Books of the Dead Read Free

couple sitting on one of the park benches, and to her left, someone sat alone like her. She strained her eyes towards the individual sitting on the furthest corner of the park bench and noticed it was Andrew Stevenson, Mr. Stevenson’s 26 year old son, who was a little slow, ran small errands for the university campus. His mother took care of him most of the time. The entire family stayed in staff quarters on campus, along with their dog, Miu. Merly noticed Miu walking up to his master. They must have come here for a walk , she said to herself as she sat on the bench.
    Her face was illuminated by the soft light of the moonlight. Miu was hopping gleefully around her master and occasionally paused to lick his feet. Merly smiled at the dog’s antics. Miu barked loudly a few times. Merly found Mrs. Stevenson walking towards the park looking for her son. She saw a slight interaction between mother and son and they then walked off together.
    Merly had noticed Mrs. Stevenson a couple of times on the campus, but today she practically reminded her of her former neighbor, Mrs. Nigela, in her old town of Anacoco, Louisiana. The quaint little town was beautiful. Merly’s house overlooked a small lake, and just beside their family home was Mrs. Nigela’s house. Peaceful and quiet, Merly used to spend most of her time sitting on her neighbor’s porch while her mother did chores.
    Mrs. Nigela was in her seventies, and her husband had died a few years ago. Her children lived in the city. Merly remembered exploring her house and asking questions. At that age, she always wondered if the old woman ever got bored living all alone; however, at this age, she realized staying alone was not all that bad. Her neighbor had all sorts of stories to tell, and Merly loved listening to them. They were fairy tales of mysteries, stories about lost lands and victories, about knights in shining armor, brave queens who fought for their land to revenge seeking ghosts and naughty trolls, and Merly was intensely intrigued by them. Sometimes she wanted to fight one of the characters, and another time, she wanted to be one of them. Merly urged Mrs. Nigela to repeat her stories and as kind as Mrs. Nigela was, she always used to comply with the little girl’s demands.
    Mrs. Nigela lovingly called her Merly, and Merly was not just fond of her stories, but of the dear lady herself. Every weekend, Merly used to look forward to Mrs. Nigela’s freshly baked cinnamon apple pies and walnut cookies; they were her favorites. Merly recalled how they used to travel to the town market to buy supplies and how much fun they had while cooking them. Mrs. Nigela was like a grandmother Merly missed having.
    Mrs. Nigela was smart, witty and funny, and taught Merly how to be brave and carefree. Then one winter, Merly and her family were out on vacation in Chicago visiting relatives. Merly was 16. When she came back home, she ran towards Mrs. Nigela’s house to greet her. However, instead of her welcoming arms right on the porch, she found five policemen standing grimly. Horrified, she ran up there, but the policemen prevented her from going in stating that it was a crime scene.
    “You can’t go in there. Someone has been murdered here,” one of the policeman said.
    Merly looked backed at her father with disbelief in her eyes. She could feel her legs melting. “But it is not possible,“ Merly cried out loud.
    “Ma’am, are you related to the victim?” the gruff-looking policeman inquired.
    Merly was too petrified to answer. She stood frozen on the ground. Her father walked up to the policemen and said, “She was our neighbor, and my daughter loved her a lot.”
    “Sir, it looks like she was murdered last night,” said the policeman. “You need to come with us to the police station for some routine questions,” he added.
    Merly was tormented from that day forward, and she became reserved and distressed. There was no theft at Mrs. Nigela’s house. Merly could not deal