By P.S. Gifford
David Grainger opened his eyes, and automatically glanced at his wristwatch, all at once a complete panic overwhelms him, as he remembered what a special day it was. As the rain beat against the shutters, he knew that he had no choice but to face his darkest fears. Today was going to be a living nightmare, and his options were now very limited. Scrambling out of his bed he slowly stumbled over to the shower, and as his still half asleep basset hound, Wilfred, watched on lazily, he began to gradually cleanse himself. David hoped that the invigorating scent of the soap and the brutally cold water would rid him of his pounding hangover and kick-start his throbbing brain into gear.
After several minutes he exited the shower stall, and after grabbing a towel from off the floor he solemnly dried himself off. ‘If only I hadn’t gone out drinking with the lads last night, I could have done something,’ he thought. ‘What the hell am I going to do…what the hell am I going to do?’ He repeated over and over to himself shaking his head in disgust. He then studied his grim reflection in the mirror, and two agonized blood shot eyes stared back at him in total disgust. Then a delicious seed of an idea began to formulate within him ‘I have just one chance, if only I can get away with it…’
He almost smiled as he pulled on an old pair of faded blue jeans, and pulled a white tee shirt over his head. As he began to brush his teeth, in an attempt to rid his mouth of the cotton wool it now seemed to be full off, Wilfred-an oversized mutt of indiscernible origin- stirred from his sleeping place and lumbered over to say good morning with a usual sloppy lick to the back of his hand. Normally David would reach down and reciprocate with a good hearty scratch. But not this morning, this morning he had to deal with the consequences of his foolish actions, and he was in no frame of mind to deal with Wilfred. This morning he understood he was may have to have a confrontation, and it surely wasn’t going to be pretty…
Finally he slipped on a pair of loafers, and a slightly put out Wilfred returned to his resting place, obviously giving up on trying getting his masters attention and deciding more sleep was in order. David sighed as he opened the bedroom door and made his way down the hardwood floors. He paused for a moment and then continued on down the staircase. However as he placed his full weight on the third step, it creaked and groaned ominously and David froze on the spot; silently praying that he had not been heard. After a few agonizing moments he once again continued, even slower and cautious than before.
Soon he eyed his car keys lying tantalizingly upon the table next to the front door; with satisfaction he grinned as just for a moment he imagined he was going actually to make it.
But then he here’s a voice; a horrible, shrill and ear piercing voice. He understood completely that running would be a futile exercise, he would never make it and that the confrontation he was so desperately trying to avoid was indeed inevitable…He quickly turned and saw her dressed in her usual long, fuzzy pink robe and matching slippers, her head full of turquoise green curlers, and half a lit menthol cigarette balanced precariously between her scowling lips.
“Where my anniversary present darling?” she asked, her saccharine tone dripping with heavy handed sarcasm. Then she moved stealthily towards a panic stricken David after she picked up her mother’s old, solid oak rolling pin from the kitchen table, and brandished it towards him.
“Are you racing off to the convenience store again just like you did last year to buy a cheap box of stale nasty chocolates?”
The end- but please read the next bit-
I am still at number four for my novel, and number three for mt =y story- and there is still time to vote!
You might consider this bold of me,
how I am handling my self publicity.
But if you cast a vote my way,
oh how much it’ll make my day!
Just a few seconds, is all I ask,
For you to spend upon the task.
And if I win, you will surely know,
That it was your vote that made it so.
So take a look in the horror category-
and me, “P.S.Gifford” you shall see
Just in the vote box make a click,
And send it off, so mighty quick.
“The Curious accounts of the imaginary friend,”
Success upon you does now depend!
I thank you in advance for voting my way,
I hope to return the favor some day.
(I am in the horror novel- and horror short story category…)