Forget
By Casey Douglass
as part of #fridayflash
A dog barks somewhere
in the distance; it’s noise muffled by the dark trees that pressed
in on the old house. Ted Smith stood on his porch step, taking the
air and watching the evening deepen. A slight breeze molested a stray
leaf as it bounced across his narrow garden path, the only other
noise in the stagnant grounds.
Ted rubbed cracked
fingers over his white stubble and nodded to himself. He pushed a
hand into his shirt pocket, retrieved the headphones, slid them over
his head and pressed play on the small MP3 player. A nasal male voice
began to talk down to him.
You are in a safe
place. You feel calm and relaxed.
Ted
thumps down the steps and strides along the gravel path.
You are listening to
this because you want to forget. You have suffered and you would like
to erase that pain.
Reaching
the waist-height wooden gate, he gropes behind him and pulls a pair
of thick gloves from his trouser waistband.
Together, we will
improve your life, removing the pain and adding so much more joy and
fulfilment.
Gloves
on, he squints into the failing light and frisks a nearby rose bush.
In a moment, I am
going to count backwards from ten to one.
His
gloves close on a spool of barbed wire. With a grunt, he lifts it,
snagging one end on the shiny gate bolt. He twists and weaves and
drags until the whole gate is a jumble of twisted metal spikes.
Try not to resist
the process, we are all friends here.
A
firework bangs in the east, its fizzing trajectory sputtering out
somewhere over the high street.
Ten.
He
back-steps a few paces and picks up a plastic bucket. It clinks and
chinks as he gives it a small shake.
Nine.
He
tips it slightly and continues his backward pacing, shards of glass
cascading onto the uneven surface at his feet.
Eight.
The
street light dazzles as it caches in the tumbling daggers, Ted’s
eyes twitching as they try to follow the movement.
Seven.
His
heels bump against the porch step. He takes off the gloves and chucks
them and the bucket to one side, turns to face the house and climbs
the steps.
Six.
Another
firework goes off as he edges the screen door open, his hand resting
lightly on a lever. Once his feet are clear of the welcome mat, he
pushes the lever down hard. Heavy spikes puncture the mat from
beneath, lifting it a few inches from the floor. He lifts the lever
and twists it, a metal ping sounds below. The spikes barely show over
the “Welcome” now, but the mat seems to quiver slightly.
Five.
He
closes the door and looks up at the slab of concrete perched on a
folding metal shelf. He takes hold of the gossamer wire that is
linked to the triggering mechanism and delicately loops it around the
door handle.
Four.
With
a burst of pace he trudges through the house, picks up a handful of
cloth and a carrier bag.
Three.
He
rushes out the side door and jogs along his driveway, passes the
hunched metal bulk of his car.
Two.
He
reaches the other side of his garden gate and rummages inside the
bag. He pulls out a long black cape and a rubber Frankenstein mask.
He puts them on and then lifts a small plastic bucket from the bag.
It’s orange and shaped like a pumpkin with small stickers plastered
all over it. A lone candy rattles in the bottom. He throws the bag
away and kicks off his shoes.
One.
His
hand clamps down hard on the waist-height, wooden and now very sharp
gate.
Your pain can be
overcome...
THE
END
Happy Halloween. If you read this before 1st November, you might be interested to know that my Dark Distractions anthology is on sale:
