Horror storys

Ellie about a week ago. I let myself in. We have keys to each other's houses; sometimes Ellie waters my plants and I’ll feed her cat or watch her little boy. I went to the kitchen to look for the tupperware, which Ellie had left on the table for me. I was going to leave, then, except for the smell. It was awful, and I had to breathe through my mouth as I approached. Deep down I think I knew, because anyone who smelled that will tell you it's the smell of death. But I wouldn’t let myself really believe that, at least not until I knew for sure. So I went to the bedroom, which is where it was coming from. The door was closed, locked, too, but I know they keep the key on the top of the door frame so I got it down and unlocked the door. When the door opened the smell got worse. I can’t tell you how awful that smell was. I think I’ll have dreams about it. I’ve never dreamed of a smell before, but I think I will. And—” Margie stops, getting choked up. “I saw them. You couldn’t hardly tell it was them, except that, well, who else could it be, and Ellie was still in her work scrubs. And…” Margie looks like she’s going to throw up, her face losing its color. “That cat. That horrid cat. He’s just a cat, and he’s always been a good cat, I guess. Never scratched me once. And I know it’s only nature, he’s just a cat, you know, but I think I’ll hate him forever.” “Why is that?” the reporter questions, sounding truly perplexed. Margie looks past the camera, presumably straight into the reporter's eyes. “Ellie’s brains were on the floor. Bashed in. And the cat.” Her eyes glaze over. “He was licking them up.” Emily feels sick as a new picture is shown on screen, one of a little boy about her own son’s age. “The picture you are now being shown is of Brendan Nelson, the shared child of the late Ellen Bradshaw and Kevin Nelson. At the moment his whereabouts are unknown. It is suspected that he may be with Kevin Nelson, whose whereabouts are similarly unknown. If you have any information regarding the whereabouts of either Brendan Neslon or Kevin Nelson, please contact local authorities immediately. Kevin Nelson is currently the number one suspect. Emily looks down at the boy she’s just delivered a plate of chocolate-chip pancakes to, pancakes that have now cooled off enough to eat.. Completely oblivious. Her heart lurches for this boy, this oblivious little boy, who reminds her so much of her own. Just as she opens her mouth to say something (only God knows what) she notices something outside. A truck is pulling out of the parking lot. Emily squints her eyes, then widens them. It’s the little boy’s father, Kevin Nelson. And he is driving away from the diner, onto the highway and away from Brendan Nelson. She looks back down at the boy, who is still eating his pancakes. She closes her mouth. Whatever she was planning to say is gone now. Suddenly she finds it very hard to keep standing, and takes a seat across from the boy in the booth. She will wait, she decides, until he’s finished his pancakes. And his hot chocolate. Let him have that, at least.