Graeme Burnet - His Bloody Project

I got up from my knees and wandered back towards the house. My previous thoughts about the means of killing Lachlan Broad had been no more than procrastination. It mattered not what was in my mind or what I planned to do. If fate dictated that Lachlan Broad was to die by my hand, then it would be so. The success or otherwise of my enterprise was outwith my control. In this spirit, I determined that if I were to kill Lachlan Broad, I must first proceed to his house. It would, furthermore, be necessary to go armed with some weapon with which I might accomplish the task. What better than the croman which providence had just then placed in my hand? As I reached the top of the croft, I came upon a flaughter leaning against the gable and this I also took up. I then set off along the village. I told myself that I was not on my way to murder Lachlan Broad, but merely to discover what would happen if I paid a visit to his house thus armed.

I proceeded along the track at a normal pace. Carmina Smoke emerged from her house and greeted me. As I did not wish to raise her suspicions, I paused and returned her greeting. She saw the flaughter in my hand and asked me if it was not a little late in the year to be breaking ground. I told her without thinking that I was going to clear some land behind Lachlan Broad’s house where a dyke was to be built. The ease with which this lie came to my lips led me to believe that my project was destined for success. Carmina Smoke said that she had heard nothing about a new dyke, but she did not question me further. I bid her good morning and continued along the village. I sensed that she was watching me, but I did not look round, for fear of appearing furtive. I spoke to no one else as I made my way past the remaining houses. I felt something of the old anxiety I always experienced when encroaching on Mackenzie territory. The incident with the kite flitted through my mind and my heart began to beat more rapidly. I paused outside the Broads’ house and leant on the handle of my flaughter, as though taking stock of the work ahead of me, which in a sense I was. A crow settled on the gable of the house. Little Donnie Broad was playing in the dirt some yards from the threshold. He squinted up at me and I greeted him in a normal manner. He then returned to whatever harmless game he was playing. I looked back along the township. Carmina Smoke had disappeared. A number of villagers were bent over their crops, all oblivious to the events which were about to occur. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the Broads’ chimney. I stepped past Donnie Broad into the doorway.

Inside, the house was dim and it took some moments for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The sun cast a rectangle of light on the earthen floor and my legs were silhouetted within it. Flora was at the table scrubbing potatoes and placing them in a pot of water. When I stepped inside the house she looked up from her work. She seemed startled to see me and asked what I was doing there. There was a light sweat on her brow and she raised her right hand to push away a strand of hair which had fallen over her face. I could think of no errand that would have brought me there, nor of any reason to lie, so I replied that I had come to kill her father. She put down the potato she had been scrubbing and said that that was not a very funny thing to say. I could, I suppose, have pretended it was a prank, but I did not do so, and from that moment my course was set. Instead I asked where her father was. Flora’s eyes widened and she let out several short breaths. I took a few steps into the chamber. She moved to the far end of the table that now stood between us. She told me I should leave before her father returned or I would get myself into terrible trouble. I replied that I was already in terrible trouble, all of it brought on by her father. Flora said that I was frightening her. I said I was sorry, but that even if I wished things to be otherwise, they could not be so.

Then quite suddenly Flora darted to her left and ran towards the door. As she passed the end of the table, I swung my flaughter and caught her around the knees with it. She crumpled to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The blow must have struck her dumb for she did not cry out or make any noise other than a soft sobbing. I laid down my tools and bent down next to her. I lifted up her skirts and saw that her knee was collapsed at a quite unnatural angle. Flora’s eyes darted wildly around, like an animal in a snare. I stroked her hair for a moment to calm her, then, as I did not wish her to suffer, I took up my flaughter and planted my feet on either side of her hips. I raised the tool above my head and, remembering the sheep at the peat bog, took careful aim. Flora made no attempt to move and I brought the back of the blade firmly down on her skull. The weight carried the tool clean through the bone as if it was no thicker than an eggshell. Flora’s limbs twitched for some moments before she came to rest and I was glad not to be obliged to administer any further blows.

I stepped back from the body and surveyed it for some moments. Flora’s skirts were disarrayed around her legs. Her arms were by her sides and were it not for the fact that her skull was broken open, it might have appeared that she been struck down by a bolt of lightning. As her body was not illuminated by the light from the window, anyone entering the house might stumble over it. To avoid this eventuality, I leaned my flaughter against the wall and carried her to the table where she had lately been at her potato peeling. She was not heavy, but as I lifted her a good deal of matter spilled from the back of her skull onto the floor. I laid her on her back with her legs hanging from the end of the table, upsetting the pot in which she had been placing the potatoes. The water ran off and formed a puddle on the floor. I collected the potatoes and placed them back in the pot. I retrieved the flaughter from the wall and with my croman still in my hand, stepped into the darkness on the far side of the door in order to obscure myself.

After some minutes, Donnie Broad appeared at the threshold. He called his sister’s name, but, of course, received no reply. He stepped into the chamber and saw Flora’s legs dangling from the end of the table. He started to toddle towards her, but as he did so he slipped in some of the matter from her skull and fell face-first onto the floor. He began to cry. I stepped forward and hit him on the side of the head with my flaughter. I did not mean the little boy any harm, but I could not permit him to raise the alarm. I did not know then if I had killed or merely stunned him, for I had not hit him with any great force, but he lay quite still and after some time I concluded that he must be dead. I left him lying where he had fallen and stepped back into the shadows.

I do not know how much time passed while I remained there. The rectangle of sunlight on the floor slowly lengthened, as if its corner was being tugged by an invisible thread. I began to grow anxious. I would have been saddened to have killed Flora and the boy for no purpose.

Presently, I heard a dog bark close to the house and this proved an augury of Lachlan Broad’s arrival. He appeared at the threshold, his great frame entirely blocking out the patch of sunlight which had been creeping across the floor. I do not know if he stopped because of the dimness of the room or because he saw the bodies before him. As he had his back to the light, I could not discern the expression on his face. In any case, after a few moments he took three or four steps towards where his son lay in the dirt. He knelt down and turned over the body and seeing that the boy was dead, looked wildly about the chamber. I remained in the shadows, not daring to draw breath. He then rose and moved towards the table where Flora’s body lay. Seeing that she too had taken her leave of this world, he put his fist to his mouth and emitted a stifled cry, somewhat akin to an animal being slaughtered. He steadied himself with both hands, knuckles down to the table, his feet planted apart. A great sob racked his body, but then he mastered himself and pushed away from the table. He turned and took two or three steps towards the door. At this point I stepped from the gloom and he came to a halt. We stood no more than three paces apart. I was struck by the size of him and had grave misgivings about my ability to dispatch him as I had the others. He seemed to take some time to register who was standing before him. Then he drew himself up to his full height and said in a calm voice, ‘Is this your doing, Roddy Black?’