Arthurs Story

 

Arthur Baker liked a simple life, a cup of tea and some biscuits, his beloved checked shirts  and the solace of his comfy old armchair in his shed where he would read his paper and make plans for his garden.

Alice Baker liked hats, afternoon tea and the finer things in life but her husband didn’t like spending money very much, so she mostly had to make do.

‘Arthur James Baker!’ Alice would shout on the rare occasion she brought him tea, ‘You will die in that shed!’

Arthur would tut and pretend not to hear her while Alice seethed and plotted his demise. Alice was Arthurs second wife, his first wife Marie had tragically died in a boating accident on a lake.

Arthur thought Alice was sweet and loving when he met her but really, she had heard he had plenty of money and wanted nothing more than a life of fine clothing and lunching with her friends. They didn’t have children, Alice soon made it plain she couldn’t abide the thought of children and their sticky fingers and runny noses. Arthur was a little sad, Marie had longed for children and they had planned for a little family, but the boating accident happened early in their marriage and those plans were dashed.

Alice hit Arthur over the head with his spade in early summer of 1953, now he could have his precious shed forever and she could spend as much as she liked on fancy clothes and lunches.

Over the years Alice frittered Arthurs money away and emptied his bank account, telling everyone that Arthur had left her. It seemed he wasn’t as wealthy as the circulating rumours had made out and Alice died a bitter old woman who had become a recluse.

Arthurs only relative, his nephew Victor, was tasked with clearing the house and levelling the overgrown garden and that’s when he discovered the shed. The door was padlocked and several keys later Victor slowly inched it open. The shed was dim, the single window long overgrown with creeper and vine let in only a small amount of light. As he stepped forward two mice, at least he hoped it was mice, skittered away into the darkest corners.  In the same instance, Victor recoiled in horror as he saw the remains of Arthur who he instantly recognised from the familiar scraps of his red and white checked shirt. It was clear Arthur had been there for some time, the faded paper balanced on his lap , partially shredded by mice, was from 1953. A thick vine of creeper which had clearly found access through the shed floor, was twisted around Arthur and up through his rib cage.

Weeks later, when Arthur had been through post mortem, Victor learned he had been hit with some force and the only thing left was to give his uncle a decent burial far away from murderous Alice’s grave.

It was a sad day when Victor levelled the shed, Arthurs ‘haven’. He removed the old chair and pulled at the vine, shuddering at the memory of seeing it curled through his uncle’s dead body.

As he removed it, something caught his eye, a loose floorboard that had enabled the vine to find a way through seemed to have been cut deliberately. Reaching down into the recess beneath the boards Victor found it stuffed with old newspapers and beneath them, dozens and dozens of bank notes tied with string. A small handwritten note in Arthurs cursive handwriting declared ‘I don’t trust her’ ……

Sarah Russell Dark Wishes Designs UK