I love to walk among the tombs of the cemetery during the long hours of night, when I cannot sleep anyway. I wander around the aisles, admiring the scenery and the tranquil beauty of the tombs. This has been going on for three years now, ever since my wife died.
   Everyone told us, we were such a great-looking couple, and how happy they were that we had finally got together and decided to get married.
   We lived happily together in a small community near the northern border, in one of those small towns where everybody knows everything about everyone. Our next-door neighbors were Ted and Annie Harton. He was the town mechanic and she had a flower shop downtown. Their children Headley and Catherine were often seen sitting outside the house by the road, selling apples and sometimes eggs as well. And old Mr. Caldwell would come by for a beer and the latest stories he had heard from the guys down at the train station.
   My wife Alice was the assistant nurse to Dr. Lawrence, and I got a teaching job, teaching English to the fourth grade children in the Carlton Elementary School.
   Every day when I got home from school, I would sit on the front porch waiting for Alice to come home. Some days she would have to work late, but then she remembered to call home and instruct me how to cook dinner, so it was ready when she came home, and only once or twice would I spoil it, because I forgot it in the oven so it got burnt. But then I would take her to our favorite diner and have Shannon McCarthy cook us something nice.
   Everything was going fine for us, and one day in the fall Alice told me that she was pregnant and would give birth to our baby in the spring. That night we celebrated, just the two of us. We ate a nice dinner with candles and fresh baked bread, and in the night we made sweet, tender love to each other.

Later that night I awoke by the sound of something being knocked to the ground and splintered, almost like glass or porcelain. I got up and out in the hall. Inside the bedroom Alice was still fast asleep, apparently she had heard nothing. I went downstairs; the main hall was dark and silent and seemed awfully vast in the dim darkness of night.
   As I walked down the stairs, I was trying not to make any noise as well as listening for other sounds, that could possibly identify the source of the initial sound which had torn me from my sleep and into the nightmarish reality of walking around in my house in darkness while chasing something that might as well be a couple of burglars with no scruples whatsoever about shooting me or beating me to death, and then my wife! I shuddered at the thought about what they would do to my dear, dear wife.
   I started walking faster through the hall and into the living room from whence I believed the sound had originated. I opened the door and could instantly spot that someone had been in here, because the big vase that my mother-in-law gave us for our wedding anniversary lay on the floor shattered in a thousand tiny pieces and the window was open. Someone had pried the window open and crawled inside, and on the way in that person had tilted the small coffee table on which the vase stood, which led to the vase shattering on the wooden floor and alerting me.
   Fearing for my own, as well as my wife's safety, I went into the kitchen and took a big knife from the drawer and moved on towards the dining room, when I heard a faint noise as if someone walking up the stairs. I hurried back through the dining room, careful not to alarm the burglar so as he might do something bad in a fit of desperation, which as it was, might just be what he was doing right now, but that thought did not enter my mind until long after that frightful night.
   I walked up the stairs, the shadows around me seemed to close in on me and I thought that somewhere in the distant I could hear a bell ringing, there was an infernal noise like a fog horn somewhere near me, but I could not, nor did I have the time to discern from whence it came. I could only think that my wife was in terrible danger.
   I felt as if I was inside a tiny cage, and I desperately wanted to escape, but it kept getting hotter and hotter as I moved down the hallway towards the bedroom. As I rounded the corner to the bedroom, I just managed to see my darling Alice lying on the bed restfully sleeping. There were no signs that she had been harmed in any way, no blood on the sheets, nor on her head. There was not a knife plunged in her back and no-one there to harm her.
   As I breathed a wonderful sigh of endless relief, someone or something hit me in the back of my head, knocking me unconscious.
   When I woke up again, I was in a tiny room with white walls and soft padding on floor, walls and ceiling and someone was watching me through a hole in, what I then discovered was a door. I had not noticed the door in the wall, simply because it did not have a doorknob, at least not on this side of the door.

A year later the people behind the door decided to let me out into the world, they said that I was cured and freed of any charges. I did not know what they could possibly be talking about. I had no illness, but I did seem to have a slight case of amnesia. Faint traces of memory seem lost to me, and others seem to have invaded my mind however untrue they might be. They suggested that I should have murdered my wife, my beautiful Alice. How could that be true? I loved her, I still love her with all my heart. I love her even beyond the boundaries of life itself, and I'll be damned if any doctor is going to make a pass at her, let alone sleep with her...

Now, every day for the last three years I have come to the cemetery in the faint hope to find my wife's name on one of the tombstones. Sometimes I think I found the right one, but when I take her home and put her in my bed so I can kill her again, her and that bastard she was fucking, I find that it is not my wife.
   It is such a mess, getting rid of a corpse. When you burn them, there will almost always be something left, some small piece of evidence that you have to hide somewhere else lest those people in the white gowns returns to put me back into that small room, with the white, padded walls and ceiling. I will not go back there, not ever. So I have to be careful about keeping my midnight forays into the cemetery a secret. And I must continue these forays until the day when I find the tomb of my beloved Alice, so I can kill her, kill her, kill her, kill her, kill kill kill kill kill kill kill.