butcher knife.
“Can I help?” Brady Collins asked.
“Of course, Brady. Thank you. You’re very polite. Your grandma would be very proud,” she said. “Why don’t you stand guard?”
Brady Collins smiled and pulled out his gun. He began walking back and forth to protect them from Special Ed, who he knew was hiding somewhere in the woods.
“Me, too?” Jenny Hertzog asked eagerly.
“Of course, Jenny. That’s why you’re here, sweetie.”
Jenny smiled proudly and reached into the bag. She pulled out a dozen sewing needles and as much black yarn as her little arms could hold. Then, Mrs. Henderson turned to the gathered congregation and surveyed the eager faces.
“Can my stepbrother go first?” Jenny Hertzog asked quietly.
“Are you sure you don’t want to save him for last?” Mrs. Henderson asked.
“No, ma’am,” Jenny said.
“Very well. Scott…Front and center.”
Jenny’s stepbrother stepped up and smiled.
“Yes, ma’am?” he said eagerly. “What can I do?”
“You can fucking feel everything you’ve ever done to Jenny for eternity and no one will ever stop it. How does that sound?”
“Super,” he said.
Scott nodded in his trance as his little stepsister looped a strand of black yarn through the needle and handed it to Mrs. Henderson. The old woman kindly patted her on the head and moved to Scott. She clamped his lips together with her left hand, and she began stitching his mouth shut with a practiced right hand that she’d learned in home economics.
As she sewed Scott’s lips together, she couldn’t even hear his bloodcurdling screams through the white noise of her own mind. Mrs. Henderson smiled, waltzing with a memory. It was a simpler time back then. Back when girls took home ec and boys took shop. Back when men were loyal to their wives and never thought about divorce. Back when the good old days were the good new days. It was better then. Things would be that way again. The little voice promised her they would. This time, her husband would respect her. This time, her husband would appreciate her.
All she had to do was play her part.
And get them all ready for theirs.
As she stitched, she looked up at the tree house. Such a beautiful little tree house. Her husband was on the other side of that door. She could almost hear him whispering.
“Honey, let’s go away for a long weekend.”
“What?” she asked, surprised.
“I want to spend some time with my wife. I just wish I’d packed a bag.”
“I have one. I have a bag! I hid it in the library. I brought it with me! It’s right here!”
“You’re the greatest wife a guy could ever have.”
This time, they could throw that bag in the trunk of his car and drive away. It didn’t matter where. Because she was young again. Her hair was red. Her body was beautiful. And she knew she would live this day for eternity. Maybe she wouldn’t even need to stab him.
“Where should we go, darling?” she finally asked.
“The tree house, of course. It’s so beautiful in here.”
Mrs. Henderson was so lost in the dreams of her new future that she didn’t realize she had already finished turning Scott into a mailbox person.
“Scott, it’s Christmas Eve. The tree is so empty. We need to decorate it with ornaments,” she said.
Jenny handed Scott a length of rope, which Ms. Lasko cut to size with the butcher knife. Scott took the rope and climbed up the tree on the little 2x4s like baby teeth. He reached the first thick branch and climbed out to the edge of it. Then, he tied the rope to the branch and wrapped the other end around his neck. When he jumped off, his neck snapped like a wishbone, but he didn’t die. Just like Mrs. Henderson knew he wouldn’t. No one would ever die again.
“When can I drown him in floods?” Jenny asked.
“As soon as we’ve won the war, Jenny,” Mrs. Henderson said and smiled. “Next!”
Mrs. Henderson turned to the Collins Construction security guard who thought about all the overtime he would be getting for guarding the property so late on Christmas Eve. As the old woman closed his eyelids with thick black yarn, she didn’t hear his screams over the sound of her own anxious thoughts. If a lifetime in public education taught Mrs. Henderson anything, it was to make do with what she had. She looked at the hundreds of townsfolk waiting to be turned into mailbox people. She would have loved to stitch all of them by hand like she did Scott, but alas, they