A Little Spring Cleaning

A LITTLE SPRING CLEANING

“Honey, I’m going to kill you.”

Those words started it all. It was completed with a big toothy grin and she replies to it with a confused, “Wh-What?” A quick stab into her chest with a kitchen knife catches her more off guard than his statement. So struck, sounds aren’t even an option for her. He plucks the blade from her chest cavity by its wooden handle and a red splatter rains on his suit and the white wall behind him. A spackle on his face doesn’t break his white smile. The daughter enters the room just in time to scream.

“AHHH! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?”

“Darling, I’m killing your mother…. And then…. You’re next.”

“MOM!?”

A short gargling noise exits her mouth as she tries to speak.

“She can’t come to the phone right now, but if you’d like to leave a message…”

The daughter stands baffled, confused. His wife grasps his suit jacket attempting a plea and coughs up a crimson discharge down his tan golf putter tie. Cindy, the daughter, coming to her senses, bolts out of the kitchen to get help.

He grabs his wife’s face and lifts it to look at her, “Stick around, dear, I’ll be back.”

Raising her right arm, he plunges the kitchen knife through her forearm into the doorframe leaving her hanging there awaiting her doom.

He realizes his daughter’s a high school cheerleader and her stamina and agility could be the deciding factor of if she gets away or not. But he MUST go in order! Chronology is the only way sometimes, especially in eliminating a household.

“This house is big, Cindy, but it’s not that big!” He yells down the hallway of their spacious home. She’s upstairs dialing a telephone number; can you guess which one?

“And don’t worry about the phones, sweetheart! I cut the lines when you were at practice!”

‘Shit!’ She thinks to herself. She steps out of the room and slowly walks down the hall while ducking.

“Sweetie!?” He yells throwing a vase against the wall, shattering into an unknown number of pieces.

The loud echo of breaking glass sends her back to the room. Frustrated, she stomps around. Quick thoughts! She checks the window: the climb – unstable; the fall – unbearable. HER CELL PHONE! Wait, she left it downstairs in her bag. ‘Shit!’ She thought again.

“Are you upstairs, downstairs, or on the main floor? That is the question. I don’t think you’re on the main floor. That just wouldn’t make any sense: to hide from someone within their range. Or maybe you think I’d think that and you are on this floor. Maybe that’s your plan. I go upstairs to get you and you run out of the house. Very smart, but c’mon, darling, you are a cheerleader. You could have went downstairs but I highly doubt that. You more than likely went to yours or someone else’s room up there. I know you can hear me. I know you’re listening.” His rant echoes, of course she can hear it.

He looks around the living room for anything to use when he realizes the fireplace is behind him. Thumbing through his fireplace tools, he chooses the poker.

She hears the front door open, and leaves the room. It’s her brother, a grade lower than her senior year in high school. Upon entering, he can tell something’s up.

“Uh, hey dad, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’, Champ. Say, could you do me a favor?”

“Um I guess.”

“AH!” His father yells as his smashes his knees in with the poker.

“Stay right there.” A favor he can surely grant without the required goods to run away.

Cindy bolts to the balcony upstairs, a little late. “BILLY! GET OUT! HE KILLED MOM AND NOW HE’S GONNA KILL US!”

In between shooting pains causing grunts and moans “Holy shit!” is the only thing that can make it out of the boy’s mouth.

“AHA! I knew it!” The head of the household launches the poker upstairs as if it were a spear. She turns to run and avoid it but isn’t so lucky. It catches the very end of her heal as she runs. The splintering pain catches her off guard as she thought she had escaped it. He takes off upstairs after her. She thinks quicker than he thinks she thinks. She locks the inside of her parents’ bedroom and slams it shut, quietly sneaking into the hall closet at the end of the hallway. He rushes upstairs and immediately grabs the poker. He looks in her room, quick look in Billy’s room, and figured it would be in his own room. The only door shut and locked. The smile’s never left his face. He tries the door. Locked. Expected.

“Let me in and I’ll make all of this go away. Just like I did for your mother. I’ll get you a new ceeelll phhoooone. Okay? SO LET ME IN!” He thrusts the poker into the door, stabbing it several times to wear a hole. Then kicking it repeatedly. The sound of her heartbeat’s rising. It’s getting harder for her to regulate her breathing and not scream, knowing all this is but inches away from the closet in which she’s taken up as her hiding spot.

He breaks the door in and gives the room a quick search. He drops the poker and grabs the biggest golf club he sees out of his bag in the closet then stops. She tears out of the closet as he heads after her. They get down the long hallway when “FORE!” her ankles are shattered by his impressive golf swing. She collapses into the railing and flips over it.

“Well, you’ll never cheer again.” He says. She’s hanging on the balcony by what little strength her hands and arms have. “And there’s nothing worse than a cheerleader whose light on the cheer.” Father holds up his club about a foot or so off the ground and drops it on her fingertips. She falls back first through a glass coffee table. The brother, seeing it all, screams.

Their dad strolls downstairs. He walks past the crippled son and the braindead, damn near comatose, daughter to find his wife bled to death with her arm still pinned to the wall.

“Honey, I’ll be needing this.” He plucks the knife from her arm and the wall as more blood spurts out.

“Okay, son, time for some bonding.” He says walking into the living room. He kneels down before his son and squeezes his leg.

“AH! SHIT!” The son yells out in pain.

“Don’t take this personal, son. I’m just going to murder you.” He draws the knife back for a good thrust while Billy slaps away and fighting for dear life.

“Wait!” He stops.

“What? What?” A jittery Billy replies.

“When did we get Kiki? Did we get her before we had you?”

“Yes…Yes, yes.” He responds hoping he’ll be left alone a little while longer.

“I thought so… My apologies, I’ll return shortly.”

He goes to the basement door and opens it. The lights are off as his silhouette covers their dog laying in her doggy bed. Billy picks himself up enough to open the front door and starts attempting to crawl out. Meanwhile, father dearest heads downstairs to take care of the family mutt. “Come here. Here, girl.” He says picking her up. Standing, the canine would maybe reach his knees. “We’re gonna play a new game today, aren’t we, girl?” He opens the dryer door and is about to put Kiki in there for a spin when he sees from the small basement windows that his son has gone against his favor. He sees Billy crawling outside on the front porch. “Ah, something else to take care of. One favor, that’s all I asked for.” He strolls upstairs petting her. Her panting revealing she’s excited about what lies ahead.

“Son, don’t wander too far!” He says on the way to the bathroom. “Okay, where was it? Ah yes.” He opens the bathroom closet to find his electric shavers. His sheers, if you will. And yes, he shaves the dog as far down as the fur can get without having to razor shave it. Quick and easy, not taking more time than what he needs.

He passes the wife in the kitchen again, “Dear, don’t worry about dinner. I’ve got it covered.”

He finds and pulls out the biggest turkey pot he can find. “Hmm, let’s say, 450.” He sets the oven’s temperature. He digs through the pantry while the family pet sits in a pot cold and shaking. “Teriyaki or BBQ? …BBQ? Yeah, I agree.” He pours the full bottle of bar-be-cue sauce all over the cold pup. And sprinkles some salt and adds a dash of pepper. “Oh yeah, this should be a good one.” The DING lets him know the pre-heat’s done. “Welp, time to go.” He places Kiki in the oven, with oven mitts of course, and is off to find his son. This time through the back door.

Meanwhile Billy’s almost across the front yard to the front gate of the fence. He has to crawl in short increments due to the massive pain in his legs, but he’s almost there. And that’s when he heard the lawnmower start up. He turns to his right when he sees his dad still in his blood-soaked suit and a visor (to keep the sun out of his face while he mows) mowing in his direction.

“Hi there, son! Beautiful weather isn’t it!?” He pops up the mower and starts mowing his son, Billy. A punch red showers their white picket fence and the rest of his nice suit. It mangles half of Billy’s body when the mower gets clogged.

“Damn cheap models, I told her to get the highest quality items.”

He notices a nearby neighbor coming outside to get his mail, “Hey, Ted!” and waves.

Not but an hour later a car pulls up in the driveway. It’s the maid! Their polite Spanish maid, Lucille. She has a bag of cleaning supplies as she comes through the front gate and notices a dilapidated body beneath the mower. “Oh, my…”

She enters the house and sees the mess and the daughter lying in a pool of glass and blood. “My lord…”

Lucille walks into the kitchen where there’s a large platter of BBQ in the middle of the table. Where the Mrs. is on one side, dead, face down on the table. And on the other side is a bright smiling head of the household in his bloody suit.

“LUCILLE! Would you like some BBQ?”

“Meester, meester!” She exclaimed in her broken English, “Look at your suit!”

“It’s okay,” He says, “We use Sorox detergent. It gets all the stains out.” He gives a big thumb up complete with a wink.

“Oh, you.” She says giggling.

“CUT!” The director yells. “Jerry, that was really good. But this time let’s try more smiling. This is a family commercial, after all. Everybody in Stereo Falls is gonna be watching this. That wraps Sorox laundry detergent commercial, take one. Okay, everybody, let’s get cleaned up and take a thirty minute lunch. Then we need to get back to make-up and start over for a second take.”

…

“Okay, Sorox detergent, take two. Action!”

“Honey, I’m going to kill you…”