Short Story Of Maribelle's Murder

Sarah loved her brother dearly. He was in her mind and thoughts most hours of every day. She so desperately wanted to get back to the apartment where that she could find him alive. She was only too late. His body reeked and had a terrible stench. Edouard Tezac said, “There was this smell...The smell of something rotten, putrid. Then my father slowly

The fresh morning air was cool against my face. Father had been gone for a while now, he had been called by his work for some “serious business.” As my sister Aliah, and I played in the pond by our 2 story house, we heard a faint muttering of Father’s pick-up.

The carriage clattered over the rough road, and there were moments when Abigail felt the conveyance tilt upon its wheels, sending her toward the side with her mother's scant weight pressing upon her in grim reminder of how little the frail, ill woman could withstand the rigors of such a journey. Her fingers in Abigail's hand were cold, hardly more than winter twigs. She could feel the fear inside with them, an invisible fog that sapped heat and set her teeth to chattering, despite the warmth of the air.

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

She then made the following statements on why she thought someone had killed her father:

her father committed suicide. It was disclosed in her trial that Smith was molested in her teens by

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

He explained to her, “I am just a messenger, only saying everything that I need to know. Did you seriously think that your parents’ deaths would go unnoticed? Has your Opa, Martin, even told you what your parents’ occupations were this entire

I rose from my nap, it was early evening and a light sprinkle fell. As I showered, I thought about Dad his stories. His inability to distinguish between his homeland and his childhood home seemed strange to me. In that sense he was the opposite of Samuel.

wind. It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be

Memories of a night smelling of freshly fallen rain, the sound of infants’ crying, and the feel of wind whipping about her and pain slicing through her body.

Grandmother eyes were opened wide. “Claire, I’m only going to tell you my opinion on your father because your

I woke suddenly as the cool morning air bit at my face, telling me it was nearly morning and another day had begun. I am seventeen today which means that today will be the day I ask Alma’s parents if they’ll allow us to have a courtship. That was the only thing on my mind when I heard my father calling me, knowing we needed to eat before we left on a hunt.

Touched by fading moonlight, the girl looked pale as a ghost, distressed and sorrowful. Great drops fell from her eyes; the heavy rain clouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature. She felt the muscle of her chin trembled like a small child, again, she looked toward the window as if the darkness outside could soothe her. However, she tried to keep her sobbing down by biting her lips, afraid the woman would “visit” again. Meanwhile, in the hallway, there was only deadly silence, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness.

The sky was a grey colour, almost smoke as I walked the cold and wet trip home to the castle. A storm was coming in. As I entered the doorway into the castle, I thought about my mother. She worked for the palace, like me. She was always whistling a sweet tune. So I’ve been told. I