The Old Woman

In a dilapidated shack at the edge of town lived a woman named Miranda -- "The Old Woman," as we called her. Everyone in the community had heard the rumor about how she had killed Mary McBean. Fifty years ago a man had called 911 and said that he had seen The Old Woman stab and kill Mary McBean. When the police arrived on the scene, Mary was alive and seemed to be fine, but she never acted the same again. Two months later Mary was arrested for killing the two police officers who had investigated the case and the witness who had claimed to see her death.
Right before she was sentenced to the electric chair, Mary stated, "You need not kill me. I was already murdered by The Old Woman. She turned me into a living corpse."
Thirty-seven years later I was born two miles from the house of Miranda, The Old Woman.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Slowly I inched toward the house of The Old Woman, a knot of fear in my stomach. Earlier that day a kid at school had dared me to annoy her. "I'll give you $100 if you get The Old Woman angry at you," he had said.
I was not superstitious, so I didn't think that The Old Woman had killed anyone all those years ago. She just seemed like a little old lady who happened to have a screw loose. It might have been her appearance that scared people. She had a scarred face and long grey hair that stuck out in every direction. She wore nothing but a flowing, blood-red garment that reached almost to the ground. She would often mumble things about "the other side" and mutter to herself in strange languages, but she seemed harmless enough.
It would be almost fun to see her reaction when I annoyed her. Adults said I was "disrespectful," which was a massive understatement. I often played pranks on others, such as sending people fake letters telling them that they had been fired from their jobs or that a loved one had a deadly disease, and I loved to vandalize property and pin it on someone else. My reputation for trouble was why I was the one who had been dared to annoy The Old Woman.
Despite the fact that The Old Woman seemed harmless, the closer I got to her shack, the more terrified I became. "What if she really did kill Mary McBean?" I began to worry. "What will she do to me if she finds out I'm the one who pranked her?" The only thing that kept me from turning around and bolting home was the fact that I would soon be given $100 for my mischievousness.
The Old Woman kept a small spherical object in her yard. It was made of a material that no one could identify. It looked like ice, although it felt hot when you touched it. It sat on a tree stump about 20 feet in front of her run-down house. This object was her most prized possession, and my plan was to destroy it. I arrived at The Old Woman's shack just in time to see her enter through its broken-down door. "Perfect,” I thought. "She won't know what I'm about to do until it's too late."
I sprinted toward the object and smashed it into the ground. It broke into hundreds of tiny pieces. The Old Woman burst out of her house. "I'm going to kill you, you stupid kid!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.
I raced back toward my house with the Old Woman inches behind me. "For someone her age, she's surprisingly fast," I thought. After a few blocks she gave up chasing me, and I ran the rest of the way home.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Later that night in my bed, I felt a strange tugging sensation, almost as if I was being pulled toward the front door by a magnet. Unable to resist, I got out of bed and opened the front door. When I got outside I tried to turn around to go back in, but I couldn't. Slowly I was pulled, step by step, down the moonlit street. I wanted to scream, but my mouth felt glued shut. I realized that my destination was the house of The Old Woman, and I turned white with fear.
Soon -- against my will -- I was opening her front door. The Old Woman was standing two inches from my face. "I've been expecting you," she whispered, an evil smile playing across her face. "You can't get away from me now."
Her shriveled skin was glowing eerily, and she no longer looked human. "Wh-who are you?" I croaked.
"I am one of Fraujgninians," she rasped. "In our language that means 'those who create murderers.' Normal humans are not able to kill. Their consciences always prevail. The only way a human can kill is if they have lost their heart and soul, and the only way this can happen is if they are killed by one of us. When a Fraujgninian kills someone, that person comes back to life without their heart and soul."
"Is that what happened to Mary McBean?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "I killed her because she was a nuisance. She talked too much."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, my voice almost at a whisper.
"Because you are a nuisance, too," she said. "You broke my e-ball. It was my only form of communication with the other Fraujgninians! Now I'll have to wait four to six weeks to get a new one.
"And now, I will do to you what I did to Mary McBean," she said.
The last thing I remember about that night was a knife burying itself into my chest.

* * * * * * * * * * *

As promised, I came back to life soon after The Old Woman killed me. From the moment I opened my eyes, I felt the urge to murder. I am still searching for my first victim. Maybe it will be your best friend. Maybe...it will be you.