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6th of April 1914, Nouwick, R.S.A.
Grisslie walked around the corner, down the street, and up to the door of a three story building. It was a decently wealthy neighborhood - some horse carriages and the occasional automobile drove past. If her memory served her well, then the type of architecture before her was called ‘neogothic’, but she simply called it a ‘big brick house’. Usually there would be apartments above a store front, but this building just seemed to be two tall apartments side by side, like one of those fancy houses they have in the cities out East.
The weather was nice. There wasn't any wind or any clouds, but the glare of the sun made it hard to immediately tell if anyone was presently inside.
She wasn't tall enough to walk down the steps and look up into the windows and there wasn't any way to look through the door. So, instead, she left the entrance as is, and walked back around the corner of the block to return to her horse. The animal was deliberately hitched down the opposite end of the street at the sheriff’s office.
The equine was as white snow and so were the saddle bags. Her scepter was tied up next to her rifle with little locks on the leather straps to keep them in place. As she unlocked the tiny heart shaped locks, she heard someone approach.
“Hey that's a nice horse ma'am, you got a style or someth-” the young man said, though his approach was suddenly halted. Grisslie turned to him. She raised her large white witch hat and gave him an innocent smile. Her skin was extremely pale and she was so blonde that her hair almost appeared snowy. Her eyes were crimson red - her pupils, iris, and even the sclera looked bloody. Her teeth with a metallic scarlet, yet her lips showed no signs of her ingesting anything recently. The extremely harsh contrast of her delightful expression paired with her pale exterior made it look as if she were a ghost in broad daylight.
She gleefully asked, “ye’ like mah horsie, huh?”
The young man took a step back and looked her up and down. “Ma'am are you in good health? Ye’ look sickly.”
She giggled. “Hehehe… Where's yer house, mister?”
There was an awkward silence between the two, then the man slowly backed away and walked back the way he came. He looked over his shoulder multiple times as he left.
The witch watched unblinking until he was gone, then turned her attention back to the horse and opened her saddle bag. She pulled out an old iron key, as her free hand was occupied with her magic scepter. With a red glow from the cane, the key creaked and twisted into a different shape to fit her needs.
She returned to the front entrance of the big brick house and slotted the new key into the hole. She entered the premises as if she owned it, but as this was not her place of residency, she made sure to lock the door behind her.
She stood still and listened for anyone around. She slowly scanned the area. It was a simple living room - the dining room and stairs to the second floor were visible from the front entry. No dog, no people, and the only sound was a single grandfather clock.
Click… clock… click.. clock.
The room was filled with ornate furniture and decorated with a fancy trim. The faint smell of tobacco and kerosene smoke was baked permanently into the floral wallpaper. Slowly Grisslie crept up the wooden staircase until she heard her foot press on a creaky step. Then another, then the third - but this one had no creak at all. She looked down, counted on her fingers from the top, then continued on. Eventually she located both the bathroom and the master bedroom.
Her smile never left her face. She just walked around and absorbed every detail. Eventually the girl noticed the closet door was left wide open. Leaning over, she could see just enough space between the back of the door and the wall for her intentions.
On the windowsill was a house plant. Near the large bed was a mounted shotgun - a side by side with two external hammers and double triggers. Below it was a dresser. The witch opened and shut all the drawers. Eventually she found a single box of 12 gauge rounds and two boxes of .44 rounds. Two shells from within the box of shotgun ammo were absent. She stood back up and lifted the gun off its mount, then opened the gun and removed two loaded shells. She then walked over to the windowsill and carefully poured the contents of two shells into the house plant's soil, burying the powder and pellets. Next, she placed the two empty shells into the gun and put it back on the mount.
Once back in the bathroom, she noted that there was no window and there didn't seem to be any hidden weapons or anything. Just a fancy mirror on the wall and some candle holders. Surprisingly, indoor plumbing was present. Mr.Heartwell must have a lot of money. However, she noticed a keyhole on the bathroom door. With a quiet hand, Grisslie inserted the magic key into the lock and felt it shift its shape again.
She looked through all of the dresser's clothes. No woman's clothes at all. No children's bedrooms, no pets… but there was a very nice home library and a writing desk.
The house held little surprises, so she returned to the bedroom and took her place behind the closet door. She pressed her back up against the wall with her hat pinned between her and the wallpaper.
Hours passed. Only the sound of the clock ticked from downstairs. The window allowed her to hear the occasional person, horse carriage, or automobile pass outside. Eventually she heard the front door open and shut. Some movement… a grown man swearing to himself, and the sounds of wood being tossed into the stove downstairs.
Whatever he cooked downstairs definitely had a lot of tomatoes in it - she gathered this by the smell alone.
The light in the house continued to drain until the clock struck 8. An almost pitch blackness had now enveloped the interior until she could smell a lantern and heard the man coming up the stairs. Two creaks from wood, then his steps entered the very bedroom she was hidden in.
There was a faint glow of the kerosene lamp, and eventually a match was lit. She could smell the smoke from his pipe and set some things down. He walked directly up to the closet she was hidden near and removed some clothes. He had no idea how close he was to the woman who would murder him. Eventually he left the room and the area fell into darkness once again. The bathroom door was heard being shut and locked.
Grisslie slowly emerged from behind the closet door. The dim light from the outside street lamps gave only the faintest outline of what was in the bed chamber. But atop the dresser, she saw something that was not there previously. With light footsteps she approached it, and gently lifted the object.
It was a belt and holster with a .44 revolver inside. She walked back over to the closet and placed the gun atop the shelf within. Now was the time to act. She silently approached the bathroom door, slowly and carefully inserted the key into the keyhole, and pushed the door open.
There was a treacherous male shriek. The man in the bathtub stood up abruptly and slammed his naked body against the wall. He was horrified at the smiling woman in pure white as she stood in the threshold, faintly lit.
“AAAAAH HUAAAAAAH!!!”
Grisslie put her finger to her lips and hushed, “sshhhh shhhh,” until the man stopped screaming and just panted, terrified.
He inpolitely shouted at her. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!?”
Grisslie ignored the curse word and attempted to be civil. After all, this was his house. “It's nice ta’ meet you Mr.Heartwell, allow me t’ introduce myself. I am an assassin. Ah'm jus’ here t’ tell yall ahead of time that you've had a bounty placed on yer lil’ head. Jus’ dropped by t’ do the the polite thang an’ inform ya ahead of yer demise at my hands. I'll leave ya to yer bath time now, bye bye!”
She kept her volume down, gave a small wave, and proceeded out of the bathroom. Grisslie gently closed the door and began to walk back to the staircase that led to the exit.
The bathroom door swung open and hit the wall with force. The drenched, naked man stormed into his bedroom. Grisslie avoided the steps that creaked and she made her way down towards the front door.
The loud, furious voice of Mr.Heartwell was heard shouting from the bedroom. “WHERE THE FUCKS MAH PISTOL!?” This was followed by his loud stomps as he climbed to the top of the stairs.
Grisslie stood at the bottom and smiled up at him as he raised the shotgun to his shoulder. There was a click to pull the hammer back, followed by the pull of a trigger. “PIECE OF SHIT!” He tried the other barrel, nothing. The woman in the dark just gave him the same red eyed smile as before. She was happy.
As Mr.Heartwell ran back to the bedroom, Grisslie unlocked the front door, opened it, then shut it again. Without leaving the house, the witch hid in the living room instead. The familiar sound of stomping came down the stairs as Mr.Heartwell ran into the street. She leaned over to look out the front window. It was very amusing to see a grown man run naked into the street with a shotgun, swear loudly then run back inside and up the stairs.
She then simply walked out the front door, to her horse, and untied the animal. She heard Mr.Heartwell in the distance shouting; “SHERIFF! SHERIFF!” as he scrambled down the opposite end of the street.
The woman giggled to her steed as she mounted the saddle. “That gonna be a fun one, aye horsie?” She patted it on the neck, then steered it around and walked it down the dark street. Grisslie sang cheerily to herself; “Th’ man ‘round th’ corner swore he’d kill the cat on sight, so he loaded up ‘is shotgun with nails ‘n dynamite! He waited and he waited for th’ cat t’ come around, ninety s’ven pieces of th’ man is all they found!
But the cat came back th’ very next day,
th’ cat came back, thought she was a goner. But th’ cat came back, just couldn’t stay away -way -way -waaaay!”
