Members of the Creative Writing Club recently participated in a short story writing contest. October’s winner was Lilah Easthouse.
Name: Lilah Easthouse
Grade: Freshman
Extracurriculars: Band and Creative Writing Club
Name of Piece: The Good King of Revenge
Prompt: “There were no other witnesses, just us two.”
Favorite Genre: Thriller
“I randomly wanted to write books when I grew up in the 6th grade, so as of now I’m doing whatever I can to achieve that goal. I was in the ready writing club in 7th and 8th grade. Although I didn’t go to competitions in 8th grade, I did go in 7th, and I won 4th place. I joined writing club this year because I wanted to continue to write and be able to do something with things I’ve written instead of letting them just sit there.”
The Good King of Revenge by Lilah Easthouse
There were no other witnesses in the room, just us two. Besides Eleanor, but she was dead, so she wouldn’t be able to tell the cops anything. I looked to Francis, who held the bloodied up kitchen knife. He did the whole thing, I just helped. “We’ll clean the knife and put it back,” he said, “It’s a little hard to solve a crime case without a murder weapon.” Francis hurried to the kitchen to clean up the messy utensil. “When do you want me to make the call?” I called after him. “As soon as we get everything in order,” he replied, turning around, then continuing to hurry off to the kitchen.
After a few seconds, Francis came back. “Give me your gloves.” I removed the black cotton from my hands and offered them to him. He opened a drawer filled with Eleanor’s winter clothes, took off his own gloves, which were red, and stashed them in the drawer. They looked like they hadn’t even been touched. He closed the drawer with his clothed elbow, as to not leave any prints whatsoever. “Okay, call.”
I was quick to pull out my phone and dial 911. It rang twice before I heard the famous words: “911, what’s your emergency?” I feigned fright and sadness before saying, “Hello? My best friend’s been murdered— I…I don’t know what to do,” I frantically said into the phone. “Okay, is there anyone else with you right now?” the operator asked. She sounded like a nice woman, too bad she was being lied to. “My— my boyfriend.” I stumbled over every word to sound believable. “Okay. Honey, can you tell me the address?” She sweetly asked. I gave her Eleanor’s. How tragic, being murdered in your own home. Especially by your two crazed best friends.
I gave the operator all the information she needed and then hung up. Within seconds there were blue and red lights flashing outside. Francis and I stood on the doorstep, tears in my eyes and his arms wrapped around me. As we weren’t necessarily witnesses as far as the police were concerned, we were still taken in for questioning. A nice officer led me to his car and sat Francis inside with me. Francis and I spent our time in silence, careful not to say anything about what we’d just done even though it was just us two. After what felt like hours, the officer finally drove us to the station. We were sat in a room together, and a detective came in. He was very intimidating, but not even he could make me spill the true story.
“I’m detective Elliot. Beck Elliot. I’m gonna ask you two some questions, okay?” Francis and I nodded in unison. “Alright, first off, can you give me your names?” Francis told him first, “I’m Francis Kline.” Detective Elliot then turned his head to me. “Oh, I’m Lorelei Day.” He looked down and wrote this on his clipboard. “Okay, now, what were you doing prior to the murder?” This question was for me. “Francis, Eleanor, and I all decided to have a movie night tonight, just us. We were getting snacks and a few movies from the store. We got to her house…and she was dead,” I explained, trailing off at that last part. Detective Elliot looked down, wrote, then looked at Francis. “Do you know anyone who would want Eleanor dead?” This question was perfect for Francis. “Her ex-boyfriend, Kenny, maybe. He’d always been weird, but when they broke up, he just got too weird. Like, mentally crazy weird.” This was a lie. Kenny was actually very sane, we just needed someone to frame so we wouldn’t be suspects.
Detective Elliot asked question after question, and we gave him every lie we thought of before we killed off Eleanor. But I feel I should interrogate myself for context. You may be thinking, well after all these lies, what’s the truth here? Well, I’ll tell you. Eleanor had a big ego, so she brought others down just to feel up. She turned Francis and I into social outcasts. She spread every rumor in the book, so she had to go. Nothing more, nothing less. Of course, she apologized, but sorry doesn’t fix a reputation.
“We’ll question your Kenny friend in a few days, we need to get through all of the family and friends first. The officer who drove you here will take you back to the scene so you can retrieve your vehicle,” Detective Elliot let us know before he sent us on our way. We pushed ourselves out of the police department doors, looked behind us to make sure no one was looking, then high-fived, Francis saying, “suck it,” as if he were speaking to Detective Elliot. We waited for the officer by the car we arrived in. He finally came out of the building and drove us back to Eleanor’s house. We saw her parents, sobbing into each other as a cop stood in front of them, a sympathetic look on her face,
Before the guilt could even think of sinking in, Francis and I got into our car and drove to my house. We faked the whole sad and depressed act to my parents, then we called his parents and did the same thing. Francis went home, and the night was successful. I’d never felt more exhilarated.
Eleanor was cremated and the funeral was in a few days, the day of Kenny’s questioning, actually. We visited Eleanor’s parents often, trying to give them closure, to seem more innocent.
Every night I lay in bed, I felt euphoric. I’d gotten away with murder. Not every teenage girl can say that.
The day of the funeral came. It was better than the actual murder. Seeing everyone’s faces was what I loved. Tired eyes, tears, the color drained from everyone. They all looked like Eleanor, laying cold and lifeless on her bedroom floor.
Everyone gave their speeches, all asking how or why someone would do this, reminiscing on all the good times. Francis and I requested to go. Eleanor’s aunt walked off stage and let us have the floor. We stepped up to the podium, alligator tears streaming down my face, Francis clutching my hand. I spoke first, my voice broken, “first, I’d just like to say thank you Francis for helping me through this tragedy everyday, and sure he can say the same to me.” I looked at Francis and gave him a sad smile, then looked back to the gray corpses that sat in their seats. Francis and I shared many stories. Some made people laugh, others made them cry.
As we were nearing the end of everything we wanted to say, I said, “Eleanor was a big part of our lives, she died so young. I—” I was cut off by the church doors slamming open. Tons of officers poured in, family members gasped, friends were stunned. “Francis Kline, Lorelei Day, hands in the air and get down on your knees!” Francis and I looked at each other, dumbfounded, before embarrassingly complying. We’d been caught.
“What’s going on!?” I shouted, before I saw…Kenny. He had a smug look on his face, and as I was being apprehended, Francis as well, he showed us his phone. The disturbing scene of us taking this poor girl’s life was playing. “What is this,” I demanded. “Just some revenge. The good kind,” Kenny replied.
The officers that had Francis and I in cuffs recited the Miranda rights in unison. As we passed by parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents, they all just looked at us in horror. We were shoved outside and into two separate cop cars, then I was headed to the only prison in Las Cruces, New Mexico.
It was the day before the trial, and I was definitely losing. I sat in front of a clear window, a phone held up to my face with a frown, and the ginger on the other side held the phone to his face with a smile. “Why’d you sabotage us like that?” I asked Kenny. He laughed. “Why shouldn’t I have? You and Francis are killers, and Eleanor deserved some kind of justice. Besides, you told the cops I was crazy!” I slammed my hand on the table in front of me. “So you sell us out!? What were you even doing there? Where were you?” I interrogated. “I was under the bed. I actually was invited to your stupid movie night, but then I heard your discussion about, ‘are you ready to get rid of her?’, so to save my own life, I hid, and recorded your petty murder.”
I pushed myself up and banged my fist against the clear divider. “Kenny, when I get out of here, I’ll kill you! I’ll do it!” I screamed and shouted at him before I was dragged away by a guard. The anger turned into sadness, and this time real tears ran down my face. There were no other witnesses in the room, just us two. Or so I thought.
