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


The Greenhouse Murders
Part 11
By: L.M. Mercer

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

A short time later, Susan was awakened by the chiming of a clock as it struck the hour. Glancing over at Justin, she saw that he had apparently not noticed the chime and was still asleep. Hearing fingers taping against wood, she turned and saw Emma’s spirit standing at the foot of the bed, smiling at her.

Raising her hand, Emma said, “Rise and come with me. I have much I wish to show you.”

Knowing that her ancestor would not allow any harm to come to her, Susan climbed out of bed without a second thought and followed Emma as she walked from the room. Behind her, Justin rolled over in the bed and began snoring, completely unnoticed by the women. Emma led the way into the parlour and moved over to the cardboard boxes containing the information Susan had collected the previous day.

Lifting the lid off the box, she smiled and said, “In order to fully understand the information contained within these boxes, I must show you some of the events described here.”

Susan watched as the spirit shifted though the documents of the first box and straightened holding the information from the 1930 deaths of Frank and Thelma Gehlt. Walking toward Susan, she said, “We will begin tonight’s journey with the first of these,” she waved her hand to encompass the boxes, “murdered couples.” Suddenly the room around them faded away and was replaced by a country farm house.

Susan looked around the quiet kitchen for a few moments before the backdoor rattled on its hinges and the doorknob shook viciously. The door was still for seconds then it rattled again. Overhead the sound of footsteps could be heard rushing around, Emma’s gaze followed the younger woman’s glance upward. “That is Thelma,” she said. “Right now she is gathering up her husband’s shotgun and sliding a single shell into the chamber.”

Behind them the door jiggled and rushing feet could be heard striking the stairs as Thelma ran towards the noise. At the same moment she entered the kitchen with the shotgun held before her, the backdoor swung open and Frank stepped inside.

Seeing his wife standing in front of him, armed, Frank yelled, “Thelma, it’s me!”

Thelma began to shake all over as she laughed hysterically and said, “I kept hearing strange noises down here. I was so scared.”

Cautious of his wife while she held the loaded shotgun in her present mental state, Frank held his hands out before him and spoke slowly, “Thelma, darling. I need you to lay the shotgun down.”

Thelma looked down at the shotgun, the expression on her face appeared as if she didn’t know what it was doing in her hand. Raising her glance to Frank’s face, she asked “Frank?”

Seeing that she was slowly coming out of her hysteria, he continued to speak in a slow calming voice, “Nice and easy, darling. I want you to lay it on the table.” When she moved toward the table a few steps, he continued, “That’s it, darling. Now lay it on the table, nice and slow.”

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About the Author

An avid reader from a young age, L.M. Mercer developed an addiction to books in her childhood that has intensified into an obsession that is getting more expensive by the day.

Although L.M. Mercer draws the inspiration for her poetry mostly from her life and those lives around her, her stories are influenced by her favorite authors. She draws on her love of the works of Edgar Alan Poe to add a touch of morose to her work and multiple romance novelists for that spark of romance.

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