A Bad Match

A piece of flash fiction for Hallowe'en

It was one of those evenings which were longer than life �" the baby had been grisly all day, my older one, still a toddler then, had been throwing tantrums to get my attention, then the washing machine broke and flooded the kitchen.  And I’d had all the usual crap to deal with; putting away Sean’s dirty clothes and cleaning up the muddy footprints he left everywhere.  He’d say he’d put his things away, but I’d go into our bedroom and find the socks and pants and shirts tossed all over the room, like they’d been chucked off a spinning roundabout.  And the muddy footprints!  Apparently he hadn’t even been in the back hallway. Aye, right!  Tell that to your skivvy who has to clean them up, Sean!

It was gone 9pm, and the toddler was slowly relenting to sleep, eyelashes gently murmuring.  But the baby was pointing and shouting at the corner of the room, as he was want to do.  I sang lullaby after lullaby.

Finally they were both settled and asleep - I crept out and left the bedroom door a couple of inches open, leaving the comforting light from the hall.  Sean was out overnight again, so I put the chain on the front door.  I’d watch some telly with a cup of decaf tea and some nice biscuits I had hidden inside the empty Shredded Wheat box.

I went through into the kitchen, and felt one of my headaches starting up.  I had a sudden, awful, thought.  My therapist had called them ‘intrusive thoughts’.  Here came a clear-as-day image of blood: pooled in the floor, where the washing machine water had foreshadowed earlier.  Then, my hands �" stained crimson with guilt, with rusted red wrists.  I felt a cold chill up my side and turned to see a black gaping hole through the windowpane and beyond.

I looked down again, and thanks be to God, the mist lifted and my hands were pink and fleshy as normal.  The floor was as clean as I’d left it.  I still felt cold, however �" that’s when I noticed the jagged hole in the window.  The wind was whooshing through, louder and louder, and then twisted whispers called my name.  I could feel the words, like fingers, wrapping round my head.

And so I ran through, to check on the children.

I opened the door to the darkened room, and there was Sean, standing over the baby’s cot, face cast in shadows.  My eldest was still in bed, his chubby little legs had worked themselves outside of the duvet, looking so vulnerable out of their protective cocoon.

It didn’t look right �" it was the shape of Sean, with his arms and legs and so on, but he was a space where a person should have been. 

He shifted to turn towards me, and I opened my mouth to speak.  But then, like a flickering black flame, he was gone.  And I never saw him again.

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Some would say you use too much passive language, but I find this story quite interesting and easy to read. In fact, it flows well and presents information in a logical fashion. My heart aches for this overworked and apparently underappreciated mother! Hopefully, the specter was just one of those "intrusive thoughts".