Author Note: Here is a small story. Originally, I had to do it for school but I decided to rewrite it and post it here. It is based on Roald Dahl's story Lamb to the Slaughter and on Alfred Hitchcock's readaptation.
Disclaimer: Mary and Patrick Maloney belong to Roald Dahl.
I will tell you a strange story of mine, but first, let me introduce myself.
I am Kate Maloney, aged 25. I never knew my father Patrick Maloney because he was murdered before my birth. My mother, Mary Maloney, told me she found him dead after going back home. This fateful night, they were supposed to go out for dinner but my father was tired so my mother decided to cook a leg of lamb instead. However, she was out of vegetables and she decided to go to the grocer's. When she came back, she found his body on the floor. She was so desperate, she decided to call the police. The policemen, who were also my father's colleagues, tried to calm her down and started to investigate. They found out that my father had been killed by a blow on the back of his head with a heavy blunt instrument, perhaps a steel club or a sledgehammer. But they never found the weapon or the culprit.
Now, you are probably wondering why I am telling you all this. You will see that this is not unrelated to the story you are about to read.
One day, I was at my best friend's place. It was raining outside so my friend, Eva Coleman, and me decided to watch TV. They were airing one of Hitchcock's film, Lamb to the Slaughter. I had a very strange impression when I watched this film. The story was almost the same as my mother's. What was the most disturbing, is that the characters' names were the same as my parents'.
When the film ended, I told Eva that I wasn't well and that I wanted to go back home.
«I can drive you home if you want. You can get your car back tomorrow», she said.
«No, I'll be alright. My home is not too far», I said.
«OK, bye. Make sure you rest well».
I walked down the corridor and went to the front of Eva's house where my car was parked. It was still pouring so I had to open my umbrella. As I opened my car's door, I remembered that Eva told me Hitchcock's film was inspired by a short story written by Roald Dahl. It had the same title as the film. Before going back home, I decided tostop at the library to read it.
I went to search for the book in the aisles and found it easily. Then, I opened the book and saw that there was three other stories but the one that interested me was the first. I decided it would be better if I read it here. I made my way to one of the library's table and sat down.
I opened the book and started to read it. The story was slightly different. It made me wonder if my father wanted to divorce my mother before my birth and why. But my mother never mentionned anything like that and it was ridiculous to think the story had anything to do with the mysterious death of my father. Even if the names in the story were the same, everything was fictional. There was no way the author could have known something like that. Maybe he discovered it while he was reading the papers 25 years ago and he decided to make a story of it. Yeah, that must be it. There couldn't be any other rational explanation.
I put the book back in its shelf and I went back to my car.
Back to my appartment, I made myself some coffee and I sat on the couch with the mug. I was about to take a sip, when the phone rang. I put the mug down and ran to the phone to answer it.
I picked up the phone: «Hello».
«Hi, Kate», a familiar voice said. «It's your mom».
«Hi, what's up?»
«I just wanted to know if you were coming to eat dinner at my house tomorrow night», my mother said. «Last time I asked, you said you didn't know if you could free yourself ».
«Er, well... I think I will be able to come».
«OK. I'll see you at eight then. Good bye, dear».
«Good bye», I said before hanging up.
I went in the kitchen to prepare dinner for tonight. While I was cooking, I wondered if my mother had already read Roald Dahl's story and if she had seen Hitchcock's film. I would ask her tomorrow night.
XxXxXxX
I was at my mother's door. It was already dark but it still wasn't eight. There were at least twelve minutes left. However, I didn't think my mother would mind. I rang the bell.
«Come in», my mother answered.
I opened the door and I saw my mother smiling at me.
«Hello mom», I said.
«Hello, dear», my mother said as she took my coat and put it in the closet. «You're early».
«I thought it would make you happy», I replied.
«But it does», she said smiling. «Come in the dining room. The leg of lamb is almost ready».
«You're making lamb... That reminds me of a film inspired from a story of Roald Dahl», I said.
«What story was it?», my mother asked.
«Lamb to the Slaughter», I replied.
«Oh, yes. I remember that story. It was years ago when I read it», she said. Her face seemed to show no emotions but her eyes betrayed a hint of worry.
«Well, don't you think it's like my father's mysterious death? The names and everything else?», I asked.
«Yes, but you know, it means nothing».
«Of course, but it's still disturbing».
My mother didn't answer so we went to the dining room without saying a word to each other. We started to eat. I wanted to start a conversation with my mother but I could see that something was wrong with her. She had her eyes bent on her food and she seemed to be in her thoughts. Then she began to drink a glass of wine and two others followed right after that. That creeped me out. My mother never drank more than one glass of wine per day.
«I can't live with this secret anymore», she suddenly said.
«What?», I said surprised.
«I can't take it anymore! It was me!», she screamed.
I watched her like she was crazy but said nothing. She took a drink and continued with a sob in her voice: «Everything is true, I... I killed your father. He wanted to divorce me».
«Mom!», I said distraught.
«I know what you're thinking. It doesn't make any sense. It was the night of your father's funeral. I went in a bar, alone. And... and you know how I get drunk pretty fast. There was this guy. He knew that something about me wasn't right. He was very nice to me, so... so we started to talk and I don't know when, but I told him everything. You know who was this man?».
I remained speechless.
«Roald Dahl».
Author Note: I hope you enjoy it. Tell me what you think about it.