FICTION — HALLOWEEN MONTH

Photo Prompt 1 - The Haunting

What happens when the perfect wife isn’t so perfect?

Betty woke up at exactly six every morning and dressed to perfection. She put on her eyeliner and pinched her cheeks. She meticulously placed each curl in her chestnut brown hair. She put on the perfect dress with a perfect bow and smoothed out the wrinkles.

She aired out the bed and opened the blinds and curtains. Bacon, eggs, toast and fried potatoes, every morning. Then she’d send her husband off and clean the kitchen. She was the perfect homemaker. Everyone said so. Even Connie down the street. And, if she said it, you knew it was true.

Every week the same routine.

· Monday- the grocer, the butcher and meal planning

· Tuesday- laundry and linens

· Wednesday- bedrooms and bathrooms

· Thursday- the living rooms

· Friday- defrost the fridge, dining room and halls

Each and every day she’d dust where no dust had settled.

But one day, Betty started to unravel. It was hardly noticeable at first. Only a discerning eye could tell. There was a curl out of place, an eyelash out of line, and lipstick in just the wrong shade.

But it rapidly progressed. Until one day, Betty was caught at the grocer wearing mismatched shoes. The next, she showed up at the Butcher in her house coat.

After one year had passed, six am rolled around and Betty didn’t get out of bed. The blinds were now permanently shut. There was no breakfast to be had, the kitchen was in disarray. The banister went unpolished and dust began to gather. The whole street was talking about it. Especially Connie. She made sure that everyone knew.

He tried talking to her. He scolded her. And, when that didn’t snap her out of it, he threatened her.

You see, Betty stopped wanting her perfect life and her perfect hair. He was at a loss. He was at his wit’s end. That type of thinking needed to be quashed right away. Betty was put on Mother’s Little Helper diazepam.

But that didn’t work and the childishness didn’t end. So, he packed her bag tightly and sent her off to the Asylum. Betty didn’t fuss or argue. Instead, she joined the perfectly neat row of beautiful doped-up housewives knitting away.

No one knows exactly what happened, but one year, to the day, Betty passed away. You see, Betty was now able to live her life as she pleased. Haunting her husband Henry to his dying day.

Thank you for reading my story. I’d love to hear your opinions.

I am a writer and an editor. I mainly edit Fiction, and I specialize in Romance. I write a little bit of everything, whatever is on my mind at the moment. My writing is greatly influenced by my past trauma, and I enjoy speaking openly and freely about my mental health diagnoses. You can follow me here.

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