“Laura, come to bed! What are you doing out there?”
Laura was doing nothing. Just drinking tea and looking out the window, humming to herself.
She had lost weight, grown taciturn, seemed sexless. Harold, confused, was getting on her last nerve.
Laura entered the bedroom. Harold, bald and boring, glared at her.
“What is wrong with you? Didn’t you hear me?”
*Oh yes, thought Laura. Thirty years of this marriage didn’t stop up my ears, just my mouth. And my heart.*
Laura opened the closet to hang up her robe. Inside, on a hanger, was a giant bat, its dull black wings wrapped tightly, hanging upside down. Laura shoved it aside, looking for a hanger for her robe. She got into bed and turned off the light.
The police looked at the carnage on the bed. Blood everywhere, a real massacre. Something was wrong, damned if they could figure it out. The wife, mute, had to be in shock. Weird, batty woman.
Laura, her gown bloody, drank her tea and looked out the window. Under the tree was a big dark man, standing with his arms wrapped around his chest. He looked up and nodded.
Laura smiled and winked.