Excerpt: The creak of the floorboard upstairs had made her jump, and she stood up so fast that the chair scraped back across the kitchen floor. It had almost tipped over, but she had caught it, an action more of instinct than of forethought. It couldn’t be him! There had been so much blood! She didn’t know how many times she had hit him, but the bed had been covered in blood and meaty pulp before she was exhausted and climbed off. She was sure he was dead. It couldn’t be him moving up there, but how could it not be?
She’d come downstairs after killing him. She moved, her body feeling strange and distant but also feeling good. She knew nothing about endorphins or biochemistry, but she knew about good and evil, and she knew about the Ten Commandments, and she knew that only an evil person would feel delight after murdering another. She knew that only an evil person would cook herself a hearty breakfast while her husband’s dead body emptied itself thickly onto the sheets, and into the mattress of their marriage bed, and maybe, just maybe, that was all just evil enough to allow the dead to rise.