You walk into your house after school just as you do everyday.  You place your heavy backpack on the spotless wood floor, hang-up your brand new adidas jacket, and walk into your clean kitchen. Only, instead of going straight to the large pantry and snooping around for some sugary treat to tame your cravings like you normally would, you notice something in the sink.  It’s the baby-blue towel that usually hangs from the dishwasher handle, and this usually unused towel is covered in a deep red stain. It smells like a dead animal, and it scares you. What on earth could have happened? You live in a neighborhood that hasn’t ever felt the need to have a neighborhood watch patrol, so why on earth is there a blood-stained towel lying in your white kitchen sink?  Your heart is pounding, and your head hurts from all the questions crammed into your head. That’s when you hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, and your mother’s voice.

“Oh good darling, you’re home,” she sounds totally normal.  This calms you, and the hope that this towel isn’t stained with blood grows in your chest.  You turn, a confused smile on your face that falls the second you see her. Your mother’s usually pressed and spotless pencil skirt is covered in a deep, sickening red.  Her hands and arms are stained the same color. Her face changes from joyful to disappointed when she notices your disgust.

“Mom?” You ask a much longer question than you have spoken with your blood-drained face and weak voice.  You feel as though you might vomit from the potent smell of blood in your house that usually smells like vanilla candles. You mother sighs, and gestures upstairs.

“I have an explanation, and I will give it to you,” She walks over to you, letting her pungent stench follow her as she reaches behind you for some bleach from under the sink.  You’re too terrified and confused to speak more than one word, let alone move away from her so you stand utterly still, and visibly swallow the vomit burning your throat as she turns to disappear up the stairs again.

“When do I get this explanation?” You want an explanation immediately, but also want to run away and forget you ever came home. Your mother stops at the stairs, as if contemplating when she should trust you with her new secret.

“In the morning, as long as you clean that towel with hydrogen peroxide, and keep anyone who knocks from coming in.” She starts going up the stairs again.

“Wait!” Your sudden outburst of volume stops your mother, making her turn to look at you quizzically, ” W-what if they ask to come in or something?” You’re practically pleading for an answer, because lying has never been your best skill. Your mom shrugs.

“I don’t know, make something up about me and your brother being sick,” She spins on her heel to head back up, quickly changing her mind and spinning around again to face you,” Oh, but if anyone asks, tell them we’re fine.  We don’t need anyone ambitious trying to clean the house for us.” Then with those words, your mother has disappeared up the stairs. Leaving you with one objective, and a million unanswered questions. You take a deep breath despite the lingering stench, and turn to the sink.  You have work to do.

So despite the shock and fear coursing through your veins, you scrub the towel until it’s clean, and wait in the living room for visitors or your mother.  The only thing you don’t know is that the woman you just spoke to wasn’t your mother, but you did just clean up her blood.