There should be something.
Something because nothing isn’t going to cut it for me.
I guess if I had looked closer I could have seen the blinds in the front window weren’t in their normal order.
Or in the window.
The first clue, sort of, was that the front door was blocked by the rug that normally sits on the floor inside the front door. Its job is to catch dirt, not keep me out of my house.
The head on the floor to my right shouldn’t have been there.
The headless body to the left was even more of a shock.
It didn’t get better. The farther I went in to the house, the worse it got.
Perhaps I should have dialed 911, or 1-800-COMECATCHTHEDEVIL, but my son said he had everything under control.
Thank the good Lord for sons.
His first words were, “It looks like a bomb went off in the house.”
That said a lot considering we didn’t live in a war zone. Well, not in what most people consider a war zone.
He said there were bombs in what used to be the home office. The floors were wet. The window blinds were shredded. He had located the head but couldn’t find what had been decapitated.
My son knows my tendency to have conniption fits. He was warding one off with rags in hand, spray cleaners, mop buckets, and a margarita in hand.
By the time I entered the scene of the crime it was mild. The blinds were re-hung, though they were now in shreds. The floor came with a warning – shiny spots are slick. The office door was closed for fumigation. I was warned to sit in the porch rocker and drink.
The decapitated head had been retrofitted to the torso and placed back in its place of honor, three feet higher than before.
The DevilInTheDogSuit was saved before I located her. That one face gave her a reprieve. She would, however, be spending her days outdoors until the exorcism.
From the life and mind of Wanda M. Argersinger
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