The Shed
Written by
Kasey Sailer
I
The water felt so good. It was the perfect temperature. So warm and relaxing that it felt like I was going into a trance. How had it come to this? The answer was simple enough. It was because of that goddamn shed.
II
Marriage is everything I dreamed it would be. I love and cherish my husband. He makes everything in my life perfect. We have 2 children, Bethany and Christopher. Bethany is 6 years old and Christopher is about to turn 4. We’ve been married for 8 years and have a beautiful home in Fort Scott, a small city in Kansas.
The only thing about Greg that bothers me is his storage shed. He built the shed right after we moved in last year. He did this before he even started making improvements to the house. I was upset, but I only wanted to make him happy. I have always put his happiness before anything else.
The shed is huge. He built it in the back of our wonderful, two-acre lot. Sometimes he will spend hours at a time in the shed. He would never let anyone go in the shed. He said he uses it for cutting up the fish he catches and to store the sides of beef we buy every winter. The thing that strikes me strange is how he keeps the shed locked. Why would it be locked, unless there’s something important in there? It’s another beautiful day outside and I wish I could stay home listening to the birds sing their songs of joy, but it’s off to church like every Sunday.
The church was crowded just like always. Christopher’s wore his cute little suit and Bethany wore sunflower dress. I wish Greg could sit with us but he has ushering duties. He has always had an active role in the church. He never missed a Sunday service, even when he was sick! His role in the church, along with the non-profit organization he founded, made him a perfect catch. He never drank, always spent time with the kids, and was the most wonderful man I know. My only complaint, is that he works too much and is very dedicated to it, as if that is a bad thing. My mind always wandered during the service. I was never the church going type but marriage is a compromise. I didn’t mind going to church if it made Greg happy.
Sometimes he would work 80 hours a week, easily. His non-profit organization is called "Caring for our Troops". He organized packages and letters to be sent to our troops serving overseas. Greg is very patriotic. He had been drafted and sent to Vietnam when he was only 18 years old. He told me that he remembers how lonely it was over there and how it would’ve helped hearing from people that cared, to show him what he was fighting for. He started it from a one-bedroom apartment and built it from the ground up. It was amazing. He had celebrities and businesses that donated stuff to send to our troops in the Middle East. He has over 50 people that work with him, even some kids from the local college that volunteered to help. I wish some of the girls that worked there would wear more appropriate attire, but I guess that’s just how they dress nowadays.
Greg never talked about Vietnam. I’ve tried to ask him questions about it. At first he would just ignore them until he eventually told me, "I just don't wanna talk about that time of my life. It's just too hard."
I only asked him one other time. It was the only time he has ever yelled at me. Even in arguments he never raised his voice and always kept his cool, except for that one time. We were watching the evening news and there was a special on about our troops in Iraq. They said that more than 40% of them are coming back with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They said that many other war veterans must also suffer from PTSD, but haven’t ever been officially diagnosed. I muted the TV and asked him, "Do you think maybe you have PTSD?"
His answer was quick and it scared the shit out of me. “Goddamnit! Didn't we fucking talk about this? Quit asking me all these fucking questions about Vietnam." Then he stormed outside to the shed. He stayed in there for over three hours. He finally came in, crawled into bed, gave me a kiss and said, "I'm sorry babe. I just don't want to talk about that. Please don't ask me again." I agreed and I haven’t brought it up since. I still have questions, but I'm afraid to ask.
III
Dinner was great. Greg did everything. He set the table with candles, did the dishes, even read the kids a bedtime story. After that he went out to the shed for a couple of hours. I was in bed reading when he finally came in. He was sweating and looked completely worn out. "What the hell were you doing out there? And why are you sweating so much?"
He told me he was moving around some boxes, trying to get it organized. "What do you always do in there? You are in there every night. You have to be doing something."
He looked into my eyes and said, “I just need some alone time. I try to do everything for you and I work my ass off everyday. All I ask for is some alone time in my shed.” He had a slight look of anger at my questioning.
"I know you do your best hunny, and you do a wonderful job. I'm sorry. I know we both need our alone time." I still wanted to know though.
He jumped in the shower and I looked through the window at that goddamn shed. There weren’t any lights around it and you could barely see it through the darkness. Right then, I shouldn’t have been so curious, and just let it go. Everyone knows about curiosity and that goddamn cat. I couldn't help it though. I had to find out what he did in there. He always kept it locked and there weren’t any windows. He obviously didn’t keep the key on his keychain since he never took his keys out to the shed. He either had it in his wallet, or it was hidden somewhere in the house.
My eyes locked onto the pants he had just taken off. I picked them up and removed his wallet. I opened it up and that little thing that holds the pictures fell out. I reached down, picked it up and saw that they were pictures of the kids. As I looked through them I started getting an upset stomach. What am I doing? Snooping through my husband’s things? This is just like an episode of Desperate Housewives, or as Greg calls it Desperate Bitches. I had to find out what was out there though. Thumbing through the wallet, I didn’t find a key. And just as I was about to put the wallet back in his pants, I heard, “What the hell are you doing?” The wallet fell as I looked up and saw Greg standing there in only a towel.
I only stood there looking at him. He had caught me in the act. It was exactly like an episode of Desperate Housewives. He just stood there waiting for me to answer. Finally, I was able to think of an excuse. "Uhh...I was going to buy some groceries tomorrow but I'm all out of grocery money. I was gonna borrow twenty until I got my allowance next week."
“And you weren't gonna tell me? You could’ve just asked. Take forty. I know groceries are getting more expensive.” That was all he said. I felt horrible, I was the worst wife in the world. Only negative thoughts ran through my head. I felt like I was gonna be sick. He kissed me on the cheek, took off his towel and crawled into bed. I crawled in beside him and turned off the light. It took me forever to fall asleep but eventually I did.
IV
After I got the kids to the bus stop and Greg had left for work, I started looking. I had to find that key, but I didn’t know where to start. First, I went through his winter jacket and inside all of his shoes. Next, I went into the garage to check all of the drawers and cabinets. Nothing. Then finally it dawned on me. His drawers! I rushed to our room, took all the drawers in his dresser and dumped them onto the bed. I sifted through all of his underwear, ties, socks, undershirts and still no key. "Damnit!" I went over to his dresser and kicked the baseboard. I was amazed when it fell over. It was a secret compartment. I spotted a small box inside.
There wasn’t any guilt inside of me this time. The only thing I felt was a deep fear that I would uncover a dark secret. As I opened the box I was more relieved, than surprised. On top was our marriage license, laminated and still as crisp as the day we had signed it. Under this were the kid’s birth certificates and social security cards. I started to feel bad again. When I removed the birth certificates, that feeling went away. Underneath were all sorts of things I’d never seen before. I picked up the pictures first.
The first picture I picked up was Greg in his army gear. He was smiling and looked the happiest he’d ever been. Next, was a picture of his entire unit gathered together. I couldn't understand why he hadn’t shown these to me. As I continued to look at the pictures, I found out why. The first one was of a young Vietnamese boy. Something had mangled the boy’s face. A bullet, most likely, had torn through where the nose used to be. I say used to because the face didn't have a nose anymore. The boy was dead, lying in the jungle in a pool of blood. I threw it down in disgust as I felt breakfast rising up my throat. When I threw it down the picture landed face down and I saw three words scrawled on the back. My 1st Kill. Those three little words made my head spin.
The next picture was of the same boy, with one exception. The head had been removed from the body and was still dripping a stream of blood. The decapitated head was being held up for display in this sick and twisted Kodak moment. As I looked at the man holding it I cried out in horror. The man holding the head was Greg. A much younger Greg, and even though his face was covered in camo paint, it was definitely Greg. I couldn't take anymore. I threw the picture down, rushed to the bathroom and lost my entire breakfast.
When I gained my composure, and washed that foul taste out of my mouth, I went back to the box. Only two words were scrawled on the back of this picture. My Trophy. I couldn't believe it. This was my Greg, my perfect loving husband. I knew he killed people, but I had never imagined anything like this? Imagining something and then actually seeing it are two separate things. There were other pictures that were just as bad if not worse. One was a pile of dead bodies. Another was Greg with a young Vietnamese girl in a tiny skirt. I didn't have to read the back to know what she was, but I did anyways. My 1st Whore. I put the rest of the pictures down. I focused my attention on the rest of the box. The only thing that was left in it was his dog tags. In between his dog tags on the chain was a silver key. I had finally found it and that’s when I heard Greg's car pull into the driveway.
V
Oh Shit! It's lunchtime already! I threw all the spoils of war, marriage license, and birth certificates back into the box as quick as I could. I rushed over stuffed it into the secret compartment and put the baseboard back up, only to watch in horror as it fell right back down. Then the front door slammed and I heard Greg, “I'm home baby. Where you at?” Oh shit! I have to get this damn baseboard back up. I tried a couple more times without any success. I finally looked inside the compartment and noticed the box wasn't in all the way. Once I fixed that, the baseboard slid right back into its place without a problem. “Karen?” Greg was calling for me again.
"I'm in the bedroom babe." I yelled back.
I was folding his clothes and putting them back into the drawers when he came into the room. He had a puzzled look on his face and said, “What the hell are you doing Karen?”
I stopped what I was doing, looked up at him and said, "I was just reorganizing all the drawers. I finished mine and just started on yours. Spring cleaning, ya know?" I presented my nicest smile, hoping he would buy it. It was hard to hold that smile while I looked into his eyes. As I looked at him, all I could think of was a younger Greg, holding a severed head.
I wondered if he could tell something was wrong. I was a ball of nerves. I watched his eyes go straight to the secret compartment and then back to me. “You have been acting strange lately. Are you okay?”
"Of course hunny. What did you want for lunch?" He looked at me for a minute, looked over at the baseboard, and then started walking towards me. He didn't say a word, just slowly walked towards me. I was as frozen as a statue. I didn't know what he was going to do. I never thought he could be violent until I saw those pictures.
He threw his arms around me. “I love you Karen, even if you are a weirdo.” Then he kissed me and said, “Don't worry about lunch. I'll just throw something together to eat on the road. I'm running late. Please don't be mad that I can't stay. I bet you wish I hadn't even come at all now, huh?”
He gave a quick laugh, followed by another kiss. “Your damn right!” I said followed by a forced laugh, even though I felt like my heart was going to explode. After he left, it took me awhile to calm down. I knew I wouldn't be able to check the shed during the week. He could come home at any time of the day. It was too dangerous. I’d have to find another time to do it.