3He digs a hole in the forest ground at an early hour in the morning. It is a full moon as he hears wolves howl and owls hoot. He zips up the top quarter of the body bag for the white head inside wouldn't continue to glare at him through the crack. He cradles the occupied body bag above the rectangular hole and lets go as she hits the bottom with a 'thunk'.
'She sure is a lot heavier than she looked,' he thought.
He turns away from the hole as he piles the dirt ontop of her.
He spreads dried leaves over the fresh soil to hide his horrendous deed. With a shovel over his shoulder, the goes into his truck and drives home. He gets back to his small, one story house just as it starts to pour.
He assumes he will be worrying about the cops or anyone else finding her.
"You're a moron," she said.
It isn't her! It can't be her! This isn't possible!
He's startled and takes a step back, his legs bump the table.
"What?" he asked, shaky, although he hears her the first time.
"You're a moron. Of course someones going to find me, sooner or later; probably sooner. You could have just thrown me in the swamp and I wouldn't be discovered for decades," she replied.
"I-I got rid of you," he said.
"Sure you did," she responded in a snotty tone.
"Don't you care?" he questioned.
"Yes, I care. You stole from me. Asshole," she answered.
"You're here to haunt me, aren't you?" he asked.
"That and I can't go anywhere else," she replied.
"I'm so sorry. I'm truely and terribly sorry," he muttered, sitting down and looking at his lap.
"Look at me when you talk to me," she ordered.
He stares at her with tears dripping down his chin. She's not a rotting corpse. She looks the same dead as she did alive, very pretty.
"It was an accident. I'm not a sick man. I hate death, I fear it," he insisted.
"I believe you, but I don't forgive you," she said.
"I understand. What I don't understand is that you're still here while your body is in the woods," he said.
"You aren't the brightest, are you?" She queried.
She points to a thick necklace on the floor. The thick silver necklace has a ruby heart.
"You stole from me and you killed me. I can't leave your house until you die," she replied.
"Please miss, I feel bad enough without your insults," he said.
"What do you do around here?" She changes the subject and her golden curls bounce as she looks around. The paneling is a dark brown; the floorboards are dirty. The living room fan and all the picture frames are covered in dust.
"I read, I write, sometimes I play the guitar, and once in awhile I have guests over," he responded.
"Tell me Mr. Dawson, do you treat all your guests as good as you did me?" she asked.
He squeezes his handkercheif tighter in his fist.
"Will you be satisified if I kill myself this morning?" he questioned.
"Not whatsoever. I want you to have many years ahead of you," she said gravely.