The Enemy Within
by
A. L. Walsh
She looked at the weapon in her hand, almost with amazement. She’d done it now. She’d killed him. For days, she’d fought the rage that was building up in her. He hadn’t helped. He had just sat there, staring at her, glaring at her. Not moving but following her every move with his beady eyes. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t move. He could be surprisingly swift when he wanted to be, those long legs of his well able to cover distance. But, no, he would sit there, watching, waiting for her to make a mistake. So, he was asking for it, wasn’t he?
She’d thought a lot about method. She could whack him over the head, poison him, throw a heavy object at him, starve him. No, that’d take far too long. A knife, or maybe a hammer? No, a long, heavy blade, that’s what she needed. She’d creep slowly up behind him and stab, stab, stab!
She wasn’t by nature a violent woman. In fact, most thought of her as a calm presence. A placid individual who took life as it came, never prone to getting too excited, to going overboard. But she had a few buttons which, if pushed, unleashed a creature even she didn’t recognise. A wild beast whose survival depended on the death of others. How could she go from a relaxed, sitting-on-a-sofa, reading-a-nice-novel sort of person to a knife-wielding murderer? A serial killer? An assassin? No words were needed to bring about that dramatic change. Just a look. A glance. A sudden realisation that the atmosphere in the room had changed. She could be watching a favourite programme on TV and, suddenly, without warning, her heart would start thumping, her muscles would tense up. She’d start to perspire, to shake. She’d stare at her target, her next victim, sitting beside her, unaware of what was to come. And wham! It would be all over in a matter of seconds.
Friends had told her she needed help, professional help. In her heart of hearts, she knew they were right. How could she ever live with anyone long-term when she was prone to such outbursts? Who could live with such instability, such ever-present danger? She was destined to be alone forever unless she could ‘get a grip’, as it was so nicely put by those few people who knew her darkest secret.
Easier said than done. She had tried often to ‘get a grip’. She had tried to control the adrenaline rush, the over-whelming urge to kill that overtook her so many times. She had tried leaving the room, the house even, to run away from her anxiety. But, she always had to return, to the scene of the crime, the future crime. She wondered if many criminals did the same. She knew they were often known to return after the act but what about before? Casing the joint, she supposed, was the official term. Yes, she’d often cased the joint. Plotting and planning her modus operandi: the weapon, the timing, the alibi, the aftermath.
She wasn’t proud of herself. Indeed, she was deeply ashamed. She believed in life, in free speech, in living and let living. Her victims, if she thought about it, had never really harmed her. It was their silence, their unpredictability and their self-sufficiency that bothered her most. She considered herself almost an eco-warrior, defending the environment and, yet, hearing herself speak of the precariousness of the planet, of climate change, of ozones and the like, she could also hear a little voice inside her shout: Hypocrite!
She was a hypocrite. No denying it. She knew that life was precious, precarious, short but here she was one more time, weapon in hand and a dead body in the sitting room. She’d have to go and dispose of the evidence sooner or later. That should have become easier over the years but, in fact, the clean-up was almost as bad as carrying out the deed itself. Right then. Nothing for it. She’d have to do it now before any witnesses appeared on the scene. Her flatmate was due home any moment and she just couldn’t face the inevitable look of judgment on her face. Not again!
Quickly, she gathered together the tools she’d need for the disposal and tiptoed from the kitchen to the sitting room. If anyone asked, she couldn’t have explained exactly why she felt the need to be so quiet. After all, she was alone in the house, now. Dead bodies can’t hear you, can they? She opened the door slowly, carefully. He’d be lying in the middle of the room. He wasn’t all that large. And, anyway, death made them look smaller, more vulnerable. She always felt sorry when she saw how defenceless they looked. Now that the violence had been done, she felt drained, totally exhausted. Being so irrational, so illogical, so emotional made her feel angry with herself. If only she could be like everyone else!
She was in the room now but … No! The body wasn’t where she’d left it! He had vanished! Oh no! All she’d done was make him angry. He’d be ready for her now. Alert. Enraged. Oh why had she left the knife in the kitchen! She was defenceless, helpless, at his mercy. She should run. Run now! Run away while she could. But she was paralysed. Paralysed with fear and foreboding. He could be right behind her and she’d not be able to defend herself. Slowly, fearfully, she turned, scanning her surroundings all the while.
Yes! There! There he was! Watching her, facing her. Ready to pounce, her enemy was right in front of her. He was standing between her and the door. She couldn’t get out! She was trapped! She felt herself suffocate, unable to breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She’d die right here, right now. It was all over.
A rattling sound came from outside. A key in the front door. A voice in the hallway called out.
“Anyone home?”
“In here. Come quickly. Hurry!”
“What’s wrong?”
She pointed, her finger trembling.
“There, look.”
Her flatmate looked and… laughed.
“Not again! Honestly, when will you get a grip?”
Her friend bent down and, almost with affection, she picked up the cause of so much fear.
“It’s only little. Just a little one. Couldn’t harm a fly! Well, actually, that’s not really true. I’m sure it has harmed a few flies in its time.”
With that, the little spider was carried from the room and placed gently outside in the garden where it scurried off into the night, relieved to escape the crazy lady, his enemy within.