Tag: writing

Habitual

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It stands before the door
It knows the rules, only fair
If she fails to observe it
It can begin to come upstairs

She stands atop the landing
Looking down at the front door
Her sight pushes it back into the frame
Like it was never there at all

It reaches over the bed
It knows these rules of hers
It can’t grab hands or hair or head
But anything else outside the covers

She moves in her sleep
Her foot again tucked away
It moves back under the bed
Diverted for another day

It roils within the steam
It knows the rules: they don’t soften
It gets to open the shower door
If she doesn’t look out often

Rinsing shampoo from her hair
She takes a stinging look outside
The bathroom remains empty
It has had already rushed to hide

It is nothing in the light
It knows the rules, of course
A silly habit borne of fear
In daylight it has no source

At night it lives a full life
Ready to punish and scare
But in the light of day
It was never really there

Home and Possessions

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Hiya, I’m Bill. I’m here about the Home and Possession insurance.

Nah, I’m a subcontractor. They send me out for this type of work. They don’t keep anyone in-house for this. They used to, but I think all the sick days and complaints about hazards made it too tricky.

Nice place. Are the floors overlay? OK. Is the sound of the heart constant, or does it only arise in your quiet hours to remind you of the weakest, most despicable moment of your life?

Ah, right. Well 3am is the witching hour. Easiest fix is a white noise machine. You can get one on a timer if needed. Otherwise if you submit a claim for “loss of quiet enjoyment”, I think we can get the landlord to pay for a soundproof underlay.

Right, bleeding from the wall. Is it just this one? OK. Nah, nothing to be done about the wall itself. Even if you knocked it down, that moment of visceral terror would remain in stasis: locked in time and space right here. Plus it’s load-bearing. Best bet – take a swatch of the blood, get a colour match, paint yourself a red feature wall.

OK, now for the big ticket item. How many occupants do you have living here? OK. And how many dead? Oof, big numbers. You hate to get outnumbered.

We can remove a few, but in a house this old, their belief of a time long past is probably holding this place together more than the mortar. We remove more than half, you’ll need the foundations looked at. Best bet, look through historical records and try to keep whichever buggers were living here for the latest remodel.

Yeah, that costs extra.

Oh we can take a payment plan, no worries. If you fall behind, we’ll just repossess your house.

Inspired by this joke: https://youtu.be/N-re2LYnsGA?si=oKsdh9E4fjUBJEfz&t=56

Identified

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The man stood in front of the double doors. Black t-shirt. Dark jeans. White joggers. Lanyard. Hand outstretched.

“ID?”

Both of the women were old enough that being asked for ID was a novelty, so they didn’t have their cards ready.

After receiving them, the man began his scrutiny, using his phone torch to see them clearly. Their delight at being asked sharply dipped into annoyance as they waited in the cold. Neither were dressed for the weather: their looks were curated for a crowded dance floor.

The man tilted the phone torch up to see their faces, blinding them briefly. He nodded, handed back their IDs and stepped aside.

The woman opened the doors, blinking in the warmly-lit hallway. Ahead was a set of glass doors, where a man stood in a grey suits with a lanyard.

“ID please”

Outside, the man walked briskly down the street, looking at the video on his phone. He paused on the shot of the two women looking surprised, then rewound and zoomed in on the addresses on their ID.

Scheme

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“hey, it’s been a long time! How are you?”

The message couldn’t have come at a better time for Jen. She had been looking through her list of contacts, wondering who she could talk to about her new vocation.

Her friend Marnie introduced her to the organisation a month ago, and Jen had been able to name some small progress on her own, but it was impossible to gain recognition if you didn’t recruit more people.

Jen smiled and set up a coffee date for tomorrow evening.

Annie looked like she was dressed to host a news segment: curled hair, bright lipstick and a dark blazer. She looked out of place in the chain coffee shop. But Jen was already looking forward to steering the conversation to her new business.

Annie got there first. She only ordered a tea, bragging that her company’s new product gave her all the energy she needed. She’d just gotten back from a conference, which is where she got this darling brooch! She saw Jen admiring it, and oh wouldn’t it be wonderful to work together? Jen looked so tired and pale after all, noting the dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Annie could help with that!

Jen was horrified. She made some half-hearted noises of approval and scalded her mouth with coffee until she could make an excuse to leave.

Back in the car, Jen threw Annie’s business card under the seat. What reprehensible behaviour. She didn’t even ask Jen about her life.

Jen adjusted the rear view mirror, bereft of her reflection. Life is too long to offer immortality to the crass.

In Growth

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He’d been scratching at the spot all day. It was right below his jawline, amongst three days’ worth of stubble. It wasn’t very noticeable, just a small red bump, but it vexed him to no end.

He’d gone to the bathroom twice at work hoping he could squeeze it, but it was yet to come to a head.

He was tempted to buy tweezers from the chemist on his way to the station, but the idea of using the mirror in a public restroom put him off immediately. He couldn’t imagine the horror of someone walking in on him.

Funnily, by the time he was home, he’d forgotten the bump. He’d been sufficiently distracted on his trip, and his hunger became his main focus.

It was after dinner that he felt the itch.

Finally in his clean and well-lit bathroom, he pulled out his tweezers from the grooming kit and scraped the skin he pulled taut with his other hand. A small black spike burst through – an ingrown hair, he thought while still pulling.

And pulling.

It was longer than he’d ever grown his beard and tapered where the tweezers held the tip, widening as he drew the strand out.

By the time he stopped pulling, it was out far enough to bend and find purchase on his jawline as the seven other legs followed.

A Shadow

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She was alone at last.

She made herself dinner, not realising her every move was surveilled. She took her plate to the lounge room and the figure darted from the darkness, snatching scraps left on the kitchen floor.

She went to the bedroom and removed clothes that felt heavy with the day’s spent energy. Walking nude to the bathroom, she didn’t hear the figure slink behind her into the bedroom, smelling the discarded items of clothing. Burying itself within them.

She slid the bathroom’s pocket door shut and turned on the shower. Stepping in, she didn’t hear the claws on the other side of the door.

They found purchase after a desperate flurry, pulling the door to the side. The creature was so keen for entry that it didn’t wait until the gap was wide enough.

The nose was through first, twitching at the steam. Then the mouth, all bared teeth as the edges of the door pulled its lips back. Then the eyes, immediately seeking the woman. It sat, unobserved on the bath mat, waiting to be acknowledged.

It waited until the shower stopped and the door finally opened.

“Oh! for fu-… hello, you little weirdo”

The cat purred.

Sacrifice

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“you chose to get pregnant, you shouldn’t complain about it”

“you should just be glad your baby is healthy”

“you’re tired now? It’ll be ten times worse when he arrives!”

It doesn’t matter how excited I am, my body still aches.

It doesn’t matter how long I prayed for this, it’s frustrating to have to wake up multiple times a night to waddle to the bathroom

It doesn’t matter what I sacrificed for this, it’s  getting tedious hearing the rapturous voice of the unborn repeating his dark plans for ascent.

Just let me complain, sheesh.

Scarecrow

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The scarecrow was the first change I made when I moved into my new home. I had no intention to maintain the vegetable garden my predecessor had cultivated, so why not cultivate friendship?

It was heavier than I thought it would be, likely from the rain. As I stood on the ladder, hoisting the sodden body off the post, I saw the first crow land in a tree nearby. I don’t think they were ever scared of it. They were simply clever enough to see that they were unwanted.

I had planned to tear the scarecrow apart to dispose of it in pieces over time. Then I thought about the legacy of rain that thing had withstood and the mould likely hiding inside, and left it to rot against the fence at the far side of the property.

The post was a separate issue. It had been cemented in, and the wood had been treated so it did not show signs of weakening or rot. I put it down the list of jobs that needed doing, and placed a piece of bread at its base as a peace offering.

The next day, the bread was missing and I saw two crows in the tree. Where the bread had been was a single button. It was blue and plastic, but unscratched and shiny. I picked it up and replaced it with a handful of peanuts. A chorus of caws sounded, that I interpreted as approving.

The gifts continued to be a novelty, for a time. Coins, buttons, an earring, pens.

The glass eye was the end of that time.

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Instructions

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Do you ever start a project, like cooking or sewing where you read the instructions, then forget them the moment you put them down? Confidently starting, then having to unfold the pamphlet, reopen the book, or pull the packet out from the bin?

It’s incredibly frustrating, so this time, Theo concentrates. He cleans his hands, makes what little space he can on the table, and opens the book. He finds the current step, reads through the rest and closes the book.

Then he focuses on the next step, with unblinking eyes and a steady hand.

Then he

Shit.

Theo grumbles to himself, rolls his eyes, and reaches for Gray’s Anatomy for the fourth time.

Memento Mori

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She brought him a hot drink
to place among other cups,
cold and filled to the brim.
Easily distracted, despite reminders,
he never drank enough to kill him.

She asked him to drive to the shops
while she stayed late at work,
to fetch dinner – maybe steaks.
But he ordered delivery
and never noticed the cut brakes.

She left him at home with traps on the stairs,
trusting his inattention to not notice
a roller-skate, toy cars, balls and a sled.
She returned to see it all unmoved,
He never came down from bed.

The life insurance would give her a new life,
free of boredom, drudgery, tedium.
Free from a husband who paid no attention.
But her plan was destined to fail:
her husband had forgotten to pay the premium.