen Liz around after we went to high school, we had a class together here or there but we never talked like we used to. After she got together with Bud, any conversation we had was pleasant but cold. I knew I had wronged her for not standing up when I should have, but a part of me felt missing without her.
On the night of the final football game of the year, I only went because my mother made me. I had no intention of going at all, but since it was the last game of the senior year, I figured I should go and “make memories” like my dad always told me to. After the game was over I saw a girl sitting under the awning by the ticket window. She looked cold and alone and I thought that having a friend couldn’t hurt. I walked toward her and she looked up at me with those same tear-stained eyes and we started talking.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it Liz,” I said, wanting to start a conversation.
“Yeah, it has been too long,” she said” She motioned for me to sit next to her and as I sat down I saw a bruise across her neck.
“What happened here?” I asked and gestured to her neck. She quickly covered it with her hand and muttered something about a tree.
“Why are you out here all alone, crying in the rain? Is everything alright with Bud” I inquired.
“Things with Bud are, well, rocky, you see he’s on edge about me moving away, I got into college but he doesn’t want me to go, he just loves me so much.” she brushed her damp strands of hair out of her eyes, the rain was blowing in every direction.
“Here,” I said, motioning for her to give me the red ribbon she was using as a bracelet. She turned away from me as I tied her hair in the ribbon, and into a petite bow.
“Thank you, you are very kind, I remember that about you, you were always so kind to me,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye.
“Yes, I was back then, I’m sorry about how things ended with us back in Junior High,” I said, shame covering my words. She patted my hand and placed her head on my shoulder, we watched the rain together for a long while, maybe too long. I glanced down at my watch and sprung to my feet.
“ I have to go Liz I’m late for curfew” I yelled to her as I darted across the parking lot.
“Alright, be safe” she called back to me. I turned to see her standing and waving to me, and I stopped for a moment to let her kindness soak in, but a large strike of lightning shook the ground and I was off running again.
My father was asleep when I finally got home, soaking wet and tracking mud across the carpet. It was hard navigating through my house in the darkness but I reached my room and collapsed on my bed. I was out like a light and slept until nearly ten the next day. When I finally did wake up, I crept down the stairs, careful not to wake my sister, and when I reached the kitchen Mother sat at the counter reading the paper. Everything was how it should have been, everything was perfect.
By the next Monday, I was back at school, sitting in my AP chemistry class in the back row but as the students filed in, two people were missing. The seat three rows in front of me was empty, as was the seat to my left. Bud and Liz were gone. Bud was always late and I didn’t think much of it, but Liz was never late, she never missed a day of any class. Days and days passed and there was no sign of Liz, Bud however returned without a care in the world. I sat at my desk day after day only thinking of what could have happened to her and nothing I could think of made any sense, that was until the 13th.
As Saturday rolled around I felt numb from fear and sadness, I slowly walked down the stairs to my kitchen as I heard a soft cry. I turned the corner to see the morning sun highlighting to shape of a woman slumped over the island. My mother nearly never cried so I rushed to her side to see what the matter was and she simply handed me the paper, the front page was a car in a ditch with the title “Where Did She Go”. I knew from the moment I saw that image that it was Bud's car and there was no doubt in my mind that she had to have been with him.
I threw the paper down on the table and dashed for the door. I sprinted out of our house and over the street, I knew I had to get to the school. I crossed the park where Liz and I would play and through the field behind the middle school where I got my tooth knocked out by a soccer ball.
I reached the parking lot out of breath, panting on the dew sparkled pavement. I desperately glanced around for some sign, anything at all. I collapsed to the ground in tears. I felt as though I might have been getting my best friend back, she was gone just as fast as she had come. I lay and cried as I stared up into the yellowing sky and watched the trees blow. I lay for some time until I saw something in the branch just overhead, a small red ribbon clung to the tree above me and I grabbed it and held it to my chest. I lay and cried, as I thought to myself about how great she was and how I might never see her again.
I hoped with every fiber of my being that she was safe and sound, chasing her dreams. I imagined her breaking free from this town, leaving behind the past, and moving on from Bud, the weight that held her down. I yearned for her to be thriving in college, embracing new adventures with a heart full of hope.
Regret, however, covered my thoughts like a heavy fog. I wish I had opened my eyes sooner to the signs, the bruises I dismissed as mere accidents, when deep down, I felt that something was terribly wrong. With every passing moment, the guilt grew in my gut; Liz wasn’t okay.
Her family held a memorial for her even though they hadn’t found her yet, but six weeks after her disappearance, a body was found in the lake behind our high school. Yet, even in my dreams, I hold onto her red ribbon. It rests close to my heart, wrapped in love and longing, a promise that no matter what happened to her, a part of her will always be with me.
The letter came in on a Thursday. After I saw the address on the letter, I knew it wouldn’t be good. Nothing my dad ever sent me was good. I sat down on my sunken couch and opened the letter.
“Dear Cassandra,
I hope this letter finds you well. It is with great sorrow that I write to you. Your father, Mr Charles III, has unfortunately passed. Per his will, he has left you his estate. Please get in touch with me at your earliest convenience.
Thanks, Susan”
The letter fell from my hand as I read the last sentence. Susan has been my dad’s housekeeper for as long as I can remember. She practically raised me. I walked numbly over to the phone and dialed the number of my father’s house phone.
“Hey,” I said
“Hello, is this Cassandra?”
“Yeah. I got your letter.”
“Oh dear, I am so sorry for your loss and-”
"How did it happen?” I interrupted.
“Heart attack, sweetie. The doctors don’t know where it came from,” Susan sighed as her voice broke up on the other end of the phone. I took a pause to process what I heard.
“How soon can I come down there?”
“As soon as you’d like darling, feel free to take your time.”
“I’ll be down there tomorrow, thank you, Susan,” I said as I hung up the phone.
As I drove to my dad’s house I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in my gut. My father’s estate has been in our family since 1880; generations passed through this house. The mansion was bright white, with blue shutters, a red door, and plenty of shrubbery outside. As I pulled up to the mansion, it was clear that was no longer the case. The once-beautiful garden had grown wild, tall weeds standing next to dying roses. Dark green vines grew tall over the sides of the house, covering most of the now beige siding. The faded blue shutters hung crookedly along the windows, grey with dirt. I didn’t remember the house being in such bad shape the last time I was here, but I also can’t remember the last time. My dad had always prided himself in the pristine condition of his grand property, I can’t imagine him keeping things like this.
I took a deep breath and stepped up to the front door. A cold breeze passed through as I rang the doorbell, hearing the familiar tone of the harsh buzzing on the other side of the door. The door opened quickly, Susan and I greeting each other as she ushered me into the mansion.
“Can I offer you anything to eat or drink my dear?” She asked me.
“Just water would be great, thank you,” I said as I walked around the house. Everything was frozen in time as if my dad wasn’t gone, his book and glasses still sat on the table, a layering of dust forming there. The end tables and picture frames were covered in dust as well, as if Susan couldn’t bring herself to clean them. I run my hand along the family picture hanging over the mantle. Dad’s pointed eyes staring down with his fixed smile. My mother’s perfectly curled hair and warm smile. I don’t recognize the girl between them anymore. The giggly, carefree, younger version of myself that was stripped away so long ago.
“I love that photo,” Susan said from behind me, and I jumped, “Oh sorry dear, I didn’t mean to scare you, I’ve got your water here.”
“Thank you,” I said as I grabbed the glass and brought it to my lips.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Susan muttered, “It feels like just yesterday he hired me.”
“Yeah, it’s sad.” I said flatly, unsure how I was feeling. Of course I was sad that my dad died, but I can’t forget the things he did to me. The way he kicked me out of the house for a week because my grades were bad. Or the way he acted towards me after mom had passed, that look in his eye that told me he would never love me the way she had. It had always seemed that my dad cared more about his house, than he did about our family.
“I’m going to head to the restroom,” I stated as I walked to the nearest guest bathroom to the front door.
“Not that one!” Susan shouted.
“OK. Why?” I asked and headed over to where Susan was standing.
“That toilet in there is broken. It keeps flooding. It’s best if we avoid it at all costs. Your father was supposed to fix it but-” Susan started.
“I understand,” I mumbled and scurried to the bathroom near the kitchen.
I spent the rest of the day talking to Susan about memories of my father. I shared what I could, filtering out the bad parts, they always tell you not to speak ill of the dead. The strangest part of it all was that I didn’t feel anything. I felt more confused than sad. How could my father, a man just over 60 who went hiking once a month, have died of heart failure?
“Susan, was my father sick?” I asked.
She let out a sigh before she started, “There were a lot of things your father never told you. I was here with him, as you know, and he would wait for you to call, ‘Today will be the day,’ but it never was.”
“I know I should’ve called more, things got so busy and-”
“No need to explain yourself darling. He would’ve understood. That’s why he left you the house.” Susan frowned. “He said it was to apologize for how he treated you.”
“Apologize?” I questioned as tears threatened to escape my eyes.
“Yes, your father had a funny way of doing things I suppose. I can’t imagine what a burden this house will be for you to take care of.”
“I’ll find something to do with it. I suppose I could sell it.”
“Sell it?” Susan repeated, her voice raising.
“I have no use for a house this big Susan,” I chuckled, “No one needs all of this.”
“Right. No one needs it, but it feels good to have lavish things. Let yourself live the rich life dear, your father could have given you nothing.”
I spent that night tossing and turning in the bed of the guest bedroom before I begrudgingly got up. I wandered into the kitchen, the clock on the stove reading 2:00 AM, and poured a glass of water. I picked up the glass and brought it to my lips. A dim light in the hallway caught my eye. As I crept closer, I realized the light was coming from under the bathroom door. I went to reach for the doorknob as I heard movement on the other side of the door. Quickly, I hurried out of the hallway and back to the guest room.
I woke up with a jolt. I must’ve fallen asleep at some point last night. I lay flat against the pillows, my head filled with unanswered questions. Who was in the bathroom? If it was Susan, why was she awake so late? Could she be lying about the toilet? What was really going on in that bathroom? I couldn’t wrap my head around any of it. I walked back into the kitchen where my glass from last night sat.
“I see you got a little thirsty last night,” Susan joked, coming out of the living room to join me in the kitchen.
“Yeah, I did,” I stated with a tense smile, my brain flashing back to the light streaming from under the bathroom door.
“Make sure you clean up after yourself.”
“Right. Sorry about that, I’ll get it now,” I stammered, placing the glass into the sink.
Susan nodded at me and turned away quickly to walk back as if I had done everything she needed me to do. She sat on the couch, watching television with a plastered smile. Something is very wrong in this house. I needed to see what was in that bathroom.
The rest of the day, I waited for Susan to leave the house. For her to step out into the garden, or make a trip to the grocery store. But that time never came. She stayed in the living room, the hallway, or the kitchen. Never out of sight of the mysterious door. As if she knew what I planned to do. When night came, Susan had finally left her post in the living room. I quietly crept down the hall, checking to make sure there was no light shining under the door. After I verified that everything was clear, I went to turn the door knob gently. I felt my heart race as the knob twisted in my hand. Nothing could have prepared me for what was on the other side of the door. In the middle of the room sat my father’s lifeless body sitting in his favorite armchair. A trail of dark, liquid leading up to his chair. I scream and close the door quickly without thinking.
“Didn’t I tell you not to open that door?” Susan hissed from the living room. I jumped, unaware she was there.
“What did you do to him?” I cried out, ”You said he died of a heart attack!”
“A heart attack, an attack on the heart,” she shrugged. “What's the difference really?”
“You’re a monster!” I yelled as I backed away from Susan.
“Oh, am I a monster?” Susan shrieked. “Your father left me nothing! He gave you everything! His ungrateful daughter who couldn’t even bother to visit him. I’ve always been here for him and I have nothing to show for it. Now I will.”
“You can have the house, Susan. If that's what you want, please have it!” I said as I backed away from her and towards the door.
“Oh no dear, it’s about much more than the house now. Since he didn’t leave me with anything, I’ll take away the one thing he tried so desperately to have but never could. The one thing that could break your father.”
“What is it?” I questioned quietly.
“You.” That was all Susan said before she raced towards me.
I clumsily turned the doorknob and bolted out of the front door, leaving everything behind. The sound of Susan’s footsteps behind me grew louder and I sprinted as fast as I could. My heart pounded in my chest as Susan screamed my name. I ran into the woods, and kept running until I couldn’t hear Susan. My legs ached and my feet hurt, but I had to keep going. I tucked myself behind a tree and caught my breath before I started to move again. I had to keep moving. I couldn’t let her find me. I walked for what seemed like hours before I entered a nearby city. I picked up my pace, trying to find someone to point me in the direction of a police station. I couldn’t let Susan get away with this.
By the time the police arrived on the scene, Susan was gone. At some point she had set the place ablaze. The walls were black with ash as the fire spread through the house. Nothing remained of my father’s body, or evidence of what Susan had done. I returned to the house one last time after the fire had cleared and the debris had settled. I walked around the property, over torched grass, broken glass, and burnt paper, trying to find anything that had remained of my childhood. And there in the middle of the rubble, sat our family picture, Susan’s favorite she had said, only something was wrong. My parents crossed out, an arrow drawn above my head in a thick red marker, the letters read “You’re next.”