The steel shoes.
By
Justine Engelbrecht
Janet arrived a little after seven p.m. I told the detectives this after they said she was dead. They found her lying on the ground, on the riverbank. It appeared she had collapsed. It was very macabre; my skin prickled as they spoke.
The skinnier detective with the high-pitched voice leaned over and showed me a forensic photo.
I confirmed it was Janet; she was lying on the ground, her blue eyes wide open in a lifeless stare, and she had yellow froth around her mouth. Her hands were clutching my blue steel stilettos, her knuckles were white.
While I was looking at the photograph, it made me think of Marcy and the night she gave me the shoes.
“Marcy arrived at my house just before lunch,” I told the Detectives. “I remember as I was starving. She told me her aunt had passed away. She gave me the box. I gasped when I opened it, they were unusual but stylish.”
Marcy said, “These stilettos are your spirit animal, Amanda.” I laughed at her. Marcy was a bit weird, which was why I liked her.
“Did the shoes kill her?” I asked them, hoping to lighten the mood.
They looked at each other and then back at me, and the air in the room started to feel uncomfortable.
“Why did you give them to Janet?” they asked me.
“She begged me for them,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat adding that it felt strange giving her my new shoes.
“I am not one for sharing personal items, but she said they matched her blue dress perfectly,” I told them.
My brow muscles contracted across my forehead in a frown, and the tears started welling up.
“They weren’t just any shoes; they were special,” I stammered.
“Oh, we know,” the skinnier detective said, his voice getting louder.
“I was hoping to wear them; I was waiting for a special occasion,” I told them, my voice desperate.
The larger one moved closer to me with his stale coffee breath and hissed, "I am sure you were."
They stood up in unison, and without another word, they left.
#
"My aunt’s shoes killed her, Amanda. You were supposed to wear them. They had a poison activated by unstrapping the buckle in them,” added Marcy.
"What the hell?” I yelled at Marcy. “Why did you want to kill me?”
She stared at me through the condensation on the glass pane between us, the phone squashed against her ear, covered by her dyed black hair. Her face showed no emotion even though she smiled as she said, “It’s what my aunt and I do, Amanda.”
I looked down at my hands and pulled the sleeves of the orange jumpsuit over them before getting up and leaving with the guard.
Justine A. Engelbrecht
Justine is a Johannesburg based writer. She has a BA HONS TLI in Theory of Literature, and a BA CWR in Creative Writing. She has a collection of poems ‘Two Willows’ on Amazon KDP, and short stories for children ‘Adventures of Nala’. She has also published poetry and flash fiction on various online platforms.
By
Justine Engelbrecht
Janet arrived a little after seven p.m. I told the detectives this after they said she was dead. They found her lying on the ground, on the riverbank. It appeared she had collapsed. It was very macabre; my skin prickled as they spoke.
The skinnier detective with the high-pitched voice leaned over and showed me a forensic photo.
I confirmed it was Janet; she was lying on the ground, her blue eyes wide open in a lifeless stare, and she had yellow froth around her mouth. Her hands were clutching my blue steel stilettos, her knuckles were white.
While I was looking at the photograph, it made me think of Marcy and the night she gave me the shoes.
“Marcy arrived at my house just before lunch,” I told the Detectives. “I remember as I was starving. She told me her aunt had passed away. She gave me the box. I gasped when I opened it, they were unusual but stylish.”
Marcy said, “These stilettos are your spirit animal, Amanda.” I laughed at her. Marcy was a bit weird, which was why I liked her.
“Did the shoes kill her?” I asked them, hoping to lighten the mood.
They looked at each other and then back at me, and the air in the room started to feel uncomfortable.
“Why did you give them to Janet?” they asked me.
“She begged me for them,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat adding that it felt strange giving her my new shoes.
“I am not one for sharing personal items, but she said they matched her blue dress perfectly,” I told them.
My brow muscles contracted across my forehead in a frown, and the tears started welling up.
“They weren’t just any shoes; they were special,” I stammered.
“Oh, we know,” the skinnier detective said, his voice getting louder.
“I was hoping to wear them; I was waiting for a special occasion,” I told them, my voice desperate.
The larger one moved closer to me with his stale coffee breath and hissed, "I am sure you were."
They stood up in unison, and without another word, they left.
#
"My aunt’s shoes killed her, Amanda. You were supposed to wear them. They had a poison activated by unstrapping the buckle in them,” added Marcy.
"What the hell?” I yelled at Marcy. “Why did you want to kill me?”
She stared at me through the condensation on the glass pane between us, the phone squashed against her ear, covered by her dyed black hair. Her face showed no emotion even though she smiled as she said, “It’s what my aunt and I do, Amanda.”
I looked down at my hands and pulled the sleeves of the orange jumpsuit over them before getting up and leaving with the guard.
Justine A. Engelbrecht
Justine is a Johannesburg based writer. She has a BA HONS TLI in Theory of Literature, and a BA CWR in Creative Writing. She has a collection of poems ‘Two Willows’ on Amazon KDP, and short stories for children ‘Adventures of Nala’. She has also published poetry and flash fiction on various online platforms.
