All Walled Up By: Shariq Ansari The story I am about to convey to you is perhaps one of the most peculiar stories you will ever be told. It is a recollection of a dream that I experienced during my most sound slumber. This dream struck me as being rather odd, because of reasons that will be apparent to you when I tell my tale. But wait! How rude of me! I've forgotten to introduce myself to you. I am the honorable Constable Jacques Moreau (that's French, you know). I live in a small town in England, the name of which is Bradbury. I live alone, for I haven't a wife, nor do I have any children. I was born and raised in London until I was 21 and then...oh. I'm dreadfully sorry. I don't suppose you really care, do you? Never mind then. On with the story. I shall begin at the beginning (that being the most logical place to begin): I found myself walking about the streets of Bradbury on the night watch. It was a cool night, and the air was fresh and dry. The moon was full and the sky was clear and speckled with stars. I-my real self-realized that I-my dream self-was delivering an Outstanding Citizen Award to our local stonemason, Mr. Herbert Smithe. Now, this Smithe was a very thin man, with cunning, fox-like eyes and slender fingers. But despite his appearance, he was a rather cheery fellow, the type of man who would always tip his hat for you when he met you on the street. He was the type of man that would always hold the door for a lady; who always had a smile for everyone. After many minutes of aimless walking, I found myself on Westhaven Avenue, the street on which Mr. Smithe lived. I walked to his house knocked on his door. I stood for a minute or two and knocked again. After another minute of waiting I called into the house. "Mr. Smithe? It is I, Constable Moreau! Would you open the door, please?" Then I heard footsteps coming from inside the house, and the door opened, revealing a tired and haggard face of Mr. Smithe. "Ah! Constable!" he exclaimed. "Come in, come in! What brings you here at this hour?" he asked. I walked into the house of the stonemason and began to answer him. "Well, I'm here to-" "Have a seat!" he said. He pushed me over to a comfortable-looking red chair in the parlor. "Can I get you something Constable? Wine perhaps? Hold for a minute, while I fetch a bottle of my finest wine." He left the room quickly, as if in a hurry. Upon his exit, I stood up and began to walk around, studying the parlor. The walls looked very new, as did the floor and the ceiling. It was as if the house had just been made. But the houses on Westhaven Ave. are as old as my father is, I thought. I shrugged and accredited it to the good housekeeping that Mrs. Smithe had most likely practiced. Looking around some more, I found that there was a black cat sleeping peacefully in the corner of the room, at the base of a pole. On the pole rested a birdcage in which a black bird was perched. A raven, I thought. Not wanting to disturb the animals' slumber I turned my attention to something else. I heard footsteps coming from the hallway, so I quickly sat down in the red chair. Smithe walked in, holding a very old looking bottle of wine and grinning, ear-to-ear. "Here you are Constable! A bottle of the finest wine in Europe, Amontillado!" He poured me a glass. "Amontillado eh?" I chuckled. "I read a story about this kind of wine once. It had something to do with a man being walled up in the wine cellar of some Italian! Imagine that!" I mused. Smithe looked at me, and, for an instance, I thought I saw a flash of nervousness across his face. But then he smirked and sat down. "Walled up? Yes, I suppose that is amusing!" With this he began to laugh quietly to himself. Forgetting my original reason for calling upon Smithe, I began to make small talk. "I noticed that you have pets Mr. Smithe," I said, indicating the two animals in the corner. "Call me Herbert. And yes, I do have pets. Their names are Pluto and Nevermore," he explained, pointing to the cat and the bird. "They are my only companions in this world, you know. I live alone except for them." His eyes softened, then widened in alarm, but I didn't notice this. I was too busy realizing what he had just said. "Wait a moment. What about your wife!?! And your ten daughters!?! I saw them all only three days ago at the dress shop!" I exclaimed. Smithe panicked. "Alright! I confess. I killed them all! Look!" With this strange explanation, Smithe went behind his chair and grabbed a large metal-headed sledgehammer. Holding it in both hands, he began to smash the walls. I was dumbfounded. What on Earth is he doing? When he finished smashing the walls, he began work on the wooden floor. After that, he stood on the chair and began to smash away the ceiling. When he was done, he stood back and gasped for breath. When I looked at the walls, I gasped too; for hidden in the walls there were the bodies of seven of the beautiful Smithe sisters. In the ceiling hung the body of a girl who was tied to the beams with rope by her wrists and ankles. There were two more girls in the floor. Every single one of the girls had multiple stab wounds and a large bruise on their foreheads. "Look! See? What do you say about that!?!" cried Smithe. The man looked hysterical. In my disgust, all I could manage to say was, "I count only ten. Where is your wife?" "Follow me." He proceeded to bedroom. In the center of the room was a bed with two mattresses stacked on one another. "Oh dear," I said. "You don't mean to tell me that-" "-she's in the lower mattress," he finished. He held the sledgehammer loosely in his hand. "Now, Constable. I have one more space to fill! The top mattress!" He looked at me with a gleam in his eye. I began to panic. "B-but why m-me?" I stammered. "I d-did nothing t-to y-you!" "Yes you did!" he shrieked. "You fouled up my plans! I had everything worked out! To the last detail, no less! But then you arrived. Poking your nose into businesses you shouldn't have! Now I have to kill you!" "You're psychotic!" I screamed. But that did nothing to quell his anger. I didn't expect it to; it was the only thing that I could think of at the time. But it still didn't matter. He lunged and struck me on the head. That is when I awakened from my dream. Now I sit here, telling you this story. Why am I telling you this story? I haven't the faintest idea. But let me tell you this much. I think that this dream is a warning. Yes! A warning from the powers that be! They're telling me that Smithe is after me. So you know what the only logical thing to do is, don't you? That's right. I have to kill him first. Besides, that's what any sane person would do, and I am perfectly in control of my mind. Don't worry about me getting caught either. Oh no-I'm much too intelligent to let that happen. You see...I have everything planned...all the way down to the littlest detail...