I had been looking forward to the first day of rifle deer season much as I used to look forward to Christmas when I was a kid. It always falls on the first Monday after Thanksgiving in Pennsylvania and is a bit of a state holiday. Many schools close because a large number of students from junior high up, as well as many teachers, will be in Penn's Woods that Monday and not in the class room.
At the last minute a client from California pretty much insisted that I be available Monday to go over his account. I tried putting him off and even carefully felt him out about having a different company representative meet with him. The account meant a lot to the company, which in turn made it very important to me. For the first time since I was twelve, I spent the first day of deer season inside. I accepted that I would have to go to our hunting camp Monday evening, thus missing all the camaraderie we hunters enjoyed the day prior to hunting. That meant I would be behind in beer consumption and money lost at poker. With luck, I would be able to catch up on most of that lost time, beer, and money on Monday evening.
To that end, I packed my hunting gear into my pick-up truck, tossed a case of beer in the back and hit the road for the three hour trip to our hunting camp in Bradford County. My wife, Barb, had left a note telling me she was going to be out with a couple of her girl friends and wishing me luck on my hunting trip. I wasn't fooled. I knew most wives were more than happy to have us guys away from home for the first week of deer season. It was like a small vacation for them.
I was an hour away from home just as twilight turned to darkness. As I followed the twists and turns of Route 6, I saw the service van in front of me smack a beautiful buck and bounce it back to the side of the road. Even as I braked, I saw another deer, a doe, bounce off the side of the van to drop near the buck. I pulled onto the shoulder of the road and, using the headlights of my truck, I looked at the unfortunate animals. The buck had a beautiful eight point rack with a span of almost two feet. The doe was considerably smaller. Both were dead as last year's dandelions.
I made my decision immediately. I pulled my tags out of my hunting jacket and filled them both out and put them on the deer. Then I loaded them in my truck and turned and headed for home. I had to get them someplace where I could field dress them before their bodies became too cold. The process would only get more difficult and far more noxious, the longer I waited.
I stopped at a buddy's old barn about two miles from home and proceeded to turn on some outside lights. Then I field dressed both deer. As I worked on the buck, I admired his antlers. He was far and away the nicest buck I had ever tagged. It occurred to me that I had an excellent opportunity to win the big buck pool at my hunting club. I debated the moral issue that could arise over the fact that it was actually road kill and not taken during the hunt. I quickly dismissed any qualms that crept into my consciousness.
The rule was the biggest rack on a legally tagged buck. I qualified. Besides, I had never come close to winning the pool before. This was my time!
I decided to return the few miles to my house to clean up and change my clothes. No matter how many times I worked on deer, I couldn't do it without getting blood on my shirt and jeans. I tossed the deer into the truck and headed home. My tags were full and I suddenly had no reason to be in a hurry to get to camp. It would be too late for much beer drinking or card playing by the time I pulled into the camp.
At least I had secured my tags properly on the game animals, I thought as I pulled onto the dead end road that led to my house. I had seen a friend of mine fined big time because his tag had fallen off the deer. The local district justice refused to accept that the deer had been properly tagged and that fate had intervened to blow the tag off the animal.
The justice's name was Ray Parker and he took pride in being known around our town as the "hanging judge". He only handled petty legal stuff and law suits amounting to less than ten thousand dollars, but he was a pompous ass. Barb was on fairly friendly terms with the asshole's sister. Still, I knew better than to think that would do me any good if I found myself in front of the prick for some hunting or traffic violation.
It was after eleven when I pressed my remote to open my garage door. The house was totally dark, so I assumed that Barb was already in bed and probably asleep. I was surprised to see that I couldn't pull into my bay. There was a new Lincoln sitting in my spot! Barb's Jeep was in her usual place. As I walked around the Lincoln, I felt the hood and it was cool to the touch. The car had to have been parked there for some time. The keys were in the ignition.
I quietly entered my house. I stood still and listened. The house was dark and very quiet. With more than a small amount of dread, I climbed the stairs that led to the bedroom area. As I approached the master bedroom, I heard loud snoring. I had been sleeping with Barb for twenty-five years and she had never snored. My gut started knotting up.
I walked through the open doorway to the bedroom. There was enough moonlight to make out two human forms on my bed. Then I wondered why the hell I was sneaking around my own goddamn house! I reached over and flicked on the light and waited for the shit-storm that would follow. Neither person even flinched. Barb was sleeping naked with her hand on a man's prick. He had a round beer belly and a lot of hair on his stomach and chest. I reached down and pulled the pillow off his face.
It was the fucking hanging judge himself! Ray Parker was sleeping in my bed with my wife's left tit in his soft little hand! It's funny what goes through a man's mind at times like this. I found myself outraged that my wife had welcomed such a miserable asshole into her bed. Shit, she and I both knew a lot of guys that I would have preferred to have ripping off a piece of her ass from time to time!
Then I saw the empty wine bottles on the nightstand. Small wonder turning the bedroom light on had bothered them not at all. They must have drunk and fucked themselves into a stupor!
I went downstairs to get my deer rifle. The next time that fucker woke up, he'd be dead! As I dug around my truck for my rifle and shells, I started thinking about my situation. The husband is always the primary suspect. Hell, if someone else shot the prick, I would probably still be convicted for the murder, simply because I had such a strong motive. I needed to be smarter than that.
Then I noticed the antlers protruding above the side of my truck. I sure as hell didn't want to go to jail before I showed the other guys my buck, and won the pool. Parker wasn't worth missing that once in a lifetime pleasure. Barb and I hadn't been getting along very well lately, anyway. Why allow the bitch to ruin my life? I quickly hatched plan B and proceeded to carry it out.
I removed my tag from the doe that was in my truck and carefully placed it in the large trunk of the Lincoln. Then I dug out the old sawed-off double barrel 12 gauge shotgun I had bought from an old drunk a few weeks before he died, almost twenty years ago. I never told anyone I even had it. It was an extremely lethal and illegal weapon. I wiped it down with an old rag, so there were no finger prints on it and placed it in the trunk with the deer. I even found a relatively new pillow and tossed it into the trunk, after I ripped off that damn tag that warned that it was a federal crime to remove the fucking thing.
Then I went into the house and filled a tea pot with very hot tap water. I dug out our turkey baster and returned to the doe in the trunk of the Lincoln. I poured some of the hot water into the cavity of the deer and allowed it to sit there for a minute or so. Then I used the turkey baster to suck a fair amount of the bloody water from the corpse and squeezed it into a bowl. Then I refilled the baster from the deer body. I had already parked my truck around the side of the house.
I dug out my son's hockey mask and put it on and went back up to my rather noisy bedroom. When Barb drank, she was almost impossible to wake up. My plan would work better if she remained asleep, but I was ready to wing it if it became necessary.
I removed Parker's clothes from the chair in the bedroom and hid them in a closet. I noticed his cell phone was still on his belt. Then I placed the bowl and turkey baster on the nightstand.
I climbed onto the bed with a knee on either side of Barb. Achieving this position caused me to jostle Parker slightly, but he kept snoring. I pulled the buck's heart out of the baggy in which I had placed it when I dressed the deer. Sometimes the guys at the camp like to pickle them and have them with beer and crackers. I had never developed a taste for that particular organ.
I opened the leather snap that held my hunting knife in place and unsheathed my blade. Then I poured the blood from the bowl on the sheets and on Barb's tits. It's amazing how little blood it takes to make it look like a crime scene. Barb reached up and sort of rubbed her left tit a little as the liquid quickly dried. Then she dropped her hand back down to her side.
I emptied the bowl and placed it back on the table and picked up the turkey baster. I pointed it at Parker's face and moved it to about four inches from his snoring mouth. While holding the heart in one hand, I squeezed really hard and squirted the bloody water all over Parker, with some of it entering his mouth and forcing him to choke. I quickly put the baster down and picked the knife up and began running the point over the heart in my left hand.
.... There is more of this story ...