Shadows of Death – A Preview – Red Cape Publishing

Coming Friday 28th October, Shadows of Death is a stunning collection of short stories from Dee Caples which covers a range of sub-genres. Not for the faint of heart, this collection comes with several trigger warnings for violence and abuse. Shadows of Death contains illustrations from David Paul Harris (Demons Never Die, Six Days of Violence).

Interested in a review copy? Email redcapepublishing@outlook.com to request a copy. All we ask is for a review to be posted on Amazon within a week of release.

As we approach the release date, we want to share one of the shorter stories from this collection, alongside some of the artwork.

Yes, I Finally Killed You

It was funny when I read it aloud to you from that Facebook post. A friend sent a meme saying, “I’m a writer. Be nice to me or I might kill you.” We laughed and from time to time you’d tell one of your pals your wife is a writer and someday I might kill you. Ha ha.

“Hey, baby. Whatcha doing? Writing a story? Did you kill me yet?”

Okay. Give us writers no ideas. We might run with them. In fact, some of my best stories came from offhand remarks. Don’t blame me, honey. You planted the seed. Okay, kill you. But why? Uh, oh. That opened the can of worms and a whole lot crawled out. I started a list and it kept getting longer and longer and longer.

You made fun of my shoes. Know the ones I’m talking about? The ones I absolutely adored because they accommodated my bunions and made me two inches taller? I can’t wear just any old shoes and really liked those but you said they were ugly.

There used to be a vase on the den shelf, the only thing left of my grandmother’s. When you stormed out of the house, slamming the front door, it fell and shattered into tiny pieces that couldn’t be put back together. I cried and cried. Why couldn’t you have been a man about it and at least apologized? Instead, you laid the blame on me for not putting it in a safer place. Just when I thought your lack of sensitivity had sunk to the lowest, you went next level and bought me a tacky plastic thrift store vase for my birthday. The card said, “I owed you one.” I threw it out the kitchen window and you called me a bitch.

Adding that to my list brought to mind the pocketknife I always kept in my purse until that day I forgot and left it on the dresser. It’s a really good knife and I found it in your toolbox, which means you lied when you said you didn’t know where it was. You sidestepped the issue, saying I have no business walking around with a knife in my purse. I disagree. Can’t a girl pack a knife if she wants to? Huh? What really burned my ass was how you wanted to swap one of yours for mine. I didn’t want yours. Mine is well broken in and I can flip the blade out one-handed, but you kept on and on until I traded just to shut you up. You always want the best of everything, don’t you? You narcissistic prick…

And what about my beautiful flowerbed you ran over that night you pulled my car to within an inch of the front of the house? Hell, you couldn’t even pop the hood! You owed me an explanation for that one, seeing as how it was my car and half my house. But you told me to shut up, that I wouldn’t understand if you explained it to me because I’m clinically incapable of comprehending your decision-making process. You told me to go away and leave you alone. Hey, I went you one better and for three days said not one word.

Clever you brought a dog home to make amends, a yappy, nervous house shoe of a dog that piddled on the floor. I told you it ran away but the truth is I waited until you went to work, removed his collar, knocked the trash can over, called animal control and told them there was a stray mutt getting into the garbage. You never questioned me because I’m such a trustworthy person. That’s how I got the drop on you.

Even the tax preparer at H&R Block has heard me admit you’re more intelligent than I but that didn’t give you license to lord it over me like you’re God Himself. A diminished capacity for common sense is no indicator of lower IQ. Call me stupid one more time.

You did and when you turned your arrogant son of a bitch back on me, I got the gun and plugged you right between the shoulder blades. Remember teaching me the shooter’s stance? I did it perfectly, stood over you and put another one in your thick skull. Double tap seals the deal, isn’t that what you said, sweetie? Hey, your words, not mine, and you would’ve been proud I finally did as I was told.

That nosy neighbor must have called the cops because I hear sirens coming. Thank goodness I had enough time to write this! You kept making that joke but I don’t hear you laughing. It isn’t so damned funny now, is it?