After
By Casey Douglass
as part of #fridayflash
It was a dark and
stormy night. Now it’s morning, and the thing is still outside,
roaming around and around the perimeter of the small cottage.
You pick your way
through the shattered debris strewn about the kitchen. What was once
a lovely oak table now no more than a pile of sticks and panels.
Your hand trembles as
you lift the kettle and fill it from the cold tap. The sun is still
low outside, its fresh rays entering through the small-paned window
and reflecting in a dazzling band from the draining board. You don’t
look out because you know it’s still there.
When you thought it had
gone earlier, you had looked out at the dawning day and had been
rewarded with the sight of a robin imploding. One moment it was
sitting on the small cylindrical bird feeder, the next it vanished in
a cloud of plumage and gore.
You place the kettle
back on its base and busy yourself while it boils. The old book is
still splayed open on the floor, the scuffed wax circle that
surrounds it more broken than whole. It looks like the dimples you
have to contend with when tearing out your new car tax disc. You
still aren’t sure of your mistake, you think that you did
everything right but obviously something was amiss.
You walk into the small
lounge and switch the TV on, your arms wrapping around yourself to
keep the internal chill at bay. You watch the news half-heartedly as
you hear the kettle begin to judder and shake.
You raise a hand to
your throat and wince as you feel the still forming bruises. You
marvel at your quick reactions. They probably saved your life last
night. Sitting there with your eyes closed, one candle for
illumination and words tumbling from your lithe tongue, things were
going so well. The room had buzzed and vibrated as the energy levels
rose, the most powerful reaction you had ever experienced. Then those
cold fingers clamped around your neck and it all became a mishmash of
vertigo inducing tumbling and struggling. How you ejected it from the
cottage and slammed the door before it could re-enter is a true
marvel. Thank goodness the house was already warded at each portal!
You walk into the
kitchen, the steam from the kettle curling in tendrils as small
drafts toyed with it. The kitchen window is misted now, thick beads
of water trickling down once they achieve enough mass. You pick up
the kettle and flick a teabag into a waiting mug.
A loud thump hits the
glass but you suppress the flinch and look steadily at the window.
Darker rings form at face level, swiftly followed by the impression
of an insane grin. It puts you in mind of how teeth look in an x-ray,
inverted and warped. The glass mists and clears, mists and clears as
the thing breaths against it, looking in at you. You lean closer and
look through it, it’s invisible body only adding the slightest of
shimmers to the garden behind it.
You move away and
finish pouring your cup of tea. It’s going to be a long day.
THE END
