Writing On The Wall
Every house I’ve ever lived in as an adult has had writing on the wall. It’s usually phone numbers in the garage next to the automatic sprinkler controls, or labels in the pantry closet, or construction notes. I’ve lived in a couple of places that had backs of closets illustrated by children who are now senior citizens.
Earlier this week my husband Steve and I started painting the walls in our family room and breakfast nook. We’re doing a major decorative remodel. Think “Property Brothers” or something along those lines. As he pulled out screws that previous owners used to hang some large pieces of art or maybe a giant fish or something.
Anyway, a large piece of plaster fell off of the wall. Steve swore something under his breath using the words “fuck” and “damn.” He called me over.
“Look at this honey. What do you think?”
On the wall these words were scrawled in black ink: I killed Heather Marie Larkin. She was a bitch and deserved to die. Her body is buried under the house. JKR 1989.
“Do you think it’s true?” I asked Steve.
“I don’t know. It could be a joke. Have you ever heard of Heather Marie Larkin?”
“I don’t know. It sounds sort of familiar. I’ll look it up.”
The Internet was all over Heather Marie Larkin. She’d been twenty-four years old, a recent college graduate, engaged to a brilliant law student named Ted LaRue. From the comments it looked like the Heather wasn’t well liked. Not just because of her spectacular good looks and charmed life, but for the fact she was a horrible person. Heather Marie Larkin was the girl who got away with everything. If anyone was in her way they would fall – and fall hard.
One night in 1989 Heather vanished and was never seen or heard from again. No clues. No suspects. Nothing. JKR was Joanna Katrina Randolph. She married Ted LaRue two years after Heather vanished. Her parents had built the house in 1982.
Steve said, “You know if she is buried under our house we’ll never be able to sell it. The press will be all over the place. This will always be known as a murder house. Those true crime people will be all over the place, looking in our windows and trying to bug us about things, not to mention the ghost hunters.”
“Good point,” I said.
“Glad you agree. Hand me the paint brush sweetie.”
And I did.
wow what a selfish couple…..
Fortunately this is fiction.
I admit I have “mean girls” issues after being bullied in high school, but I think if I found myself in the same situation, my husband and I would react the exact the same way. Great story.
My neighbors found a bunch of knives and a gun hidden under their house when they moved in. It turns out the crazy son of a former resident grew up to be a kidnapper. And yes, when the kidnapping happened the news crews showed up next door.
I never understood what makes some girls become “mean girls.” Some outgrow it but some never do. In the end they rarely end up well.
We’ve been watching Forensic Files. They only pick the nice people to investigate. The local cold case people all probably knew Heather and would have decided to let the issue drop anyway…
LOL. I can imagine the folks from “Unsolved Mysteries” showing up. Yikes.
Good story, J. Ida done the same thing but I wouldna bragged about on a wall !!! 😈