Petunia: A Mytery Fiction

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I was helping a family member move into her new home, it was a fixer upper. One of those “Cheap” houses that you end up paying more money to fix it than the house is worth. My elderly mother bought the house as she was no longer able to climb the stairs to her bedroom. Due to her crippling age I felt as I was obligued to help her. My guilty conscience would have driven me mad if I hadn’t of helped her. It was getting dark out so when I got the call from her asking for help I hurried over as I assumed no other family member would help her out at this time of night. Her house was a fair bit further than I expected so by the time I got there It was already dark out. I saw the lights on inside and peeked at her on the phone, she appeared to be deep in conversation with the person on the other end. She then began packing away dishes in the kicthen from what I could tell. She glanced over to me and gave me a inviting smile. Gesturing for me to come in she unlocked the door and I entered the house. I was overwhelmed by the sickly sweet aroma of petunia oil. I assumed another elderly has lived there before my grandmother. My theory was reassured by the decor found throughout the home. Fine lace tableclothes where found throughout the home. One on the nightstand, one on the dining room table. I began counting as I made my way throughout the house. I had no idea why I felt compelled to do so. I never had Obssesive Compulsive Disorder, nor have I ever felt I had. I just felt
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