April Fool


I closed my front door, entered the lounge - and gasped. Jesus Christ! I fought back the bitter-tasting bile flooding my mouth. Counting from one to ten as I slowly exhaled, I took a second look. This time the vomit won, and splashed onto the blood-soaked floor.

My eyes streaming and my knees trembling, I tried to control myself. I forced myself to think back to the first autopsy I’d witnessed – the coroner had said he’d never seen anyone puke so much. I recalled the first dead body I’d seen. I hadn’t been sick that time – but, then, the old lady had just been asphyxiated. Okay, the first victim of bloody, violent murder I’d seen? Decapitation. Yes, I’d heaved up, of course. I can still vividly remember the startled expression on the woman’s face. Now, was I, a big, roughie-toughie police woman going to be bothered by what I saw – and smelt here?

I don’t know where the second burst of vomit came from. I hadn’t even had dinner – and wasn’t likely to now. What a mess to come home to!

Sweating, my throat feeling red-raw, a foul taste in my mouth, realisation suddenly dawned on me. It was the first of April! How had I fallen for it? (Chris would never stop the patronising ‘blonde’ jokes after this - I’d dye my hair dark). It had been a long day...

I shouted, ‘Very funny, Chris. Ha - bloody – ha.’

My ex had obviously taken some stage props from his theatre and had arranged the trick.  It was all a sick joke. I glanced at the first ‘butchered victim’.





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