The headlights skimmed over an ugly pile of fur, hooves and entrails heaped next to her rusted rural mailbox. The unexpected sight popped up lifelessly from the unlit road’s darkness, hurling her back into a heightened state of apprehension.   She was assured by the county sheriff's police that the headless, gutted deer would be removed by dawn. By then, the overtly violent message had settled deep into a still sickened place. The gory scene revived her fears, completely overwhelming a brief interval of restfulness. Someone had been offended.

There was never a shortage of single men to date if that was the goal. Wrapped tightly in the transitory trappings of the wedding world, she remained exposed in her deep desire to settle down. Keeping this fact sufficiently below the surface was mandatory but complicated. It was easy to scare off those sniffing around in hopes of creating their own segment in the scandalous series of suitors. It was unlikely that a lover had been offended. 

She lived alone in an isolated brick bungalow built in the 40’s with drafty windows and little insulation. Situated at the top of a windy hill, on a rural stretch three miles out of town, the approach from behind was a safe expanse of marshy meadow and a wooded copse with a seasonal creek in the front. Her nearest neighbors to the west were old, private and polite.  

The other neighboring parcel was a little further away and housed a creepy civil engineer and his silent beat-up-looking wife. The bridal shop owner slept with a metal bat under her bed.  This weathered item was prized as a fortuitous recovery from her damp crawl space. Although she had chosen to live in solitude, she remained uncomfortable. Too many had been offended. 

Peacefulness eluded her in her drafty, wind-rattled home. Very little sleep occurred without interruption by weather, motors or headlights. Ever-vigilance forced her daily use of the front bedroom. No advantage could be gained if sight of the property’s entrance was lost.  

One fitful night some time later, restless in her bed, her brother came to her. Her heart leapt at the opportunity to see him. Even in the dreamscape she knew his visit was a gift to her still-grieving soul. He told her he had a message that would be hard for her to hear.  Sorrow welled in her heart as she sensed the meaning before learning the words. There would be two more deaths.  Wake up now, the offended are here. 

Her right arm slashed out at the whitish form that had ordered her out of her vision. Upon forcing open her eyes from a sleep state that included some awareness of herself as a dreaming person, she realized that this was not the first time she has had this dream. She learned the message but was quickly forced to take action. 

The white light re-formed into two bright headlights attached to a noisy pickup truck in the driveway. She rolled out of bed onto the floor, grabbed the security bat, the portable phone and crawled to the window. Unsure about calling 911, she hesitated. It would take well over a half hour for the county police to travel across town to her home. By then, they would arrive too late to help her.  

Instantly, she knew her action plan was by necessity in her own hands.  Could she handle whatever had been intended to happen? If not, and she survived, did she want to allow the vulnerability of her isolation to become public knowledge? What were these men with caps planning for her? How offended were they? 

She accidentally shook the blind as she lifted one blade for a better view. The parked men took notice and visibly shifted erect in their seats. Her fingers roamed the unlit phone pad to find the correct numbers. She needed to convey an urgent sense of pending violence. Perhaps with the right words county politics could be overcome so the city police, who were minutes away, might be summoned to save her?  

The knowledge that she was awake at the window must have staved off some of their desire. The truck was put in reverse and sped off. She could not see the license plate in that piercing light. Perhaps just as well not to report the incident. The light message poured back into her consciousness. She prayed for understanding. 

Within two weeks, her rarely seen brother-in-law came to the bridal shop to tell her that her youngest sister had been murdered in Chicago. She had been strangled by an estranged lover, a mad man with a diary full of violent sketches that the police found later in his apartment. He was known to possess a broken psyche that forced his wealthy Moroccan parents to exile him to the United States. His fractured mind prodded him to beat his mother and stab his brother. Although they survived, his next victim, her sister, bore the brunt of his unfocused anger. 

Two years later, her only brother-in-law dropped dead in his bedroom from a massive heart attack. Just as her brother foretold, there were two more sudden deaths in the family. In five years, three siblings were lost. Two nieces and two nephews were left without a father. Her remaining sister chose to subdue her demons with drugs and drink. The weakened woman self-medicated her sorrow in solitude with frequent and massive doses of alcohol.  

The grieving parents were inconsolable, yet showed amazing resilience without resorting to chemicals to suppress their recent experiences.  The fractured family talked little about the deaths. It was too much both to endure the pain as well as to consciously acknowledge the extreme emptiness experienced in their multiple losses. 

 The previous synchronicity of her brother’s warning served as no small comfort. Waking her from sleep to alert her of troubles both future and immediate, suggested a cosmic connectedness that exists in life strongly enough to survive death. Some peace was offered in knowing that her family lived on, as evidenced by her brother serving as guardian angel to them.  

The fact remained, however, that the bridal shop owner’s solitude was magnified by living alone as she worked through her deep sorrow. She had suffered too much loss with little gain realized except for one small bit of relief. Since they never returned, she believed that the offended had been satisfied.

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 Inspired by Sandra Miller &  Gary Justis , Encouraged by Old Gold

Dedicated to:

Edward (1959-1989),  Jacqueline (1965-1992), &  Terry (1959-1994)