Chapter 12: Curiosity killed the Cat

There was a familiar feeling spreading once more through Appleby Street. This feeling was well-known for its unique results, and its ability to make all the residents anxious. This time was no different, when the Johnson's arrived on the street. Curiosity crept onto the street as the car drove along the cobbles. Curiosity seeped into the Houses, as the car stopped outside the local shop. Curious characters had arrived on the street, and nobody was preparing for what was to come…

The Johnson's were a private couple, who were very different both physically and mentally. Their twenty years of marriage had given them an insight into what made a marriage work, and they strongly believed in old-fashioned traditions.

Mr Sean Johnson was tall, well built, with a large, bald head, with small brown eyes. His skin was darkly tanned. He was originally from Africa, but had moved here twenty years ago to further his education. He had a strong, African accent and he pronounced every word perfectly. He wore a grey dinner-suit. He climbed out the car, and opened the door, to let out his wife.

Mrs Melissa Johnson was slim, with olive skin and white hair. She had a perfect smile, dark red lips. She had been born in England, but her parents were originally from Australia. She was fifty years old, but she didn't look it. Her husband helped her from the car, and the pair headed towards their new home.

"So this is it?" asked Melissa, who had a quiet voice, which was soothing and motherly.

Her husband looked indifferent. "Yes," he replied in his deep, African voice. "We now own this shop." he peered at the faded sign. "'Appleby Store'. Hm, how fitting." he commented.

"This better be worth the money it cost" Mrs Johnson replied coldly, and the couple stepped into their new home.

---

Emily sat in the kitchen, alone. She'd always felt alone since her best friend's death. But as she cradled Jay in her arms, she felt the world wasn't so lonely after all. Her maternal instincts were stronger than ever. She kissed Jay on the forehead.

Usually, she would wake up next to a handsome man she'd met the other night, and she would go to the kitchen to make herself a strong drink to forget last night.

However, this morning, she had woken up next to Dylan. It wasn't birds who woke her, but a hungry baby Jay. She had taken him downstairs, fed him, and rocked him to sleep. Emily felt more of a mother than she had ever felt. Pride filled her, her first accomplishment worthy of notice.

The kitchen door swung open and Dylan entered the kitchen. "Emily?" he wondered aloud, confused.

"Yes?" she replied.
"About last night…" Dylan trailed off.

"I know. I want to make this marriage work, too." Emily said soothingly.

"That's…great!" Dylan said, grinning.
"Yes…yes it is." Emily replied.

---

Matt woke up. He didn't know what had caused an abrupt end to his dreams, when he remembered where he was.

Matt was in Charlene's bedroom. He hadn't realised this until now. And with the light on, he was shocked at what he saw.

Pictures of his wife were everywhere. Photos of Amy Bourne covered the walls. Why did Charlene have all these images? Surely his haunting dreams of his ex-wife were enough, that he didn't need reminding of her during his waking hours.

"Morning, Matthew" Charlene said, and he noticed she was wearing a familiar blue dress, with flowers sewn around the hem.

"I hope you slept well," she continued, putting a tray of cereal, toast and eggs before Matt.

"What are…all these pictures?" he asked, but Charlene merely shook her head and handed him a drink. "Here, drink this." she said, and he did.

His eyesight instantly began to blur.
"What's…going on?" he said, his words slurring. She'd drugged his drink! He reached out to get her, when he fell back to sleep, a prisoner in his own mind.

---

Florence Smith woke up alone, as usual. Her husband's death may have shaken her, but she still had control.

But this morning was different. She couldn't remember last night. Her sheets were stained with blood. And scratched into the door were two words.
"I know."

Florence gasped. What did this mean? She climbed out of bed and saw a picture of Sam beneath the writing.

If this had been a week ago, Florence would have broken down sobbing. But her newfound confidence gave her strength to solider on.

She pulled the sheets from her bed, and ran to the bathroom. She disposed of the sheets in the washing basket and set about washing her hands and face from blood. She watched the water turn red as it poured down the drain.

Regaining her composure, Florence picked up the washing basket and ran downstairs. She opened the kitchen door and screamed.

Lay in the middle of the floor, was her deceased husband.

---

Amy Bourne sat in her bedroom. Her ring was still on her finger. Matt couldn't leave her. Amy wouldn't let him leave her. Matthew was her husband. And nobody could change that. However, Amy was free of the ties of marriage. She was single. She could have any man she wanted. But she craved the married life much more than this single hell.

She looked out the window, hoping Matthew would walk up it, with flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other. She hoped he would beg for forgiveness and the two would kiss and have a lavish wedding.

But she reminded herself, dreams belonged to her alone. She was free. And one man had certainly caught her eye. She discarded her ring, and decided to visit a neighbor. Andrew Dale.

---

Andrew Dale was sat in his kitchen, with his brother Alex.
"What are you doing here?" Andrew snapped.
"Bit late for this, big brother. I've been here three days and I've made more progress than you have in a week." Alex replied coolly, lightning up a cigarette. Alex wasn't a smoker; he just occasionally did so to make himself seem cooler.

"Put that out." Andrew growled, and Alex obliged. "I was working hard on this case and I don't need interferences."

"You haven't got any further." Alex said.

"Everyone is still a suspect." Andrew yelled.
"Not they're not. There's still a young lady that could help our investigation." said Alex.

Andrew froze. "Who?" he asked, slowly.

"Sophie Wilkinson." Alex grinned.
"She's dead." Andrew snorted.

"No, she's very much alive." Alex said, standing up. "Good day, brother." he hissed, before leaving the room.

Andrew looked at the photograph of Sophie Wilkinson. She was only nine in this picture. She'd died so young.

He sighed. What did Alex mean? How could she be alive? There'd been a fire.
But…they'd never found a body.

---

There was a familiar knock at the door that Afternoon. One which would shock the Jones family forever.

A loud, powerful knock caused Ben and Ellie to exchange glances. "I'll answer it," Ellie said, getting to her feet and leaving the living room. Ben followed.
"Honey, wait" Ben insisted.
"Why? It's probably the Postman." Ellie said calmly.
"You know as well as I do that that knock belongs to Maria."

"Maria's dead" Ellie said, her face suddenly becoming blank.
Ben grimaced. "I guess."

Ellie's face returned to normal as she strode to the door and opened in.

In the doorway stood a woman with olive skin and dark hair.

"Hello, Ellie."

"Maria?"

Who said the past doesn't come back to haunt us?

---

The Johnson family seemed to be settling in well, as they swiftly moved their furniture into the second floor of 'Appleby Store'.

Mrs. Johnson poured her husband a refreshing cup of tea as he struggled upstairs with a mirror. The mirror had been expensive, but it was priceless. She had bought it from a shop. There was a shifty looking man, who called himself Brad, who was selling furniture. He said this was because his wife had died, but Melissa was doubtful.

The mirror had caught her eye instantly. Sun bounced off the mirror, and as she looked into it, she could see something no one else could. The mirror seemed to see into her soul. And when Brad's reflection caught the mirror, it showed his inner-soul too. It was a cold, dark solid shape, with harsh features.

Her memories ended abruptly when the door opened and Sean dragged the mirror into the room.

"There, we're unpacked." he said, with a heavy sigh.

Melissa smiled as she passed him a steaming mug of tea.
"The stock will arrive tomorrow." she said calmly. "This street seems pleasant."

"Many streets do." Sean replied cynically.

"Indeed." Melissa commented, as she looked into the mirror. Brad's face seemed to loom out of it. And Melissa knew he wasn't far away.

---

As Melissa remembered their meeting, Brad Wilkinson was trying desperately to forget it. He had pawned off anything that reminded him off his wife. The living was stripped bare of her furnishings.

He stood with a grin, as he looked at a photo.
His daughter Mary stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her father.

As the flames danced before Brad's eyes, he remembered the fire; the fire which had taken his little girl away from him. Sophie's body had never been recovered and he had always clung to the possibility she'd survived.

But all hope was gone now that Terri was on the edge of leaving. So he dropped the photo into the flames, and watched it disappear into ash. He was alone.

Yes, curiosity has us gripped and waiting for another surprise. Although, curiosity can also be dangerous. There will be a moment when curiosity clutches our lungs and squeezes all the air out of them. There will be a second when curiosity stops our heart in its track. There will be a minute when curiosity silences us in the face of the unknown. Curiosity can be helpful and it can be dangerous. Always remember though, Curiosity killed the Cat.