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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required *Murder most foul. Rod Serling, Stephen King or Ellery Queen? Picturesque place on the edge of nowhere, small town American life. Suddenly subject to media glare, reports of the mayor's missing wife! Search parties, rescuers, all on the scene with rumors of mischief afoot. People keep asking, "What does it all mean?" Some lock their doors and stay put. “Over here,” someone yells, as a spotted owl hoots, “There’s something here under the brush." The ground shakes and rumbles heavy with boots, the now gathered crowd in a hush. As I cower in fear and stare at the scene, the victim's head's there on the ground. The body is searched for until it is clear, they'd covered the whole flippin' town. The mayor of the burg remarries so soon, suspicion’s on everyone's mind. But with nary a witness except for the moon, the law stops pursuing in time. Ten years have passed and the story's still told, the horror of what we had seen. I was a kid just eleven years old, yet the images still haunt my dreams. To this very day I've never gone back, avoiding those woods at all cost. Something transpired unholy and black, our innocence on that day was lost. But what they don't know and perhaps never will, is the way that my stepmother died. With hatchet in hand and a thrill for the kill I swung true, and never once cried. Eleven I was and a daddy's girl too, together we made such a team. And I'm happy to say, no one has a clue- as for me, I'm livin' the dream. And if you should ask where the body's been hid, I'll tell you, but don't tell a soul...
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