No Crown

By Damon Fillman

As featured on Microhorror.com

damonfillman.com

No Crown

I prepared the bed, tucking in the sheets in a way that my wife adored. I kept our bedroom dark and quiet, just as she asked. She tugged at my shoulder.

“Is everything ready?” she inquired.

“As ready as it will ever be.”

“And I won’t feel a thing?”

“Nothing you haven’t felt before, sweetie,” I replied smoothly.

I assured her it was the only option, in case she felt it necessary to turn back. I handed her a drink laced with her favorite sedative. She mixed it with her pinkie, like always, and teased me that it was too warm.

“Three ice cubes will do the trick,” she said with a slight, eager smile.

“Be right back.”

I took two steps forward and found myself hugging the carpet. My wife’s slender feet blocked the path. I shrugged it off as a joke.

“Very funny, sweetie. I could’ve gotten hurt, you know that, right?”

She pulled out a cleaver from under the bed. We use it every time we go through this. It’s just easier to bury limbs.

“Not this time, asshole. I want my child. And I’ll die before you take another one from me!”

She swung the cleaver at me, nipping my face. I reacted like a broker pitching a pyramid scheme. I knew nothing would convince her this time.

“Listen, don’t be stupid. How many of your children are buried in the backyard? You think the police won’t find them? You think your parents won’t mind? We need to lay low. If we bring attention to this household we’re as good as dead!”

“I don’t care what you think!” she yelled. She pressed her palms on her bloated belly. “I want this child!”

“Well, you can’t!” I screamed.

I got off the floor and ran to the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife I could find. She was too slow to catch me. She started screaming my name in agony, the type of agony that stems from childbirth.

I waved the knife in my wife’s face. If my temperament couldn’t convince her of my opposition to this child, then a knife would. Her anemic state left her unable to grip the cleaver. It dropped to the floor.

I positioned the tip of the knife on the center of my wife’s stomach. Before I could pierce it, I heard a man’s voice.

“Freeze!” he said.

Guilty ones freeze, and I’m glad my wife ceased to move with me.