Mummy and Daddy were strange ducks. I thought the things they did to me were normal. Our house was a museum. Relics from famous murderers were their passion. The center of their collection was Lizzie Borden’s ax. It hung, shining brightly, over the mantelpiece. They also admired the fine collection of scars they placed on my body with their various instruments over the years.
When I finally escaped to college, I hid their scars under my clothing. I hid my screams within my mind.
When I returned, with a degree in drama, the first thing I saw when I walked through the door was the ax in its proper place over the fire. Later, after their twittering welcome home, I told them I was tired from the train ride and went upstairs. After the house grew quiet with sleep, I went to work with Chekhov’s Rule singing in my head.. I did change the script slightly. Mummy was much fatter than Daddy so she got the forty-one whacks and he the forty.
There is no act three.
AJ Hayes lives in Southern California and finds it a fertile field
for all things weird, wonderful and just plain out WTF.