We follow the path of toppled corn stalks until we reach the barn behind our neighbor’s farmhouse.
“I told you it was that idiot Bill! No more excuses. He has to pay up!” my wife rants.
“He just lost his wife.” I remind her.
“They hated each other!”
I shush her and slowly approach the barn doors, unsure if the rustling I hear are my own feet.
She huffs then steps in front of me and bangs on the door.
After more rustling—definitely from inside—Bill appears, a dirty shovel over his shoulder and blood stains on his overalls.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. It’s been a while since I joined one of these. I hope you enjoyed. 🙂
Nortina's Writing Inspiration Well 
Run! As fast as you can!
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The very fact that Bill answered the door tells me there is more story to come. 🙂
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And more bodies to be buried… 😬
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🙂
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Sometimes you just don’t want the neighbours round, do you?
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I think you’re right. Sometimes it’s better to mind your own business
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Oh dear! Perhaps they shouldn’t have complained too much to Bill! Nice one.
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It seems Bill is not one to be trifled with!
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