“SHE’S DEAD!” A frantic woman cried, waking her husband from his slumber, “There’s been a murder on our street!”
“What in God’s name are you going on about, woman?” He croaked, wiping sleep from his eyes.
The portly Mrs. Martin scowled at her drowsy husband. She had spoken very plain and did not like having to repeat herself.
“That butcher’s daughter killed her mum, she did,” Mrs. Martin screeched, “saw it happen outside our very window.”
The old man sat up with a start, his eyes alert as he processed what his wife was telling him.
“How do you know this?”
“Come,” she beckoned, “see for ye’self.”
His body groaned as he swung his legs over the side of his bed. He crammed his knobby feet into house shoes before shuffling behind his hysterical wife to the window.
The full moon danced through the glass as the two peered from their second story window. There in the night, a body lay on the ground across the empty street.