Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell

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We smelled “the smell” again.  In the same place.

Behind the wall, in the front vestibule–just like before.

Two weeks ago I was dumb enough to believe my husband’s declaration, “It’s just a dead mouse.”  In my defense, several winters ago a grey field mouse set up shop between the walls in our house.  He made little scritch-scratch noises that were kind of cute and since he didn’t eat much, I let him freeload.  Now and then I would “accidentally” drop a sunflower seed on the kitchen floor just so I could see the flash of his little pink belly.  It was all sunshine and lollipops until the rotten bastard died in the wall.  Game changer, let me tell you.   It bloated and stunk for a bit but we all got over it–well, except for Mr. Mouse.

Thinking that I just had to tough it out again, I lit soy candles and spent most of my free time upstairs, praying that no one would ring the doorbell.  After a week, we decided that a mouse could not possibly make that much smell.  Bets were placed that it was a racoon. The reek took on a life of it’s own.  I started sticking my nose inside my shirt and walked around smelling my boobs, waiting for it to go away, still clueless.

The following week, the doorbell rang.  I took a deep breath, ran downstairs, and opened the door while trying to slip outside to talk on the porch.  Our farmhand, Bryce, shot me the skunk eye.  He caught a big whiff.  I said, “dead mouse,” and he said, “No way,” and made a bee line for the basement.  From my spot on the porch, I heard his gagging.

Our freezer had quit and dark, thickened venison blood was dripping out of it, pooling on the floor, all putrified.   We looked at each other and I said, “Let’s get out the matches.”  Burning the house down at that point seemed legit.  I told him if he won’t let me burn it down, then I will start packing the suitcases.  Instead, Bryce called Adam and told him to grab a dolly from the barn on his way over.  Adam showed up with the elephant masks, too.  I ran away.

Meijer had everything a killer would need to clean up a big mess:  mops, duct tape, black plastic garbage bags, shovels, and bleach.  Lots of it.  I didn’t quite know how I was going to use the duct tape, but figured it was essential.  On my way home I noticed the backhoe was out.

 

 

 

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