(I was once given a project. I could either write a prelude or an epilogue for Kate Chopin’s “The Story of an Hour”. I chose the latter).
“Free! Body and soul free,” the jeering shadow raised her hands of smokeless fire and clapped, “Pathetic” as infant whimpers foreign to wedlock echoed.
“Please, grant me surcease!” Louise knelt in plea, disregarding the sobbing image of her spawn. “Have I not suffered enough?”
Darkness descended from her high throne more somber than wont, hissing putrescence with scorn, “You are rather keen on leaving your child alone.”
Louise awoke in a sharp cry; her nails clawed onto her chest. Her husband sprang to her side, yet the femina kicked his head and ran kitchenwise. Josephine, who saw her hurry with frenzy eyes, almost gave into a panic aghast whilst Richards froze and lost his balance at once.
Hours transpired ere the denizens of the flesh stepped into the cookery, leaving stupefaction behind. Louise was far from sight, and the house was the embodiment of silence in an eldritch midnight.
“Surely, she will come back,” Mr. Mallard tensely smiled, “or young Elijah will die.”
Mrs. Mallard joined supper with a can of glue and a doll in hand. “Say, Josephine, do I make myself ill or do I rejoice by surreptitious deliverance?”
Josephine was frightened by what laid beneath her kin’s fathomless eyes. Meeting her sister with no more than an answerless mouth and a perturbed glance drove Louise to plunge the doll in the can; Josephine gasped for air and died.
“Murdering a child is a threat of the lowest kind,” spat the revenant at her spouse. Mr. Mallard rubified as though a bull in fight, burying a kitchen knife through Richards’ neck ere confronting his wife. Louise pulled her partner’s clay figurine from under her dress and broke his leg to chant, “My darkest side, accept my tormentor as sacrifice; deliver me from this sorrowful plight!”
Darkness forthwith took command, and two-way Louise tore her husband apart with her bare hands as she freely laughed.