"The Stain"
Written by: Chris Williams
Words: 1294
Genre: Thriller/Mystery/Suspense
A/N: Characters are mine, story is mine. The Premise could be related to the
Tell-Tale Heart, I guess.
What's that? He thought to himself as he squirmed in his bed. He kicked the covers hard as his hand felt something wet, but it wasn't all over. It was just one little spot next to him. He sprung up from where the pillow and turned the bed side lamp on. He gasped at the sight of the stain. The blood stain!
Jason Sparks was an ordinary man. He was well known in the community as a mystery writer. A top selling mystery writer at that. He was rich, and sociable. He often worked with the police on cases to get a better feel for his next top selling mystery novel.
He jerked the sheets off the bed and gathered them in his arms before taking them down to the laundry. He didn't like seeing the bloodstain, especially after that tragic event, that tragic night. He made it and tossed the sheets in before starting the machine. As the water filled it, he poured in the detergent. He hoped it would get the stain out. He sighed heavily and moved away as the washer began to shake.
Plopping down in his favorite chair, Jason stared at the typewriter on the desk in front of him. He laid his head back to rest momentarily, but fell asleep instead. The night before proved to be sleepless. The bloodstain on the sheets was annoying him. How did it get there? It had been washed out two nights before.
He jerked up minutes later. No. He checked the clock. It was hours later and that meant the wash was done. He got to his feet to check it, but the doorbell rang abruptly, startling him. He marched to the door to see who it could be. He was stunned that it was none other than the sheriff. Jason was nervous. It was a sure tell of that when he began to clench and relax his hand over and over. He often moved his fingers in a massaging manner against the hand they were on, rubbing the tips against his palm.
“Hello, Jason,” the Sheriff said as Jason opened the door, welcoming him in.
“Hi, Sheriff Harper, can I help you?”
“Yeah, just thought I'd see how you were doing,” Harper stated as he entered the house. He stepped into the living room and stood patiently.
“I was just doing laundry,” Jason admitted. “Could I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks, I just had some coffee. Can I take a look around?”
“Sure,” Jason said with a nod. “I need to check the laundry again.”
“I think I'll join you.” Harper followed him into the laundry room, where Jason opened the washer.
“Do you see something in the water?” Jason asked.
Harper looked into the washer for a moment. “There's nothing there.”
“Oh.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Harper asked him. “Listen, I'll just take a look in the bedroom.” Then he began to walk out.
Jason pulled the sheets out of the washer and placed them into the dryer. Once that was set, he began his search for the sheriff.
“In here!” He replied as he heard Jason enter. “I was just noticing the bed.”
“I've had to wash the sheets so many times,” Jason announced. “I've washed them everyday, and it still feels weird.”
“I could imagine,” Harper stated as he examined the mattress. “I don't think I could even sleep in the same house where my wife was murdered.”
“It's hard to do, but I think I can manage,” Jason said nervously. “She didn't want me to sell the house when she was living. Somehow, I don't think she'd like now either.”
Harper smiled at Jason's commitment to his deceased wife. “That's quite an honorable thing.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” Jason said. “So, did you find anything?”
“Huh?” He asked, standing up. He looked down at the bed and then back at Jason. “Oh, no, I was just looking. It's strange. No leads as to who might've done it.”
“I'm sure you're doing your best, Sheriff,” Jason assured him.
“I don't think it's good enough,” Harper admitted sadly.
Jason stood in silence as the sheriff walked out of the room and back to the front door. “If there's anything you need, feel free to ask.”
“I will,” Harper answered. “And you do the same.”
Jason watched him leave and locked the door quickly. He had sweaty palms which he wiped against the thighs of his pants. He once again fell into his chair and stared blankly at the typewriter. “OK, let's try this again.” He closed his eyes and placed his hands on the keys, and went to work.
***
He was startled by the dryer's buzzer that went off. Jason jumped to his feet and moved quickly to pull the sheets out. He inspected them thoroughly. “Ah, finally,” he said. The stain was out. He relaxed and took them back to his bed. His morning had been mostly wasted on those damned sheets. As he made his bed, his mind went over the events of that night. He found his wife stabbed to death. One single stab wound to her chest, which left blood in a single pool.
“And there,” he said to himself as he finished. He pulled the bedspread back over the sheets and set the pillows on top the way his wife always did.
***
The next morning he was awakened by something. He felt the same wet spot in the same place. Jason jumped out of bed and jerked the covers off to reveal. . . Nothing!
What the fuck? He wasn't sure what was going on, but it was awfully strange.
A loud knock came at the door again, which freaked Jason out even more. He began to panic. He moved quickly to the living room door and opened it to find the sheriff. “Can I help you?”
“You were acting mighty strange yesterday,” Harper told him. “I just thought I'd check on you, again. I began to wonder about not getting a lead on your wife's killer. Well, then it dawned on me when you were acting peculiar yesterday.”
“Oh?” Jason asked nervously.
“Yeah, I do believe you were trying to tell me something,” Harper announced. Then he whispered, “Is he in the house?”
“What?”
“Is he still here?” Harper whispered. “Has he threatened to kill you if you talked?” He moved into the bedroom and noticed the messy bed. “Did you just wake up?”
“Yes, yes I--” Jason then noticed the bloodstain on the sheets again.
Oh, shit! “I haven't made the bed. Let me. . .” He began doing so, but the bloodstain seeped through the bedspread as well. He began to panic worse.
“You're looking pale, Jason. Are you feeling sick?”
“No, I'm fine,” he said in a shaky voice.
Harper moved to the bed and pulled the sheets back, which pushed Jason into an even deeper frenzy. He grabbed the Sheriff's arm with his sweaty hand. “Something wrong?”
“It won't go away,” he murmured. “The bloodstain.”
“What bloodstain?”
“THAT bloodstain,” Jason pointed out. “That's where I killed my wife. And now its haunting.”
“
You killed your wife?” Harper asked quite shocked.
“Yes,” Jason said breaking down and crying. “Ever since that bloodstain continues to return even after I have washed the sheets twice in one day. It's impossible the get rid of!”
“I don't see a bloodstain, Jason,” Harper stated as he pulled out his handcuffs.
“But, but its right there,” he argued as he felt the cold metal of the cuffs clinched around his wrists.
Was it guilt that drove Jason to see the bloodstain, a figment of his imagination or subconscious trying to get him to come clean? Perhaps, it was his late wife coming through to force him to confess.
