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The Greenhouse Murders Part Two By: L.M. Mercer

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The Greenhouse Murders
Part 2
By: L.M. Mercer


(Editor's Note: If you have not yet read "Part One", please go to the Horror Archive and read that story, first. Thank you, TDS.)

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Early the next morning, Justin and Susan were awakened by a rather impatient rapping on the front door. “All States Moving Company. We got your stuff. Open up,” a gruff voice shouted from outside.

“I guess when they say ‘early morning deliveries,’ they mean early morning deliveries,” Justin commented as he stood up from where they had slept on the floor. “Just a minute, I’m coming. Stop banging on the damn door,” he yelled toward the front door while pulling up his jeans.

Justin stretched and scratched his upper back as he crossed the room. Putting his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, he opened the front door and commented to the burly man in overalls, “You trying to wake the dead with all that racket?”

“Just want to get this started so we can finish. We have to drive back to the city tonight,” the man replied, while searching the papers secured to his clipboard. “I have a delivery for the Anders. You them?”

“Yes. Justin Anders.”

“Good. Put your John Hancock on line nineteen and we’ll get this truck unloaded.” He thrust the metal clipboard at Justin, along with a ballpoint pen with a topless dancer on it.

“Nice pen,” Justin stated with disdain, after signing his name on the form.

“Yeah, I picked it up at ‘Angels of Hell,’ a strip joint in Jersey.” Over his shoulder he yelled to his co-workers, “Chuck, Bob, Gus. Okay boys, let’s get this guy’s stuff unloaded.” Turning back to Justin he asked hopefully, “Do you know where you want it or are we just unloading it all in the front room?”

“Hey Susan,” Justin called into the house. “Did you decide if the bedroom is going upstairs or down?”

“Up,” her answer came from within.

Turning back to face him, Justin looked at his name tag and said, “Joe, looks like we know where everything is going.” Joe turned with a frown and stomped his feet as he walked toward the truck.

Moments later Susan emerged from the house dressed in fresh clothes with her briefcase strap over one shoulder and her purse over the other. She walked over to join Justin, who was giving instructions to the movers. “Justin, if you can handle this, I’m gonna drive into town this morning and do some research. I’ll even pick up some nonperishable groceries before I come back.”

“Well, shore, mam,” Justin replied in a voice he had forced into a deeper octave, thrusting his thumbs into his belt loops. “The ‘boys’ and I have this all under control. Don’t you worry yer perty lil’ head about a thing.”

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About the Author

Even though she has been writing for some time, L. M. Mercer has never had her work viewed by the public at large. She had mainly used writing as a release for her stressful existence (never intending for others to read her poems), but was badgered into submitting some pieces by friend and coworker, Kevin Magnus, who told her to 'Stop wasting your talent'. While never admitting to him that she is very grateful for his badgering, she will henceforth share with us her talent, both lyrical and oft times somber, now that she is our newest contributor to the "World of Myth".
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