by Rachel Green
They never did find Grandmother's body, though there was so much blood splashed liberally around the manor that she couldn't possibly still be alive. That's what the police inspector told my mother on the day they arrested Daddy on purely circumstantial evidence. The bloody knife, the argument over his inheritance and his gloves at the scene of the crime all had perfectly reasonable explanations but link them together with the brutal murder of an old lady in her own home and the jury had their own idea of what two plus two added up to. Inspector White of the Laverstone Constabulary was apologetic about the state of the house, for the day before we moved in Mother had to enlist the help of Mrs. Blesset and Mrs. Jarvis from number fourteen to help her clean. The site of all that blood wasn't suitable for a child to see, they said, even if I was nearly twelve so they gave me tuppence for ice cream and told me to go and play in the park. I sat at the top of the slide and watched them empty bucket after bucket of red water down the outside drain, knowing they'd miss the stain in the cellar where I killed her.
Rachel Green, author of Burned Out, is the chronicler of the demon Jasfoup.