Tattletale

I read ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ and, inspired, beat my housemate to death with a cricket bat.

I buried him beneath the floorboards, and waited.

But there was no sound. No badump badump betraying my guilt. When eventually he began to smell, I threw his parts into the river.

I was too late. The house smelled of decay, no matter how much I scrubbed.

The new tenants, when I could stand it no more, didn’t seem to mind.

I’ve had 5 houses since. In every one, the stench rises from the floor, and I find my gaze drawn to the river.