Beatrix prefers to be alone with her clients, especially male clients, when tailoring them. She claims it helps her portray the costumer’s requests better. I never questioned her. Some nights, she works so late that I don’t even have the chance to bid the costumer farewell. Other nights, she finishes in an hour or so.
My wife has always been a nature lover. I assume my farming background is the reason she married because I certainly do not compare to her looks. She composts our green wastes and makes it into fertilizer for my farm. She complains all the time about how much green waste we produce, but the amount of fertilizer she makes nearly covers 200 acres. She must mix something else along with the plants, but I am not too sure what. There’s no way we produce that much waste. We are merely two people. But who I am to ask questions? She is the sole reason our plants flourish so plentifully.
Tonight, she has a wealthy client coming all the way from the town over. When he arrived, I noticed how plump he was. He was a large man, definitely more than six feet tall. I knew tonight was going to be a long one for my wife. I can’t imagine the amount of fabric needed to cover a man of his size. Maybe I shall surprise her tonight and wait for her to finish instead of going to bed early. I could possibly read that book she got me for my birthday last year.

As the night went by, I stared to doze off on the couch. I didn’t expect to be up later than midnight given he arrived at 5. I decided to check in with my wife despite her wishes. I opened the door and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Crimson blood splattered all over the room and there she was, knife in hand, standing over his lifeless body. Our eyes met and she could almost smell the fear radiating from me.
I stumbled out of the room and fell into my armchair. How could I have not known? What should I do know? My wife is a killer. “What are we going to do with the body?”, I asked. “We?”, she replied. Although she was a ruthless killer, she was my wife. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t help her?

I watched as she dismantled the body piece by piece. We placed each body part in a different plastic bag. The room stunk of guilt by the time we finished. We burned through the night like wildfire and before I knew it, it was dawn. I could hear the neighbors starting their tractors and that’s when I realized we were out of time.
I rushed out carrying the bags when I saw Mr. McLore. He waved and smiled. I prayed that he wouldn’t walk over, but alas he did. I pulled my sleeves down hoping he wouldn’t see my blood-stained hands and started to walk to my truck. I could hear him calling my name, but I continued to walk. I threw the bags into the truck and raced out of the driveway. I had to drive to the other side of my property to where my wife keeps her composter.
Beatrix had told me to dump the bags into the bin and to add mulch into the composter. This was madness, I thought. I couldn’t believe my eyes as the man’s severed head fell out of the bag. I almost threw up. How could she stomach this horror? The woman I knew as my wife was a cold-blooded murder.
I drove back to the house to see my wife on the porch. I stepped inside the house and I couldn’t even tell that an execution occurred here. I could tell this wasn’t her first kill and I knew it wouldn’t be her last.
We sat down at dinner and I could hardly eat with dead man’s face haunting my memory. Beatrix hummed a tune as she ate. I looked at her in awe. How many men had she killed before? Was I next now that I knew her secret? As she cleaned up, she mentioned that another client would be coming in tomorrow. I stepped out of the dining room and headed straight for bed.
Ever since that day, I go down to the composter almost every day. The pieces finally came together for me, but what was I to do now. All I could think to myself was “happy wife, happy life”. Our crops grew beautifully, and we never had an unsatisfied costumer.