Family Murders: Story of Mary Cruize
This story, I just made up as I went along to submit to Buzzle.com. It's a horror but really sad.
My name is Guiselle. I was born in 1969. My mother and father were born in Iowa. They moved to Ohio when I was about a year old along with my brother and sister. We settled in a small house on the outskirts of Cincinnati. It was very run down.
My mother, Mary Cruize, developed some kind of postpartum depression when she gave birth to me. After me, she decided not to have anymore children, or a husband. I was five and a half years old when my mom caught my father sporting with our neighbor, Jerry's, sister.
My mother made her leave. Well, it was more by force. Mom dug her nails into the lady's arm and pushed her down the basement stairs. Dad tried to restrain mom but she budged free. She had hit him upside the head with a table chair and watched his body tumble down the stairs and land on top of the woman.
I had witnessed the whole thing. Mom staggered into the kitchen and filled the sink with bleach and other cleaning products. She then made her way into the basement where she burned the bodies of my father and his mistress. I guessed the bleach was to clean up the blood.
She returned upstairs and set an ax by the front door, a rope in the closet upstairs, and a handgun in her front apron pocket. Jamie was upstairs playing and my brother Jordan was across the street at his friends house. I went to slip around the corner when mom covered my mouth and silenced me.
Mom slyly made her way up the stairs. There had been some shuffling upstairs; then it stopped. As she made her way down the stairs she smiled at me and directed me upstairs. I yelled for Jamie but I received no answer. Mom covered her eyes as if she were hiding; she grinned.
I opened the closet door and stared in horror. Jamie was hanging by a rope. I lay in fetal position on the floor crying until i heard the slam of a door and a scream. I was so weak from crying that i barely climbed down the stairs. Body parts of my brother are spattered on the floor. His head rolled from the kitchen to my feet.
In shock, I walked into the kitchen to find my mother wearing yellow gloves and playing in the water as if she were going to bathe a baby. She shifted towards me and I took a few steps back. Her face grew stern and she grabbed my arm. She brought her hands around my neck. I was fading.
With a ray of light coming from the basement door, I could see Jaime and Jordan. They smiled at me and pointed to moms apron. She still had the gun. While trying to grasp for air, I slid my arm into her apron and dropped the gun onto the floor. I managed to grab a hold of it and pointed it at her. She lifted her hands and backed away. I started to cry, fearing I wasn't strong enough to shoot her.
She laughed as I started to lower the gun. Two hands then reached my shoulder and two hands helped to lift the gun. I pulled the trigger. Mom fell up against the basement door and knocked it open. A hand from the basement stairs grabbed her by her hair and jerked her down every step. Tremendous heat traveled up the stairs and the furnace door creaked and slammed shut.
My mother, Mary Cruize, developed some kind of postpartum depression when she gave birth to me. After me, she decided not to have anymore children, or a husband. I was five and a half years old when my mom caught my father sporting with our neighbor, Jerry's, sister.
My mother made her leave. Well, it was more by force. Mom dug her nails into the lady's arm and pushed her down the basement stairs. Dad tried to restrain mom but she budged free. She had hit him upside the head with a table chair and watched his body tumble down the stairs and land on top of the woman.
I had witnessed the whole thing. Mom staggered into the kitchen and filled the sink with bleach and other cleaning products. She then made her way into the basement where she burned the bodies of my father and his mistress. I guessed the bleach was to clean up the blood.
She returned upstairs and set an ax by the front door, a rope in the closet upstairs, and a handgun in her front apron pocket. Jamie was upstairs playing and my brother Jordan was across the street at his friends house. I went to slip around the corner when mom covered my mouth and silenced me.
Mom slyly made her way up the stairs. There had been some shuffling upstairs; then it stopped. As she made her way down the stairs she smiled at me and directed me upstairs. I yelled for Jamie but I received no answer. Mom covered her eyes as if she were hiding; she grinned.
I opened the closet door and stared in horror. Jamie was hanging by a rope. I lay in fetal position on the floor crying until i heard the slam of a door and a scream. I was so weak from crying that i barely climbed down the stairs. Body parts of my brother are spattered on the floor. His head rolled from the kitchen to my feet.
In shock, I walked into the kitchen to find my mother wearing yellow gloves and playing in the water as if she were going to bathe a baby. She shifted towards me and I took a few steps back. Her face grew stern and she grabbed my arm. She brought her hands around my neck. I was fading.
With a ray of light coming from the basement door, I could see Jaime and Jordan. They smiled at me and pointed to moms apron. She still had the gun. While trying to grasp for air, I slid my arm into her apron and dropped the gun onto the floor. I managed to grab a hold of it and pointed it at her. She lifted her hands and backed away. I started to cry, fearing I wasn't strong enough to shoot her.
She laughed as I started to lower the gun. Two hands then reached my shoulder and two hands helped to lift the gun. I pulled the trigger. Mom fell up against the basement door and knocked it open. A hand from the basement stairs grabbed her by her hair and jerked her down every step. Tremendous heat traveled up the stairs and the furnace door creaked and slammed shut.
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