Happy Eater - A Short Story

Written in 2020 | Rewritten in 2024 | 4,051 words

The story you are about to read is a “vomit draft.” This means that it is in its rawest form of writing and has no professional editing done whatsoever. But I welcome any corrections, grammatical or otherwise, you may find.

The night my great-great-grandmother was murdered forever changed my life. I grew up surrounded by family and friends who would talk incessantly about the mystery surrounding her death. Who did it? Why? And why was it never solved? If not for her death I probably would’ve become an accountant. Something to do with numbers. My mother always said I had a brain for calculations, and she hated this about me. I think she hoped I would turn out to be as adventurous and free spirited as my great-great-grandmother. Which is probably why I was named after her; Genevieve Eustice St. James. 

I wish my mother lived long enough to see me now. Sitting behind a desk, in an office I own, my Private Investigator plaque catching the light from a nearly setting sun. I’m sure she’d be proud to know I took up this profession if only to have the time I needed to solve the mystery of my great-great-grandmother’s death. But my family weren’t the only ones who’d be happy to see me solve this. 

Over two dozen people were brutally murdered at Hanover House that night, nearly one hundred years ago. It was a Hanover Birthday Party and as my family would always explain it, being invited to any Hanover Party was an honor and a privilege. No one ever canceled and no one ever left bored. 

It was the roaring twenties and my great-great-grandmother was a frequent visitor of the Hanover’s. In fact, she was married to the birthday girl’s brother, James. I’ll tell you more about him later. For now, let’s just say he and everyone else at that party were suspects.  

The police at the time had no witnesses as it was believed the killer entered the house, an invited guest, killed everyone and then his, or her, self. The crime scene was such a mess of blood and bodies it was difficult at the time for the police to discern where the killings started, let alone why or who could’ve done such a heinous thing. All they knew was the murder weapon was a large kitchen knife found on the grand staircase. There were no bodies lying near it to indicate who the killer might’ve been. Eventually, the leads ran cold and the police left the deadliest crime unsolved. 

Nearly two generations later and the memory still lives on in my mind. Every single person I’ve met because of this case have left an imprint of their memories on my soul and now I feel an even heavier burden to solve it. I don’t believe in ghosts, but many of the families I’ve interviewed over the years believe their ancestors are still there, trapped in that house. Forced to live out that tragic night every year, on the same night of the party. It’s believed that Hanover House comes alive with the spirits of the trapped souls. And every night, just as it happened that night, the sounds of screams can be heard as the murders happen all over again. I believe it is for this reason the house never sold and it remained unoccupied to this day. 

After years of fighting with the Executor of the estate I was able to obtain unsupervised access. The keys to solving the mystery were now in my possession, and as I sat at my desk, staring at them, a chill ran down my spine. The following night was the date of the party. I wanted it that way. As I said, I don’t believe in ghosts or the stories that almost always accompany them, but I felt if I was to discover the truth of what happened to my great-great-grandmother in that house what better time than the day of the Hanover Massacre. 

The house was located down a path once surrounded by tall redwood trees that looked like they were trying to reach the heavens. At least, that’s how my grandmother described them. She was the one who had the most information about the murder’s. I almost wish she were alive today so I could’ve brought her along. She would’ve been the first person I called to tell the news if I had solved the case that night. 

As I turned the corner I could hear broken branches and dried up leaves ground into the dirt. It wasn’t a familiar sound yet a part of me felt like I’d been there before. The tall redwood trees had all but died away, leaving behind a grouping of bark that rotted away. Branches had begun to tip over from age and the weight of dead leaves as they fell to the ground. I drove my car quickly, but carefully, down the path, swerving side to side, avoiding as much bumps as I could, but it was nearly impossible. The path had not been driven or walked upon in as many decades as the house had been empty. 

At a certain point the path became too narrow for a car and there were piles of leaves gathered where cars were expected to park. From this point forward I had to make my way to the house on foot. 

I grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat and turned off the engine to my car. It began to look like night already by how much the dead trees covered up the sky, but I was not afraid.  

As I walked towards the house I could hear birds chirping. I closed my eyes and let a gentle breeze brush past me, almost pushing me away, telling me to leave. The sensation was breathtaking. I’m sure I read too much into it all, but as the two-story house loomed over me I felt a moment’s hesitation. 

I heard a screen door slapping against a door frame, probably from the side or back of the house, and it snapped me back to reality. I crouched down and opened my duffel bag. It only had a few items in it; a pair of boxers, a t-shirt, a toothbrush, comb and a large accordion folder. I was only staying the one night so I figured I could just wear the clothes I had on the next day. I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone tonight or tomorrow so maintenance wasn’t an issue either. Also, when you’re a Private Investigator like I am, you learn to live off of as little means as possible and you’re ready to go at any moment. Aside from the folder, these items are always in this duffel kept under my desk. 

I opened the accordion folder, stuffed with everything I had acquired over the years about the Hanover case, and removed an 8.5 x 11 inch photograph of what the house looked like in its heyday. 

I held the photograph up to the house so it blocked my view completely of what it looked like. The staircase leading up to the front door was draped in a red carpet. My grandmother told me it was always like that. The Hanover’s felt it was the most inviting color and it was a running joke amongst friends that their home was always throwing parties so it was a waste of time to remove it. The façade was completely made of the whitest marble that needed to be hand washed on a weekly basis. The Hanover’s came from money and had a small contingent of staff to manage the upkeep of the house. Every one of them, except the gardener, Phillip, who had the night off, was killed that night. For a time, he was their number one suspect but he had several witnesses placing him at an all-night poker game, gambling. His debts were so high it was assumed he grew desperate and hired a friend to just kill the Hanover’s to collect the small stipend they had left for him in the event of their deaths, but things went terribly wrong and it led to this unknown friend killing all those people. There were too many holes in the police departments theory and eventually the case ran cold when the only other suspects were at the party and dead. Eventually the police decided to blame the murders on the Hanover’s illegitimate daughter. Few had ever laid eyes on her as she was kept hidden away in the house all her life. She was believed to be in her late twenties at the time of the party. The coroner at the time identified her easily, as she was the only body amongst those identified they could not account for. The family was so secretive about her they didn’t even know her name and could not find any birth certificate or paperwork that would divulge it.  

The way my grandmother explained it to me, because the Hanover’s were so rich they had a mausoleum built on the property where they were all to be interred. However, there was no place for their daughter. It was Mrs. Hanover’s money after all and she was not about to have her husband’s dalliances laid to rest with her. It was eventually decided to bury her in an unmarked grave next to the Hanover’s. The mausoleum could be seen in this photograph, just to the right of the two-story house, but the unmarked grave was hidden away behind it.  

My heart went out to this girl. Locked away because of a circumstance she had no control over and didn’t ask for. And now to be blamed for such a horrific act and have that be how she’s remembered. Only the police department stuck by their story. None of the family members believed she could be responsible. Very little was known of her except they all said, she was a quiet girl who never caused any of the Hanover’s any trouble. In a way, I was there to clear her name as much as discover who the real killer was. 

Putting the photograph away I was suddenly struck by the stark contrast. The stairs didn’t have the red carpet any more, but I could see the stains it left behind, probably from a heavy rainfall. There were red tufts left behind in the corners of the steps where the carpet was pulled away. When I reached the top of the steps I looked back at the dead trees and tried to imagine what it must’ve looked like nearly a hundred years ago. 

Although the house was no longer cared for, the choice of marble meant it was still standing, with very little wear and tear beyond dirt swept up against it over time. Surprisingly, the front door didn’t give me as much issue when I put the key in and turned the knob. Almost inviting. 

There were windows on every wall, but they provided little light as a majority of them were covered in dust. I was told that the house was left as it was the night of the murder. The only thing the estate did was hire a crew to clean it from top to bottom one time and cover all the furniture in white sheets.  

Stepping foot inside the dank and musty house was like a scene straight out of a movie. From my vantage point standing in the foyer I could see the dining room, a large sheet covering the table that sat twelve and sheets covering each chair individually. For a second I thought it looked like someone was seated in the chair at the head of the table but I knew it was my eyes playing a trick on me. 

I took a deep breath and realized from the hacking cough that followed just what a mistake that was. I quickly started unhooking latches on every window I could and pushing them open to let some air inside. I reached a window that overlooked the mausoleum completely covered in green vines. Behind it was a headstone. It was not overcome with vines at all. Considering how close it was to the mausoleum I would’ve expected vines to be all over it, but it appeared to be cleared away regularly, and by human hands. I knew this fact straight away as leaning up against the headstone was a bouquet of fresh yellow roses. My heart leapt when I saw them and I ran out the house, down the front stairs and around the back towards the headstone. The ground here was wet and muddy. There must’ve been rain here recently and the house providing shade in this directing prevented it from drying right away. My shoes were covered in mud but I didn’t care, I kept my pace until I stopped, dead in my tracks, at the place where I saw the headstone from the window. It was completely covered in vines. I squeezed my eyes closed and rubbed them. When I removed my hands from my eyes it was still covered in vines and there were no flowers there either. 

I wanted to pull back the vines and read what was written on her headstone but movement coming from the window where I stood earlier caught my eye. Someone was in the house! I ran back to the front of the house. On the steps leading up to the front door there were muddy footprints. I wondered if someone was hiding outside and was now inside looking for something? I was a Private Investigator who owned a gun, but I never had any use for it, so it remained in the glove compartment of my car. I hoped whoever was nosing around the house wasn’t a proficient fighter. 

“Hello?” I called out when I reentered the house and closed the door behind me, making sure to lock it this time. My voice echoed throughout but I heard no reply. I tiptoed towards the dining room and peeked in. The window was open but there was no one in the room. “You’re just tired and hungry, Ginny,” I reasoned with myself. 

After reassuring myself that the house was empty by going from room to room turning on lights and carefully pulling sheets off of furniture, I walked back through and decided to close and lock all the windows. No one was going to break in and scare me tonight. 

While walking the full scope of the house I found it contained three master bedrooms, each complete with their own full-sized bathrooms, four smaller guest rooms with full-sized bathrooms shared between them on the second floor. The ground floor had the dining room, a living room that was often converted into a dance floor during parties, and a really large kitchen. As I expected, all of the cupboards and the refrigerator which looked like it came straight out of the 1920’s were bare. 

I expected this and packed myself some chicken and pasta to eat, along with a bottle of wine and a bag of chips. I wasn’t on the job so if I wanted to drink a glass or two who would know? I decided to set myself up in the dining room and chose the head of the table. It wasn’t until I uncorked the bottle of wine that I realized I didn’t have a glass to pour it in. The native New Yorker in me would’ve been fine drinking straight from the bottle, but the room lent itself to a bit of class and made me feel uneasy so I made my way back to the kitchen, leaving the wine and unopened container of food behind.  

When I got to the kitchen all the cupboards were wide open and empty. My heart skipped a beat as I tried to remember if I did that, left them all open? For some reason, I couldn’t remember. I felt a panic attack beginning and closed my eyes as I always do until my heartrate normalized again. I opened my eyes and closed all the doors before returning to the dining room. My knees nearly buckled under me when I saw the glass of wine next to the bottle, already poured. 

Suddenly, my stomach felt queasy and I grabbed the back of the chair in front of me to prevent myself from face-planting on the floor. Was someone in the house, I thought to myself? I checked all the windows and doors and made sure they were all locked. I decided to check one more time. All thoughts of food or eating had completely vanished by then and I left the table as it was, choosing not to enter that room again unless I had to. 

The house was securely locked up tight as I knew it was. I thought to go back to the dining room and confirm what I had seen earlier, but I had enough odd things happen to me for one night. 

The sun had completely gone down by now and I instead decided it would be time for bed. Whatever investigating I wanted to do by way of snooping around the house I would do in the morning. 

Of all the bedrooms in the house, I chose the one that belonged to my great-great-grandmother’s husband. It was where she would sneak away to during parties if she ever needed to freshen up or just escape the noise going on downstairs. It was where I chose to sneak away. 

Maybe it was the sound of hooves outside or music playing in the distance that woke me suddenly, but when my eyes shot open it wasn’t me that I saw staring back in the mirror. 

Before I could get a better look, she turned away from the vanity. I could feel a man’s arm gently resting on my shoulder as he bent down towards me and kissed me sweetly on the lips. 

“Are you ready, darling? Most of the guests are already here.” 

“I am. Just help me with this, will you?” I stood and felt a dress hugging my body tightly. As I bowed my head for a man to zip up my dress I saw it was a shimmering red with fringe lace all over. It looked like a flapper dress. I recognized it right away from having looked at countless pictures that were taken at other parties held at the Hanover estate as well as the few crime scene photographs of the night, this night, in question. 

Without another word spoken I was being led out the bedroom door. The man’s hand guiding me as it rested gently on my lower back. We stood together at the top of the stairs and I looked down to see a crowd of people standing around laughing and talking loudly over music playing in the background. Was I really at the party that happened back in the 1920’s or was I dreaming? I couldn’t tell. But, it all felt so real. 

“Darling, you look fabulous. You don’t mind if I steal her away, do you? Come, come. There’s some people over here I am simply dying for you to meet.” A much older woman I swore I’d seen someplace before, took me by the arm before I had reached the bottom of the stairs, and whisked me away from the man whom I was just kissing earlier. I looked back but he was already gone. 

As I was led deeper into the house, towards the living room that was brightly lit from several chandeliers I could see as we approached, I could feel my heartrate quickening. Something was terribly wrong. 

Then I saw him. I didn’t know who it was but the woman whose ear he was whispering in made me very jealous. The way she giggled made my blood run cold. He was mine. He vowed he would only be mine. The he saw me, smiled, and winked right at me, the way he always did. I’d had enough. 

“I’m sorry, Doris. If you’ll excuse me for just one moment.” 

Doris Archibald! A famous actress when she was much younger. I knew I recognized her face. She was best friends with Mrs. Hanover and was the reason why almost every party held at Hanover estate was photographed and she was in every picture. 

The sound of a drawer slamming shut brought my attention back and I could feel the weight of something heavy in my hand but couldn’t see it. My heartrate increased as I paced back and forth. Where was I? 

“There you are. I’ve missed you ter—.” 

The sound of air escaping his lungs when he collapsed forwards on top of me was chilling. I felt something warm seep onto my hand as I twisted it, gripping the handle tighter. 

“You were supposed to be mine.” I spoke the words and felt myself smile as the man pulled away from me, a look of terror on his face. 

“Genevieve, are you in here?” James asked, walking into the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” He stood behind the man and could not see the look on his face. 

I felt the blade as it was pulled away from his body. He turned towards James, but it was too late. His fate was sealed. “James, I’m sorry.” He dropped to his knees, dead. 

“My God, Genevieve. What have you done?” I answered him by swiping the knife with one motion at his throat, slicing it like butter. Blood pooled out and down his front. He managed to look up at me with sadness before falling next to the lover I murdered. 

It would’ve stopped there, I think, had Doris not walked in minutes after as I was washing the knife and my shaking hands in the kitchen sink. Without hesitation, I stabbed her in the neck, sending a stream of blood up to the ceiling, a bit of it catching my face. I stuck my tongue out and licked blood off my lips. It was bitter, but I liked it. 

I made my way through the dining room, killing everyone in my path. Men tried to stop me but I was stronger than they anticipated. Women ran from me, but in their dresses and heels, trying to step over and around dead bodies was difficult. 

I was a killing machine. The more blood I spilled the more I wanted. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. Then the screaming stopped. Everyone was dead. All that was left was the music playing on the Victrola in the living room now covered in bodies and blood. 

Still clutching the knife, I walked up to a mirror in the hallway and winked at myself. My face was covered in streaks of blood. I looked down at my hands so red they didn’t look like mine. The hand holding the knife began to tremble. What had I done? 

“You’re welcome.” 

I woke up screaming just before I plunged the knife into my stomach. Covered in sweat and panting heavily, I laid in bed, unable to move or process what I had witnessed. The faint sound of music playing made me get up immediately. I pulled back the heavy curtains and realized it was morning already. I dreamt the whole night, or had I? 

The hand that held the knife shook uncontrollably the whole ride home. I still had the taste of blood in my mouth even though I washed my mouth out with the entire bottle of wine I found corked on the dining room table. 

I finally managed to make it home, driving with one hand, and listening to a heavy metal radio station in full blast to drown out the music playing in my head. 

I checked my mailbox and found several envelopes that I fingered through as I walked to my apartment and let myself in. A cream colored one stood out with fancy handwriting on the cover. I ripped it open and as I pulled out the thick card I knew instantly it was an invitation to a birthday party. My heartbeat quickened and my hand began to shake again.  

Without realizing it I was standing in my kitchen and my hand had stopped shaking. I could say it was because of the invitation, but I know it only played a part. It was the weight of the knife that helped. The knife that felt most like home.

THE END