Vengeance

The distant ringing of the dinner bell pulled the young woman from her daydreams. She looked up from the basket of apples she’d been gathering, her face a picture of relief. She’d been out here since dawn, picking apples before the end of the season crept up in just a few weeks.

“Quittin’ time already?” she asked herself out loud, not caring that there was nobody else there to hear her musings. Pulling off her large Stetson and running her fingers through her long, blonde ponytail, she picked up her haul for the day and set off towards the quaint farmhouse just across from the orchard she had been working in.

Climbing the steps up to the door, she moved her hand towards the handle of the front door, but something caused her to pause. The door was never fully shut during the day; they lived so far out from the nearest town that they never needed to worry about people trying to break in or rob them.

But it was shut now.

Worry running through her body, the woman tentatively pushed the door open, her muscles twitching with fear.

“H-hello?” she called out softly, hoping for a reassuring call from her family.

“In here, sweetie,” she heard her grandmother call. Something wasn’t right; the call had sounded strange, like it had been forced out against her will. Steeling her resolve, the young blonde pushed ahead into the kitchen of the small household.

“Hey Granny, y’ok-” the girl started, but she cut herself off after taking a quick glance around the room. Her grandmother was sat in her usual rocking chair, a glass of apple juice next to her on the small table, the ice cubes just starting to melt. Across from her sat the cause of the woman’s pause.

Sat in her father’s favorite armchair, a chair never sat upon by anyone else out of respect, was a tall, lanky man. Dressed fully in black, from his hat and the scarf around his face and neck to his well-shined boots, he cast a foreboding aura across the room, only added to by the large revolver held up to her grandmother’s head.

“AppleJack, right? Take a seat, why don’cha?” the man said in a drawn out, menacing tone. The sheer power projected by his words was enough to make her sit on the small stool next to her elder.

“That’s Jacqueline t’you, sir,” the girl spat out, a mix of anger and shock stealing all reasoning from her. The rude comment hung in the air for a few seconds before Jaqueline found the courage to speak again. “Wut in the hell d’you want?”

“Ha ha,” the man laughed. “Jus’ like yer pappy, huh?”

“And wut of it?” she replied sternly.

“Did yer grandmammy ever tell yuh exac’ly wut happened t’yer dad?”

A look of confusion and sadness washed over Jaqueline’s face. She’d always been told that her father had run off in search of an elusive bandit, and just stayed out there hunting lawbreakers. She turned to face her grandmother, a tear trickling down her cheek as she watched the old woman turn away, guilt plastered over her visage.

“Ahaha, now THA’S funny,” the man laughed, a shit-eating grin drawn across his lips, his eyes glowing with triumph as he glared at young Jaqueline and watched the tears stream down her face, falling upon her linen dress, staining it with despair.

“W-w-wut did you do t’m-mah pappy?” she sobbed out, not wanting to get an answer but needing one all the same.

The man leaned in close, his stale breath burning her nostrils, and whispered,

“Ah shot him square in the fucking head, an’ now Ah’m gunna do th’same tuh yer grandmammy too.”

A shot rang out through the house. Jacqueline turned to see her grandmother slump back in her chair, blood pouring over her face from the gaping wound on her forehead. Jacqueline wanted to throw up, but she couldn’t bring herself to; she wouldn’t show any form of weakness in front of this man, the same man that’d killed her father all that time ago, the same man that’d just murdered her grandmother right in front of her eyes.

Pure rage coursed through her body, as she looked the man dead in the eye.

“You will pay fer that, Ah swear it on mah pappy’s grave, that Ah will fuckin’ end you and yer disgustin’ life.”

“And Ah’ll be waitin’ fer yuh, ya stupid little cunt,” the man chuckled. “If you manage t’find me, Ah’ll happily send yuh right tuh where I sent th’rest of yer family. Say hi t’yer pa and yer sister from me, Gideon McGristle.”

And with that, the man stood up, spat on the dead old woman’s face, then, smiling as the young, traumatized girl, he left the house, leaving Jacqueline alone in her state of shock, anger and sickening misery.