It was a muggy afternoon, just on the brink of rain, when the McLoyd’s were gravely awaiting the burial of their beloved daughter, Margaret. Margaret died on a tragic night in late October. Many people believe that she died from an illness, however only her father knows the truth behind what happened that night. On this October day, before her burial, the neighbors, family, and friends gathered around the child-size hole in the ground, to mourn the loss of their young Margaret. Even now, people are still coming to terms with this awful occurrence.
As the ceremony droned on, many people began to grow agitated and bitter because of the circumstances. Finally, fistful by fistful, the muddy soil was dropped upon her casket by the hands that she once loved.
Over the next few weeks only her little siblings and mother came to visit. Each time they came there was a sort of...uneasiness that came over her family, but they ignored it. There was a present sense of doom radiating from the grave and in one swift motion everything changed.
At dusk, the spirit of Margaret arose in anger and loomed over the graveyard. She had one thought in mind, and it was to do everything she could to get back at her father for what he had done to her weeks before. She looked down at the wretched headstone her parents had picked out for her. It was slate gray and bore the inscription, “In loving memory of Margaret McLoyd.” The intricate border surrounding the headstone was to ensure that the neighbors could acknowledge the wealth of the McLoyd's. Margaret’s father was the type to announce that he was richer than most.
As the spirit stalked upward, it began to grow in outrage. She fiercely flew down the cobblestone roads and entered the neighborhood to see the house in which she had grown up. As the sun sunk over the town of Westport, Ireland, Margaret thought of her her mother:  Is she alright? Has he hurt her again? Will her body soon end up next to Margaret’s, adorned by a gaudy gravestone?
She stared through the mansion’s window seeing that they were in the middle of supper. Everyone appeared silent as though, a trance, had been brought upon them. They ate without words. Eventually, her father got up from the table, and snatched his coat.
Margaret had not noticed that her father's friend, James O’ Reilly, had driven up. Mr. O'Reilly was a middle aged drunk, who had nothing better to do than sleep with women and go to pubs. Margaret despised him because he was so tremendously disrespectful to her, her siblings, and especially her mother. Still, her father would drink with him almost every night. He would often come home drunk, and her mother would have to take a beating for some random argument he came up with.
Margaret watched as her father got in the car and drove away. She peeked inside and saw her mother gather her little brother and sister to bathe them.
Margaret thought back to the time when her brother, Liam, was so upset that he threw a fit in the tub until his mother took him out. Her father however, was working in the study, and grew so incredibly frustrated and angry.  He took Liam, and locked him outside, in the cold of January. Cold, like her father's heart, like a glacier with frost coating all the aspects of love. Mrs. McLoyd eventually brought her freezing son back inside after her husband had retired to bed around 11:30.
About 1:00am, Margaret’s father arrived back at home with drunken Mr. O’Reilly. They stumbled up the front steps and tugged open the large, mahogany door.  Her mother had always knew better, but for some reason she was still awake in the sitting room, staring longingly out at the city streets. As the men thumped through the house Mr. O’Reilly, noticed the wife.
  “Well, well, well, if it's not for the mother who couldn't take care for her eldest daughter during the time of her sickness!”
“What are you talking about James?” cried Mrs. McLoyd.
Margaret’s father laughed and trudged into the kitchen to fix himself a drink. While he was there, he looked out to the street. Margaret could swear he saw her standing on the sidewalk looking through the window, but he turned to focus on the ale he was pouring into the glass. The same ale that brought arguments, torment, and major heartache into their family.
  Back in the living room, Mr. O'Reilly shouts, “You killed your daughter! She died because of you! You let her die, you didn't love her, just like you don't love your husband and children!” By this point he was hysterically yelling. “ It's your job as a woman to cook, clean, and care!  Us men we make the money! We run the house!”
Mrs. McLoyd, tears rolling down her cheeks, didn't know why James was bringing this up. She slowly arose from the sofa, her hands, shaking furiously as if she was holding her child for the first time. “ I did the best I could!” She shrieked. Glistening tears came roaring down in a steady stream, as the memory of her daughter scorched her heart like a torch. She disappeared up to her room, where she ripped the tucked sheets out from there hiding and clambered into bed.
From the street, Margaret was fuming in outrage. How could Mr. O'Reilly treat her mother like that? She instantly thought back to that October night when her father brought her into his study. The smell of ale was pungently hitting her nose like waves crashing upon the seashore. Her father slammed the large door behind him and started staggering towards her. “ Stay there.” He commanded as he reached for something behind his large desk.
  A thundering noise, much like the sound of one hundred cattle, awoke Margaret from her memories. As she looked back at her house, she saw that Mr. O'Reilly had retired into the guest room. He must have realized that he was either too drunk or too tired to drive home on the streets of Westport. She was furious at him. Who was he to scream at her mother? He was going to pay for what he did to her.
  As Margaret slipped around to the back, she turned the corner and sulked towards the back door. She knew her father would never leave the key under the mat, but he also never remembered to lock the doors at night. As she pushed open the door, it made a loud squeaking noise. She knew, however, both Mr. O’Reilly and her father would be passed out in their beds, but her mother was an extremely light sleeper.  As she stepped into her old home, a rush of memories came over her, and she, again thought back to the night of her death.
  As her father reached into his desk, Margaret became frightened.  She knew how far he could go to teach one a lesson. His hand came out with something shiny, almost as though he had just polished the metal. It was some sort of flask. He started walking towards her putting one wobbly foot in front of the other.
“ Hello?” Margaret's mother asked. “Is anyone there?”
  She was startled by the sudden noise. She did not want to frighten her mother, so she stood as still as stone.
“ Margaret is that you?”  Mrs. McLoyd cried. She sounded insane, squinting her eyes, she leaned in as though investigating the space in which Margaret stood. She began to weep, she dreadfully wanted her daughter to be standing in front of her. After standing there somberly, she left, and crawled back up stairs to bed.
Margaret stood there for a while thinking about all the grief she had given her mother upon dying. Her mother must have been devastated! She slowly started walking again, careful to not make noise, and have her mother pay her another visit. As she walked up the stairs, she stayed to the sides, knowing that the middle of the steps creaked. Margaret had no idea what she was going to do once she got into the guest room, but she had so much anger and hatred for Mr. James O’Reilly, that she was going to do something gruesome.
She twisted the doorknob, feeling the cool brass beneath her knuckles. Pushing the door open, she examined the room. It still had the velvet drapes trying unsuccessfully to hold on their metal hooks. The carpet had been freshly vacuumed and the faint smell of lemon and lavender made her yearn for her mother. The walls were a deep red, as dark as blood. She circled around to the other side of the bed to where James was sleeping. Although she couldn't be seen, she definitely could be heard and touched, and if she were to execute her plan nicely, she would have to be deathly silent. Margaret stretched out her fingers, preparing for the best feeling in her life. She felt a nervous excitement as she carefully cupped Mr. O’ Reilly’s neck in her hands. Margaret began to squeeze, applying more pressure every second or so, making sure the pain would sink in. James’ eyes abruptly opened and he started seizing. Thrashing, really, throwing his arms around, but not being able to breathe through the strong hands of Margaret's; harder she squeezed. He tried to swat Margaret's away, but she held her ground. He suddenly stopped, and the whites of his eyes reddening as his large pupils and gray irises slowly disappeared behind his head.  She wore a sickening smirk on her face as she slowly squeezed the life out of the man in the bed. This was for all the times he took her father out to drink and he came back furious with his family. This was for all the times he argued with her mother. Her mother who was such a kind, generous, woman who would never hurt anyone. Her mother had a soul of a angel, and held a smile that stretched a mile. Margaret released the dead man's neck from her grasp eyeing the handprint stamped into his skin.
  As she sneaked out of the room, she felt a sense of accomplishment, as though she had just made her mother incredibly proud. As she walked down the stairs, her little brother, Liam came out of his room.
  “ Hello?” His little high-pitched voice asked.
Margaret stopped dead in her tracks.
  Her brother had greasy blond hair, that matted his head. He had obviously be recklessly sleeping as his hair was sticking up in every way possible.
“ Is somebody here?”
  Liam's dark blue eyes darted everywhere like something was going to jump out at him. All of a sudden, he widened his eyes and screamed. He ran back to his room and crawled under the covers. Margaret was petrified, because by this point she knew her mother and possibly her father too had awoken. Her parents bedroom door opened and as her mother walked out she nervously looked around. She crept into her son's room to try to soothe and rock him to sleep. A minute later, her father grumpily trudged out. He noticed that across the hall, the guest bedroom door had been ajar. He curiously walked into the room and gasped.
“ James are you okay? James wake up! Answer me!” Mr. McLoyd shook. Mr. O’ Reilly trying to awake him. He felt for a pulse and fell silent.
      “ What is it honey?” Margaret's mother asks as she walk in the doorway.
      “ He’s dead.” Replied Margaret's father.
  “Oh my!” Exclaimed Mrs. McLoyd. She looked as though she had just seen a ghost. And maybe she had. All color had flushed from her face. Meanwhile, Margaret was still standing at the top of the stairs listening to their conversation.
“Oh my? Oh my! Is that all you have to say! You know what, you probably murdered him! Yeah! You're the one who had a huge fight with him! You're the killer! First you own daughter and now my best friend? What's wrong with you? Are you possessed? Are you still in grief? Well guess what, you killed our daughter by not taking care of her, and now she's dead! I'm leaving!”   
The sight of Margaret's father running down the steps was enough to remind her of the night of her passing. “ Now Margaret… I know what you saw here tonight.” Mr. McLoyd’s voice was so shaky that he was slurring together his words. “ I can't have anyone know about this… incident, it was greatly against my character. So in order to know that this, let's call it an occurrence… will not be told to anyone, we will have to make sure the person who knows about it, in this case it's you, is… well...terminated.” He let out a kind of laugh that made Margaret clench her teeth and grimace. He continued to wobble towards her as he said this and was getting uncomfortably close with his flask of liquid.
“ Dad…” Margaret said. “ Dad you're scaring me. What are you doing? I promise, I won't tell about what I saw. Please!” Now she was pleading for him to stop. “Please, don't do this to me! I won't tell! I won't tell anyone I promise!”
     “ Margaret, you are too young to be trusted with keeping promises, my dear.”
She came back to the real world just as her father was going out the door. She looked over at her mother who was now sitting up against the coffee colored hallway wall, silently crying. Margaret so badly wanted to comfort her, and tell her everything is going to be alright, however, she couldn't. Margaret loved her mother so much, she was willing to do anything for her. She knew what she had to do to relieve her mom from this eternal pain.
At this time, the sun was just peeking over the city to welcome the town of Westport with another wonderful fall Sunday morning. Margaret had no doubt of where her father was going, so naturally she went there. The pub admitted a strong odor of old ale, whiskey, and throw up mashed into one. She walked in and saw her father sitting on one of the many stools that lined the bar area. She carefully walked toward him, hesitating once when she was right behind him. She took hold of her father's neck as she cupped his mouth, so he wouldn't make a noise. She used all the strength she could muster, and heaved him out of his seat.  She took him by the arms, and tugged his half sober body out of the pub. Bringing him outside, she shoved him down the block towards the church. He must've caught on by now seeing that his body was moving uncontrollably, and let out a scream.
  She pushed harder now, dragging him past the City’s buildings and across the empty town square. The enormous chapel stood out in front of the early afternoon sun. On top of the church spiked a four story tall steeple, that rose above the city. Her father looked bewildered at the fact that someone or something was moving him, but he had no idea what. Margaret was now running with him, leading him across the street, she could hear gospel music being sung and beautiful organs playing. Margaret was gripping her father's wrists so hard that the places where she held, began to turn purple. As the 10:00 mass concluded, people filed out and thanked the priest for his wonderful service. Once people began to leave, Margaret forced her father up the church steps through the chancel, down the aisle, and up to the alter. All the while, he was slowly going insane. He said things like, “ What did I do to deserve this?” And, “ What's happening to me?” Just the sound of her father's voice, made the hair on the back of her neck shudder. Margaret fumed at the words that spilled from her father's psychotic lips, it encouraged Margaret even more to keep pushing. Animosity was building up in her, as fast as her father's poison took to kill her.
   She pulled her father into a back room that held a spiral staircase winding up multiple floors. She shoved her father up the stairs and many times he fell.
  “ What's happening to me?” He yelled, but no one was there to answer him. They climbed and fell, climbed and fell, but after about 15 minutes they reached the top. On the landing, there was a chair, a radio, and a very large window. Looking out you could see town square, the park, and all the shops and people. Crystal clear skies and the fall leaves were at their brightest point. Colors of gold, crimson, and fiery orange lined the skyline. It was here that Margaret spoke for the first time in weeks.
   “ Father.”
Startled, Mr. McLoyd screamed. “ Margaret! Is that you?”
“ Yes father, and I have risen from the grave to complete some unfinished business I have to attend to.”
         Her father was dumbstruck, his mouth wide open, and his eyes alert. “ What kind of business? “ He asked worriedly.
     “ I've seen the way you've been treating my mother. You continue to lie about how I died, and always place the blame on her! You coward! You deserve what's coming to you!” And with that Margaret took the chair and shattered the window.
       “ Bye, father.” And with one last push her father began the long fall that would end with his death.  “What have you done to me?” he screamed on his way down. His voice ended as he hit the ground. Margaret felt a rush of emotions and was again transferred back to the memory of that night. 
         He held the vial up to Margaret's lips, tilted her head back, and poured it down her throat.”
      “Dad… what did you do to me?” She squawked which a raspy voice. “ What did you do!”
    “I just made sure that no one found out my secret.” The last thing Margaret remembered was sliding down the walls and onto her knees.
       As Margaret looked down at her dead father she knew her business was finished. She had hoped that her mother would be happy again and be able to raise her two children on her own. She whispered to no one, “Mom, you didn't deserve that wretched man, you deserved to live a happy life, with loving, kind, people surrounding you, and I hope that is what I'm giving to you, by sacrificing my own happiness in the afterlife.”
      Margaret felt an uplifting in her chest, and a force carried her through the City. As she past the gates to the cemetery, she floated down the rows to her resting place. She was dropped down and stood standing, looking down at her headstone once again. She felt a sense of longing to sleep. She started to sink down into the earth, and while she knew she wouldn't ascend into heaven, she felt a belonging back in her grave where she layed to rest for eternity.