Granny's Revenge

By Misty Bratcher

After losing her family, her friends, her home and everything else she holds dear to her heart to a careless drunk driver; Granny decides to take the law into her own hands; a killing spree that the small southern town won't soon forget.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Misty Bratcher
• Release date: Aug 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463731482

Misty Bratcher

I've entertained my friends and family with my stories since I was little. So, it was no surprise when I chose journalism as a career. I worked for a hometown newspaper for several years. I then did freelance work on the web. Although I enjoyed those jobs, learned a lot, grew as a writer. My true passion is telling a tall tale. So, sit back, relax and let me take you on a wild adventure.

Book preview

Granny’s Revenge

Whoever believes seniors are harmless hasn’t met Granny.

Losing everyone she loved to a drunk driver, Granny plans her revenge.

It’s a killing spree the small, southern town won’t soon forget.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the one who inspired it, Jeanna Prince. Thank you for the wonderful idea.

Copyright © 2018 Misty Dawn Bratcher

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First printing, 2018.

Misty Dawn Bratcher

110 Cherokee Ln.

Rockaway Beach Mo

65740

www.mistysmysterybook.com

Chapter 1

The Bloody Beginning

Why Lord, why did you have to take him too? Matilda sobs. She glances towards her Grandson's casket and then his picture beside it.

The late afternoon sun makes a faint appearance through the cloudy skies as the crisp northern wind sweeps through the area making the dreary day seem much colder. The reaming bits of snow scattered across the lawn adds to this arctic feel.

I remember the day that photo was taken. She wipes tears from her face as she pictures the day in her mind.

What do you think, Grandma? Troy asks as he steps into the room.

You look fine, boy, real fine; any girl should feel lucky to have you for her date.

I hope she thinks so.

I'm sure she will. Now stand right there and let me get your picture.

I'm already late, Grams.

You're not leaving this house until I get my picture, She blocks their door.

We use to quarrel over everything. Recalling the numerous arguments, she smiles through her tears. She then thinks back to when Troy came to stay with her.

She wasn't sure she could handle an infant at her age, but his parents were killed by a drunk driver leaving him nowhere else to go. That was a big change for both of us, but we somehow managed. She cries. She then remembers Troy's toddler years.

Park, Granny park, he'd say, as he hopped in his little wagon.

I couldn't say no to that face, no matter how tired I was. She then recalls his first day of school. He was a brave little soldier, but she cried the whole way there.

I'll be alright, Granny, I promise, he says kissing her teary face.

You always were a sweet child despite the cruel hand you were dealt. She then recalls how it'd break her heart when she'd find him crying by their window.

Why can't I play like that Granny, why? he sobs in her arms. Born with a heart defect, Troy's activities were limited.

You don't have to worry about restrictions anymore. She sees a small ray of sun peek through the clouds like he's smiling at her from above. You go have fun, baby, make up for all that lost time. She sobs.

Are you ready to go, Matilda?

Huh, what? she asks.

His services are over, dear.

She glances up to find her friends slowly walk toward their cars. Yes, of course.

Our preacher gave a beautiful eulogy, don't you think? Marge asks as she helps her to the car.

Yes, it was very nice. I appreciated all the kind things everyone said about Troy. She sniffles.

He was a great guy, you raised him well.

Thank you, Marge. She dabs her eyes.

A stranger tearfully watches the grieving woman from a distance. It's such a shame that things had to turn out this way. Poor Matilda loses everything, and the killer remains free. I just hope somebody stops him before he does it again.  She wistfully heads toward her car.

Would you like to stop anywhere before I take you home? Marge asks as she pulls away.

I'd rather just go to the home, lay down a bit if you don't mind.

Of course, dear.

Matilda was moved to an assisted living facility after her fateful fall. She was told she could return home when she becomes a little stronger. I wish I can move back home now she tearfully thinks as she glances toward the old brick building. The place is nice, the staff friendly, but it isn't home.

Here, let me help you, Marge unfastens her seatbelt.

No, no I've got it. Matilda grabs her cane and slowly climbs out of the car.

Call me If you need anything, even if you just want to get out for a while.

I appreciate that Marge, thank you.

Matilda's nurse, Liz runs to her the moment she steps inside the earth-tone room. The furnishings, walls curtains were all dark, drab colors.

How are you, Ms. Brennan? Can I get you anything, tea or a snack perhaps? Liz asks.

I've had a very hard day and would like to lay down for a bit if you don't mind.

Of course, hon; here let me help you. Liz takes her arm in hers.

Matilda pats her hand. I can manage just fine on my own.

Yes, of course, you can, I just thought that ...

Matilda pats her hand. It's ok, dear; I know you're only trying to help.

***

The bitterly cold wind sweeps through the area, chilling the elderly lady to her bones. It'll be worthwhile in the end. Granny glances toward the starless sky. Fastening her coat around herself, she heads toward the bar. I'll make sure another family won't have to go through what I have. A tall thick man stumbles into her as she continues across the yard.

She tries to maintain her balance, but her feet slip out from under her; she falls to the ground. Watch where you're going, bozo.

Sorry ma'am, I didn't see you there. He offers her his hand.

She shoves it away. I don't need your drunken ass to help me up.

Geeze lady, I was only trying to be polite.

It wouldn't have happened at all if you weren't so sloshed. She reaches over and picks up her cane. I suppose you plan to drive home in that condition?

What's it to you if I do? Isn't it a little late for someone your age to be out preaching morals anyway?

Are you calling me old? Well, I'll show you old, sonny. I'll teach you a thing or two about respect too. She lifts her cane and whacks him behind his knees. His legs jerk forward and fold underneath him. He drops to his knees; his top half tumbles to the ground.

Didn't your parents teach you any manners, boy; tell you to respect your elders? She smacks her cane across his back. She hears a loud whoosh as the air escapes from his lungs. That's what's wrong with you pampered youngsters these days, you don't have an ounce of morals in your entire body. She whacks him again and again. My daddy used to take a stick to my backside when I got out of line and it didn't ruin me the way they claim. In fact, it made me stronger, taught me right from wrong. She thumps his head with her stick.

Ok, ok I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll be more respectful to you, and all the other grannies, I promise, he says, as he tries to stand. She wallops him across the back, he plummets to the ground. She hits him again for good measure.

Geeze lady, take it easy, alright. I said I'm sorry what more do you want?

I don't believe your lying drunken ass for a second. She lifts her cane to his neck and squeezes its handle. They hear a high-pitched swish as a bullet-shaped object projects from the bottom of her walking stick; she takes a quick step back.

A harrowing pain radiates through his neck as a sharp frozen mass pierces his artery. A warm, sticky liquid gushes through his fingers when he grabs a hold of his neck. What the fuck? He sees his hand is covered in blood when he pulls it away. Help me, please somebody help me, he screams, as he struggles to get back on his feet. His head feels woozy; his surroundings begin to spin. Help me, please help me, he yells as he takes an unsure step. He tries to take another but plummets face-first to the ground.

You lose a lot more blood, if you continue to move around.

He looks down to see a large puddle pooling below him. Help me, please someone help me, he screams again.

Getting excited helps blood flow too. Besides, no one can hear you over that racket you guys call music.

He glances up at her, tears in his eyes. "Why did you