More Deadly Than The Male
(Continuation of Constance Hatchaways backstory . How Constace became a very wealthy woman. The Haunted Mansion, and its characters..except for Doctor Shrike, are owned by Disney. )
Fresh from her bath, Constance stood at the attic window, surveying her inheritance. A cool breeze danced over her warm, moist skin, making her shiver with delight. She smiled over at the five hatboxes neatly stacked aginst the wall. She didn't mind them seeing her in her current state of undress..let the dear things enjoy.
Each and every husband had begged, cajoled, and threatened in order to assert their marital rights, and she had adamantly refused..but things were different now..
She sauntered over to the newest hatbox, kissed her fingertips, and pressed them to the lid. "Are you happy now, George? I know I am," she smiled softly.
A slight noise from within the box gave her a start, and she smoothed her hand over its entirety. "Can't have any rats bothering you, George. Don't worry my Darling, I'll take care of you."
It had taken quite a lot to ' take care of' her last husband. George had been an amiable, generous man..until he discovered that they'd always be sleeping in separate beds. Then, sweet, generous George turned off the money tap.. a fatal mistake when dealing with Constance.
His last night on Earth was a memorable one..Constance had directed the butler to ply him with bourbon, then, after the servants had retired, she had entered the room, hair down, wearing nothing but a mischevious grin.
Dear, dear, George..the look of rapturous delight that had spread over his flushed face.. He'd opened wide his arms, and leaned forward, attempting to stand. "No, don't get up, Dear," she murmured.
"I don't think I can..bit dizzy," George had said, his face in his hands. George has been a big man, looking back, Constance had been greatful that he'd hunched over.. made things a lot easier.
He hadn't fought.. the first chop had sent him crumpling to the floor . Dear George, once again so accommodating. The first blow killed him..it was separating the head from that thick neck that had taken forever. There was a tap at the french doors, and she'd hastily covered herself with a small throw, before letting Doctor Shrike in to deal with the rest of the body.
Shrike..that damned, lascivious, moneygrubber, she shivered, returning to the present . He'd told her he'd seen her groundskeeper running away, but said not to worry..he'd deal with it. "Put yourself in my hands," he had grinned, making a show of admiring her breasts. She shivered at the remembrance of that nasty, familiar smile.. like stepping on a slug in ones bare feet. Constance had decided that George would be her final husband.
And with that, Doctor Shrike had outlived his usefulness.