“Awww… poor thing,” Jenni said, looking down at the dead bird. It had been chewed up by some kind of animal.
“It’s okay honey,” I said. “I’ll bury it in the garden.” And she hugged me.
But that was just the first one we’d find. The weeks went by and that dead bird was followed by another a week later, and a bloody squirrel with no head after that.
“Must be a wolf back there,” I said the following week, when we found a dead fox. “At least, I hope there is.”
“Why?” Jenni said, sipping her coffee.
“Well either that or we have a future serial killer growing up in our neighbourhood.”
“Maybe we should call the police?”
“Hmmm, well I think I’ll just fence off the yard first.”
But the fence didn’t stop the steady flow of dead animals appearing in the backyard, and over time they got larger. One morning there was half a dead cat, and later an eviscerated dog, a golden retriever.
I eventually did end up calling the police, but not because of the dead animals in the yard. I called the police because one morning I woke up alone, and lying in a heap in the backyard, covered in mud and gutted, was Jenni.
When I found her dead I was afraid of who or what was doing this. But now I don’t know what to be afraid of. Because this morning I threw up in the sink, and in the mass of bloody vomit I found her engagement ring.