The flames atop the seven candles inside of the cake flickered wildly as Presley nervously attempted outing them. The uneven gusts of air that were coming out of his mouth just weren’t getting the job done. This went on until his grandmother suggested that he focus on blowing out each candle individually instead of trying to extinguish them all at once in one sweeping motion. Ms. Sillow’s idea worked. Even though it took a bit longer than she would have liked, the candles were eventually all unlit. Once he had gotten through blowing out the final candle, the boy immediately began dabbling into his cake.
“Presley,” his grandmother interrupted. He froze in place before slowly raising up his head to look at her. He knew exactly what she wanted, and it terrified him. “What did you wish for?” she asked. After acting so normal earlier in the day, all of a sudden his grandmother was being really creepy again. Her squinted eyes appeared to be peering right into his brain. It was as though she had already seen his wish in his mind and was only waiting to see if his answer would match what she already knew.
Full of honesty, like only a child could be, Presley divulged: “My mother. I wished that my mother could be here with me.”
Ms. Sillow snapped. The chair that she was seated in ended up halfway across the room as a result of the velocity she arose from it with, and her hands - one around his throat, the other cupped over his mouth - were instantly attached to him. Once a firm grip had been established, Ms. Sillow heaved him up out of his seat and suspended him in the air while meticulously tightening her grip around his jugular. The boy kicked his legs frantically as his need for air became more critical. Realizing that her grip was slipping as a result of her grandson’s intense efforts to live, Ms. Sillow exited the kitchen and hastily began carrying him down the dimly lit hall. Presley continued his fight for survival in the hallway as he sank his fingernails deep into the wooden walls. But his grandmother was moving with much way too much momentum for him to even slow her down just a smidge. As she dashed through the hallway, a few of Presley’s nails ended up breaking off, remaining lodged inside of the walls that he were so desperately trying to grab on to. Once his first attempt to halt her progression down the hallway had failed, he grasped on to her wrists with his tiny hands and tried prying free of his grandmother’s octopus-tight grip; but she was much too strong for him. By now, he was slipping in and out of consciousness, his hope for survival diminishing. Eventually his grandmother turned off into a room full of dolls, wigs, and young girls’ clothing. It was the room her daughter had occupied when she used to live there. Ms. Sillow drove him onto the bed with tremendous force before turning her gaze to the heavens. With eyes full of sorrowful tears, she cried out:
“May the days of my grandson’s life be a keepsake in the memories of all who have known him. May the sins of his tender years be not held against him.” Presley continued his valiant struggle to live, kicking his legs about wildly and outstretching his arms in an attempt to grab her face… but his fists clutched nothing but air. Unfazed by his thrashing, Ms. Sillow carried on with her sacrificial declamation. “Cursed be the days of the woman who brought him into this world to suffer. May the guilt of her sin forever haunt her; and may my act of mercy be viewed as holy in Your eyes. As I have said, allow it to be manifested.”
The struggling had by now ceased. Ms. Sillow cast her eyes back upon the boy. He was just a shell. Cause of death: asphyxiation. Stroking his head gently, his grandmother kissed him on the forehead and said in a whisper to the lifeless body: “I love you so much, Presley.”
His mother loved him also, though, and would be calling for him in a few days’ time. Ms. Sillow needed an alibi.