Ladder

The amount of blood was too much to be from a bird. There were no feathers around. I read my wife’s gaze; she was thinking the same thing. Before I could say anything, she said, “The baby is asleep, I’ll take him home, I’ll be back now.” She left and I lit another cigarette. I let the smoke out into the cold night air and my eyes fixed on the yard. That’s where I saw it: a faint trail of blood starting from under the ladder, fading stains on the mosaics continuing to the middle of the yard and towards the door. It was as if someone had hurriedly tried to wipe it away with water. My mind unconsciously jumped back to the previous week; to those voices behind the wall, to the suspicious whispers. Something wasn’t right in this house. Nasrin turned. I said, “Remember what I told you about those noises last week?” Her eyes sparkled. “I was just thinking about it, by the way.” I pointed to the blood trail and said, “Now look at this.” She was stunned. Nasrin loved crime stories; she would spend hours on YouTube channels, scrutinizing murder cases. I, on the other hand, was running away from these things. I was always grumbling, and lately she had been listening with a hands-free device so that the sounds of murderers and detectives wouldn’t get on my nerves. Now, a sly smile crept onto the corner of her lips. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment for years. She said with gusto, “Oh, man, a real murder!” I put my finger in front of my mouth. “Hiss! What do you mean, midnight? Where was the murder?” But I was already sure that something had happened here. I was nervous, but fear had crept into my heart like a shadow. Nasrin calmed down, pointed to the ladder, and said, “The story is clear. Someone was killed in Haj Reza’s house, their body was brought here from behind the scenes, and…” She paused. It was as if his plan was unfinished. He asked himself: “But why did they have to bring him here?” He thought and continued: “Maybe they didn’t want him to be fou