A man, covered in blood, stood at the gate. And another man behind him. And a woman. There were about a dozen in all, drenched in enough blood to fill a lake.
They tugged at the skirt of my wedding dress, trying to pull me away from the house.
“He did this to you, didn’t he?”
They nodded, pulling, pulling me away.
“My husband is a murderer.”
They gestured for me to run, to get away from the one who killed them. I struggled out of their grip and turned back to the house, grinning.
“I knew we were well-matched.”
Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "A man, covered in blood, just walked up to the gate."