My aunt's letters to her deceased son

 It was Saturday morning, around eight o clock. I was making breakfast when I received a text from my aunt, Marion. It was a request for me to come visit her as soon as possible. This was rather unexpected as I hadn’t heard from her in months.

About three years earlier, my aunt and uncle had lost their only child. My cousin David was six years old when he drowned in a pond on the property that my aunt and uncle owned. It was a devastating blow to both of them. Some time after David’s death, they were divorced and my uncle moved away. But my aunt continued to live in the home they once shared. She hardly ever went out. And soon cut contact with all her friends and most of her family. In fact, I was the only family member with whom she had maintained regular contact. However, over the last six months or so, she had stopped calling me and wouldn’t respond to my calls and texts either.

I texted her back asking if she was ok. I never received a reply. I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach and decided that I should go to see her. My aunt lived in another state and I had to drive for six hours to get to her residence. But for the aunt who had been nothing but kind to me when I was a child, this was something I was glad to do.

I arrived at aunt Marion's sprawling estate in the late afternoon. Her once beautiful garden was in a state of disarray, with weeds growing all around. The house, that was once stately, now looked sick somehow. I rang the doorbell and waited. There was no answer. I rang again. When my aunt didn’t come to the door even after several rings, I tried to open it. To my surprise, it was neither bolted nor locked. I entered the home and immediately, a putrid smell assailed my nostrils. I was the smell of dust, damp and rot. Visually, the interior didn’t fare very well either. There were cobwebs growing at every corner. The antique wooden furniture looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. The house proud aunt Marion that I knew would have been horrified at such conditions.

I called out to her, telling her I was here. I was greeted only by the brooding silence that seemed to engulf the house. I looked for my aunt all over and found her in the study. She was sitting on her reading chair. She was perfectly still. I greeted her as I approached and then placed a trembling hand on her shoulder. Confirmation of what I had feared came when I faced her. My beloved aunt was dead. Right in front of her on the table was a picture of my cousin, David.

I was overcome with repentance for not visiting her sooner, for not checking up on her more often. I wiped the tears off my face and noticed that my aunt had something on her lap. On closer inspection, I saw that it was a small doll that looked eerily similar to her son. It sent a chill down my spine. Had she gotten involved in something strange? My aunt has always been a skeptic, but I suppose grief and living in a large house all alone could do a number on anyone’s mental stability.

I called the emergency hotline. The paramedics confirmed that she was dead. I was questioned by the cops and it was easy to confirm that I had just arrived in the city. I later found out that my aunt had consumed poison to take her own life. I figured that the pain of going on without her child, and the end of her once happy marriage was just too much and she could bear it no longer.

Before she died, she had made her will and had left the property, the house and all it’s contents to me. I was staying at a hotel while I made arrangements for her funeral, called relatives, my uncle etc. I could not bring myself to spend nights in that house. The atmosphere was just so heavy. I like to think of myself as a rational person, but I felt this angry, hateful gaze regarding me anytime I went there . It made me feel that I wasn’t welcome.

A day before the funeral, I had to go the house alone as I needed to find a nice dress that aunt Marion owned, one that she could be buried in for her last repose. I was looking through her closet, when a particularly elegant violet dress caught my eye. I imagined my aunt wearing it when out on a date with my uncle. How stunning she must have looked in it. As I tried to take it out, it seemed to be caught on something. It was the door of a small compartment at the back of the closet.

I put the dress on the bed and after a moment’s hesitation, I decided to look into the compartment. It was a small space, and contained some old photos and a few papers. The pictures were of my aunt, my uncle and my cousin. Some had only my aunt and uncle while others had all three of them. I put them down and began to look at the papers. They were letters. From my aunt to David. The oldest one had been dated just two years ago, a year after David passed and the latest one had been written on the day my aunt died.

I read the first one

"My dear sweet David, mommy loved you. She really did…….. She never meant to cause you pain. I just couldn’t do it anymore…….. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Being a mother is hard, David. I had to give up my whole life to raise you…... Please son, forgive me."

What was this? What was aunt apologizing for? Did she blame herself for David’s demise?

I read the next one.

"David, why don’t you understand? It was difficult for me. I tried so hard to be a good mommy to you. But I only had you to make your father happy. I never wanted you…….. I couldn’t do it anymore. I just couldn’t do it anymore….

….David, won’t you please just leave. Leave David, please. For Christ sake, leave…"

She never wanted him? I found this hard to believe. As far as I could remember, my aunt dotted on her son. Then, why?

I read a few more that were just like this one. My aunt just rambling on about how she never wanted a child and how sorry she is. Pieces of a horrifying puzzle were slowly coming together in my mind as I read each letter.

"…..stop this David. Stop frightening me……end this torment…."

"Why don’t you understand? It was hard for me to be a mother. I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to hurt you. So I gave you a painless death..... I just wanted your dad and I to go back to being happy. The way we were before you were born."

"…David, you selfish child! You always were so selfish. You drove your father away from me. Even in life you came between us. So I got rid of you, I had to.... But your memory….your memory took him from me….David you ruined my life...."

"David you evil child…………..and now you want to keep me here, to torment me…

Leave me alone David….just go….Leave, David…."

The last letter my aunt wrote, the one she had written on the day that she died, read

"David, you vile evil creature…..I won’t let you torment me anymore…..I won’t David…I won’t let you keep me here…You never loved mommy did you? ….After all I did for you...You selfish, evil creature....I’m going to escape …..and I’ll come for you now…..Yes David, mommy is coming to punish you, you evil child….Mommy is coming David.…mommy is coming for you….."

In these letters, my aunt had confessed to the murder of her son. Had it been the guilt that had driven her insane? Or was it something else? I couldn’t just stand there and ponder over this for too long. I heard, from a distance, what sounded like a child’s laughter. It was very faint, but was enough to send me scurrying to the safety of the outside world. I took the dress and the letters with me.

I gave the dress to the funeral director and told no one about the letters.

Yes, my aunt Marion was a murderer. 

Yes, she had done a dastardly deed. But what good would exposing her do now? It would only serve to crush my uncle who had finally moved with his life. I decided to burn the letters.

Years have gone by since then. I still own the house that my aunt and uncle had lived in. Where my cousin had breathed his last. It remains vacant. I just can’t seem to sell it. I’ve tried to rent it out, but the tenants don’t last more than a few weeks.

I guess David is still very angry.