The Marigold Murders

Something unexpected followed. He was tossed halfway across the room, landed on his rear end and was free of its crushing grip. 

Fighting off pain, the Lieutenant stood up to face his assailant. A nothing of light filtered in from the hallway. He could guess the contours of its body with its arms held out in an attack position. It was quite an intimidating obstacle blocking the doorway. He prepared himself for what he sensed was going to be a major assault against his comparatively small body. His eye caught a barely visible ray of light emanating from what probably was a drape-covered window right behind him. He inched back less than a foot, then, with an aggravating tone addressed himself to the thing, “Marigolds, marigolds! I hate marigolds! Do you hear me you degenerate freak?”

It charged with surprising speed.

The Lieutenant hit the floor as fast and flat as he could. His attacker zipped right over him, through the drapes and crashed into and flew out of the window with the intensity of a moving locomotive. Next thing he knew, he was standing in the middle of a large room painted entirely in red. Five black cribs hugged the walls. He really began to wonder what kind of a mess he had landed in.

Brunnehilde was surely not too far behind. He raced for the door, found his piece in the hallway and proceeded in the direction of the staircase. He heard voices coming from downstairs. Couldn’t make much sense of what was being said. He had to get out of there alive without shooting anyone.

By some miracle the Lieutenant recalled looking at the front of the house from the driveway and noticing the last window on the right being close to a rain gutter. The voices were now climbing up the stairs. He turned around and ran into the hallway. He reached the fifth and last room on the right. The door was ajar. He pointed his revolver ahead of him and kicked the door open. An empty room. He rushed for the window. The voices were nearing. His heartbeat quickened. He unlocked the window. The icy gutter was less than two feet away. He stretched his body outward holding onto the window frame with his left hand while grabbing the gutter with his right hand.               

A deep breath. He let go of the window and slid down the gutter with the ungraceful moves of an amateur stunt man. He slammed the ground with quite an impact. A fast look to his left. The thing wasn’t lying where it should have been. It must have survived the fall. He heard voices above him. Ms. Lipa was leaning out of the window. They saw each other. “I warned you?” she screamed.

The Lieutenant raced for his truck. He jumped in, almost slamming the door onto his left foot. The engine started without a tease. He shifted into drive and checked the rearview mirror. The thing was gaining ground. The spinning of his wheels left a trail of snow dust in the cold afternoon air. He wondered out loud, “Now, how do I explain all this to Uncle Joe?”