yet MORE stuff, an original story
Jan. 30th, 2006 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
envious_musesI swear, by the time I get done uploading all the stuff I've already had written... I'm never going to want to post another thing. Ah well... I'm sure the Envy Origin story I'm working on now will change that. Anyway, on to the fic. This shall be an ORIGINAL story post, the first of a couple. Because I can. So there.
Title: House Guest
Original Fiction
Rating: G
Word count: 3,597
Summary: Marie's eventful day... (humor)
Billy, the eight-year-old son of successful businessman Frank and housewife Marie, had come home early from school. He was eager to tell anyone and everyone the story of how school was cancelled at lunch because of a sudden power outage. It seems a squirrel had climbed into the ducts, sometime during the winter break. This hadn’t been a problem when the power was turned off, but when everything was restarted prior to the first day of school, the rodent had been awakened from its cozy hibernation and had been unable to leave the way it came. Attempting to escape the noise caused by the few hundred students and faculty, it had somehow reached the main generator of the small elementary school and subsequently fried its brains out after apparently mistaking the large electricity cord for an errant nut. As lights and computers shut off across the building, the school population had been thrown into immediate panic. The teachers quickly decided the best course of action would be to let the students go home.
So Billy walked the few blocks to his house, engaging all the while in the normal little boy antics of stepping on cracks, lines, and other defects in the sidewalk. Thus he arrived home early and surprised his mother, who had not expected her little darling home for more than another few hours, to which can be traced the entirety of Marie’s misadventures over the following hours.
Marie was an average sort of housewife and mother who paid no more or less attention to her household duties than was absolutely demanded of her. She was a pale, thin woman of no memorable appearance, with short brown hair cut in the latest style. Her only truly remarkable aspect was her ability to have hysterics at the drop of a hat. She aspired to a social standing much higher than the one she had been born to and so had always greatly admired the highborn ladies of old; a flighty temperament, then, was how she sought to emulate them. Eight years of motherhood had, if anything, only worsened this condition. Used to living a life of leisure and comfort, Marie had not set out in her life to become a housewife, but had instead been driven to it when, at the tender age of 25, her parents had threatened her with bodily removal from the house unless she satisfied one of two conditions: get a job or get married. Marie had duly considered both options. Then she met Frank: dashing, debonair, definitely not destitute, Frank. Less than six months later, she had been the proud Mrs. to a Mr. who couldn’t care less if she got a job or not and had proceeded to spoil his new wife completely.
The family had, in fact, just returned the night before from a Christmas trip to the southern states and had come back to an abysmal cold spell, finding the temperature in the house near freezing. The heater had apparently broken sometime during the two weeks they were on the trip. After calling a repairman, the family had spent the night at a hotel. On their return to the house the next morning, Marie had sent Billy to school, her husband to work, and had started to attend to her daily housewifely duties. It was as she was picking up the toys in Billy’s playroom that she noticed what she had been dreading for the past several weeks: Havok, a hamster, had finally bought the farm. The fact that hamsters had neither money nor the intellect to operate heavy machinery crossed Marie’s mind briefly as she collected the small, still warm ball of fur from the bottom of the cage. This Havok, more properly Havok IX, was the latest in a long line of small brown rodents which had existed as members of the household for the better part of Billy’s life. The first had been a present from Billy’s uncle upon his second birthday and had died a peaceful death at the ripe old age of fourteen months and had been dutifully replaced by Marie, as had each successor to the name.
Marie had been in the process of funeral rites when Billy had made his unexpected appearance. She quickly placed the tissue wrapped body in a small cupboard which she was certain Billy had never looked in since it held only food items which contained excess amounts of neither sugar nor fat. Wiping her hands, she left the kitchen and promptly forgot anything to do with dead hamsters. “Billy, honey, what are you doing home so early? Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but, see, Mom, there was this squirrel, right? And-”
“Mm-hm, that’s nice, hon. Jimmy’s mother called earlier. She wanted to know if you wanted to go to a sleepover at their house tonight. How’s that sound?” It sounded just fine to her; sometimes is felt like she hadn’t had five minutes alone with her husband since Billy had been born. It would be like a vacation.
After packing Billy a bag for the night and seeing him happily settled in front of the television in the living room for the few hours until he could be safely packed off to his friend’s house, Marie decided a celebration was in order. As she was grabbing herself a candy bar from the secret stash she kept behind the leafy green vegetables in the crisper – which was where she also kept her spending money because no one, be it a burglar or her family, would ever touch the vegetables – she noticed some suspicious raisin-like brown things on the floor. Obviously time to put out the mousetraps again. Knowing Billy was out of the way for at least a few more hours, she decided a long, hot bath would be in order.
Marie had just gotten comfortable, with the bubbles just right and the soothing music just loud enough to be heard, when, of course, the phone rang. Unfortunately, Billy would by now be too engrossed in his show to even hear it. It was either get up and answer it or let the machine pick up. They’d call back, she decided, if it was important. So she stretched out, put her head on her bath pillow, and relaxed into the water. She thought of how she would spend her day after Billy was gone to his sleepover. Ah, the possibilities. She was feeling very relaxed watching the dancing pink bunnies when “Mom! Jimmy’s mom is here! Bye!” The slamming of the front door firmly pushed away the bunnies and brought her awake to the realization that her water was freezing. Getting out and putting on her towel, she glanced at the clock. Quarter to five. No wonder she looked so much like a prune.
The warm water had definitely muddled her head. She decided she should probably go lay down for a quick nap before her husband got home. On her way to the bedroom, however, she glanced down off the landing and noticed the front door standing ajar. Hadn’t she just heard Billy shut it? She went to her room and quickly threw some clothes on before heading down the stairs. Glancing around the foyer and seeing nothing else amiss, she shut the door and locked it. Strange, she thought, but that door had never shut properly, that was probably the logical explanation. Not that Marie and logic had ever been on speaking terms.
Finding herself wide awake and with time to kill, Marie sat down in her lovely chintz armchair that had been an anniversary gift from her mummy and daddy. Flipping the television on, she scanned the channels, looking for something worth watching. Discovering “America’s Most Wanted” on one of the cable networks, she got out her pad and pencil to write down all the descriptions and identifying marks of the criminals. She had long ago programmed the number into her speed dial and rarely a show went by that she didn’t call in with a hot tip. It was horrible, she thought, living in such a crime-ridden area, but at least that allowed her to do her part. She almost felt sorry for those people who lived in out-of-the-way, criminal-free places. Her secret ambition was to one day find one of the “most wanted,” capture him, and turn him in personally for some sort of award. She had watched police raids on television and was sure it didn’t look that hard.
Tonight was her lucky night. She had recognized not just one but two of the men on the show. She was sure one of them lived just down the street, the one who had escaped from prison while serving three consecutive life sentences. She got up to call the hotline, leaving the television set on. There was a loud crash in the kitchen. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like her heart was going to burst. Something moved out of the corner of her eye. She turned, ready to scream for help, and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.
Laughing nervously at herself, she walked back to the kitchen. There on the floor was the large metal canister of coffee beans. They had been knocked off the counter where they usually sat. She looked at the back entrance to the kitchen, the door that led out to the hallway and the bedrooms. It was slightly ajar. Had it been like that earlier? She couldn’t remember. Suddenly a scream shattered the calm that had descended over the house, echoed moments later by Marie. She dashed blindly back out to the living room. On the television a murder mystery show had started following “America’s Most Wanted.” The mysterious murder had apparently just been committed. Walking quickly to the television, she turned it off and tossed the remote onto the chair. Returning to the mess in the kitchen, she tried to explain it all away. The beans had been left too close to the edge after she made herself a cup of coffee earlier. The window was open; it must have just been a strong breeze, or something. She was sure, now, that she had left the hall door ajar.
She had obviously been watching too many of those crime shows. Still laughing at herself, she cleaned up the coffee beans and set the tin back on the counter, being careful to set it far enough back that it wouldn’t fall off again. Checking the clock, she wondered what was keeping her husband. He was usually home earlier than this. He made it a point to escape the office as soon as possible. He knew she worried horribly when he wasn’t home on time, and he always called when he would be late. Maybe something had happened, maybe…No, she was just being paranoid, of course. He was fine, probably just hadn’t had a chance to call. Opening the refrigerator door, she grabbed herself another candy bar. She definitely deserved it after the day she’d been having. It was one of the dark chocolate ones. They did nothing for her figure but they were her guilty pleasure and she refused to give them up. Unwrapping the end of the bar, she was startled by another scream.
Abandoning the kitchen without even closing the fridge, she reentered the living room to discover that the television was on. She was certain she’d turned it off. She rushed over. The remote was lying on the ground and the pillow which had been upright on the chair back was turned over. She might not be much of a housewife when it came to cooking or caring for her family, but she was obsessively neat around her home. One never knows when company may stop by was practically her motto. She never would have left the pillow like that. It was simply inconceivable.
She would stay calm; she would stay calm. Perhaps if she repeated that enough, it would become true. And where in the blazes was her husband? She glanced out the window, checking for his car. It was getting dark; the sun had already disappeared behind the trees. No one was in sight, not unusual considering the sleepy suburb in which they lived. But the silence seemed ominous to Marie. She put the pillow back in place and picked up the remote. The “America’s Most Wanted” from before was being replayed. The show had reached the profile of the man she thought lived down the street. She thumbed the off button and the screen faded to a monotone off-black. She would stay calm; she would stay calm. She really needed that candy bar.
She walked – calmly – back to the kitchen. Nothing had moved. She bent down to pick up her candy bar from where she’d left it. That was when she saw that the lettuce had, indeed, been moved. Not much, but enough that her previously secret stash was now easily visible. Had someone else been there? No, surely it was her imagination. It had to be. She must have moved the lettuce and just forgotten about it. That was the only explanation. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t really want the chocolate as much as she thought she did; what she needed was the long nap that had been previously aborted. She replaced everything just as it had been, closed the refrigerator door, and left the kitchen. She was starting up the stairs when there came another crash from the back parlor which had been converted to a play room for Billy. As she watched, a quickly deflating beach ball with a large rip in it came rolling out of the room. At the same time, a motion sensor Billy had set up in the room to annoy his parents with suddenly went off. Faulty wiring, thought Marie. Faulty wiring and overloaded shelves. She vowed to talk to Frank about it when he got home.
As she walked across the landing toward her bedroom, she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. Of course! The phone call from earlier. She had completely forgotten about it between one thing and another. She pushed the button to retrieve the message and was startled at the large squawk of static the machine burst out. She hit the stop button and turned the sound down before trying again. “….’s me….can’….too late….can’t….get out….soon…” The beep signaling the end of the message came much too soon. It was her husband, but he was too hard to understand on the stupid cell phone. What had he been trying to tell her? It had sounded odd. She played the message two more times before she felt sure she had heard all she could hear from the poor recording. Had something happened to him and that was why he wasn’t home? She was almost frantic with worry. She quickly picked up the receiver to call him. There was no dial tone. She pushed a few buttons, but nothing helped. She slammed the receiver down, crying with frustration, and traced the cord to the wall. About an inch from the wall, the cord had been cut. She had no illusions now. She was sure: somebody was in the house.
She had to think. She couldn’t let her nerves get the best of her. The person could obviously move through the house freely without her knowing it. He could be anywhere. She was just sure it was the man from down the street. Who else could it be? If she could just get to the phone in the kitchen, she could call the police. She began to creep down the steps, and then thought better of it. She ran back to Billy’s room. Throwing open the toy chest, she grabbed the bat Frank had bought for Billy just last summer. Now just watch the murderer try to get her. She felt brave. She felt daring. She felt like she was about to go in her pants. She began to creep down the stairs again. Suddenly, a crash sounded in the living room. He was waiting for her! She ran back up the stairs and into the bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was the only door with a lock on it.
She didn’t know where to turn the light on or not, but decided the killer probably already knew where she was so she left the light on so she could see. There she was, crouching in the bathtub, hoping against hope that he would give up and go away. She waited for what seemed like hours. The house was silent but for occasional crashes or other noises from the downstairs rooms. Occasionally a car would drive by, and she envisioned rushing out to one of the bedrooms, flinging the window open, and yelling for help. As if sensing her thoughts, a car drove by slowly. That was when the killer must have gotten up his nerve because she could hear someone moving in the foyer. Finally, there was silence except for the sound she had been dreading to hear: the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.
She knew he was coming for her. She would not die easily. She readied herself to fling the door open, holding the bat tightly in one hand. The footsteps drew closer. She twisted the doorknob. He was right outside. She flung the door open and, with a wild cry, brought the bat down toward his head. He raised an arm in self defense and spoke: “Aw, hell, Marie, what do you think you’re doing? Trying to bash my head in?”
She threw down the bat. She couldn’t believe it. “Frank! You’re home! Oh, God, I’ve been so terrified. There’s someone in the house, and I think it’s the killer I saw on one of those crime shows, and he’s trying to kill me!”
“Calm down, Marie. I’m sure you’re just overreacting- What was that?”
Another crash downstairs in the kitchen. Before either one thought about it, they had both grabbed for the bat lying forgotten on the floor. Frank got to it first. With a glare, Marie gestured to the stairs, indicating that he should go down first. Reluctantly, he inched towards the end of the landing. Creeping down the stairs, Marie kept a death grip on the back of Frank’s shirt. He was the one that had the weapon, so she had no compunctions against using him as a human shield. Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, Marie reached for the master light switch and turned on all the lights in the hallway and living room. The house flared into sudden brightness.
At the same time, Frank bolted through the door to the kitchen, bat held high. In his haste he knocked the canister of beans back off the counter. The loud crunch after he stepped on a number of them brought him to his senses long enough to realize no one was there. He turned slowly in a circle like he’d seen the cops in the movies do. Definitely no one there. Marie had again turned on all the lights in the kitchen and was standing nervously near the kitchen phone, dialing 911. He poked the door open with the bat and saw no one there, either. He moved into the hallway with Marie attached to his hip. He rushed into the back parlor, smashing a small vase that had fallen to the floor. The room was in chaos. Toys had tumbled off the shelves, the bags of hamster food and treats were overturned, and a series of holes – which Marie thought looked suspiciously like a knife cuts – had been left in the curtains.
Marie returned to the kitchen to use the phone as Frank checked the living room. Marie had gotten through to the emergency operator and was busily explaining the situation to the other lady. After having been asked repeatedly to speak more calmly, she had just gotten to the part about the other phone cord being cut when a sudden bang sounded from upstairs. Marie felt for the second time that day as if she were having a heart attack. Hanging up despite the protests of the operator – she wasn’t about to let Frank face a killer on his own – she ran from the kitchen to the foyer, where Frank was just about to start up the stairs. Reattaching herself to his shirt, she crept behind him up the stairs. They reached the landing. The door to their master bedroom stood ajar. Moving quickly, Frank lunged into the room. Marie was a step behind him. At first, there was nothing, and then Marie heard a noise in the closet. She turned. The door was open. She screeched and everything went black.
Marie awoke to find herself on the floor, and police sirens beginning to blare outside. After her initial surprise at waking up at all passed, she glanced to Frank, who hadn’t moved. As the thought that she hadn’t blacked out for very long passed, she turned again to the closet, preparing to scream again. It was not, however, what she had expected. Dimly she heard the officers breaking in through the front door and shouting for anyone in the house to come out. Looking into the closet at the cause of all her day’s problems, she couldn’t stop a hysterical laugh from escaping her. As Frank asked her what was the matter and Police officers stormed into the room, Marie pondered helplessly just how appropriate Havok’s name seemed.
Title: House Guest
Original Fiction
Rating: G
Word count: 3,597
Summary: Marie's eventful day... (humor)
Billy, the eight-year-old son of successful businessman Frank and housewife Marie, had come home early from school. He was eager to tell anyone and everyone the story of how school was cancelled at lunch because of a sudden power outage. It seems a squirrel had climbed into the ducts, sometime during the winter break. This hadn’t been a problem when the power was turned off, but when everything was restarted prior to the first day of school, the rodent had been awakened from its cozy hibernation and had been unable to leave the way it came. Attempting to escape the noise caused by the few hundred students and faculty, it had somehow reached the main generator of the small elementary school and subsequently fried its brains out after apparently mistaking the large electricity cord for an errant nut. As lights and computers shut off across the building, the school population had been thrown into immediate panic. The teachers quickly decided the best course of action would be to let the students go home.
So Billy walked the few blocks to his house, engaging all the while in the normal little boy antics of stepping on cracks, lines, and other defects in the sidewalk. Thus he arrived home early and surprised his mother, who had not expected her little darling home for more than another few hours, to which can be traced the entirety of Marie’s misadventures over the following hours.
Marie was an average sort of housewife and mother who paid no more or less attention to her household duties than was absolutely demanded of her. She was a pale, thin woman of no memorable appearance, with short brown hair cut in the latest style. Her only truly remarkable aspect was her ability to have hysterics at the drop of a hat. She aspired to a social standing much higher than the one she had been born to and so had always greatly admired the highborn ladies of old; a flighty temperament, then, was how she sought to emulate them. Eight years of motherhood had, if anything, only worsened this condition. Used to living a life of leisure and comfort, Marie had not set out in her life to become a housewife, but had instead been driven to it when, at the tender age of 25, her parents had threatened her with bodily removal from the house unless she satisfied one of two conditions: get a job or get married. Marie had duly considered both options. Then she met Frank: dashing, debonair, definitely not destitute, Frank. Less than six months later, she had been the proud Mrs. to a Mr. who couldn’t care less if she got a job or not and had proceeded to spoil his new wife completely.
The family had, in fact, just returned the night before from a Christmas trip to the southern states and had come back to an abysmal cold spell, finding the temperature in the house near freezing. The heater had apparently broken sometime during the two weeks they were on the trip. After calling a repairman, the family had spent the night at a hotel. On their return to the house the next morning, Marie had sent Billy to school, her husband to work, and had started to attend to her daily housewifely duties. It was as she was picking up the toys in Billy’s playroom that she noticed what she had been dreading for the past several weeks: Havok, a hamster, had finally bought the farm. The fact that hamsters had neither money nor the intellect to operate heavy machinery crossed Marie’s mind briefly as she collected the small, still warm ball of fur from the bottom of the cage. This Havok, more properly Havok IX, was the latest in a long line of small brown rodents which had existed as members of the household for the better part of Billy’s life. The first had been a present from Billy’s uncle upon his second birthday and had died a peaceful death at the ripe old age of fourteen months and had been dutifully replaced by Marie, as had each successor to the name.
Marie had been in the process of funeral rites when Billy had made his unexpected appearance. She quickly placed the tissue wrapped body in a small cupboard which she was certain Billy had never looked in since it held only food items which contained excess amounts of neither sugar nor fat. Wiping her hands, she left the kitchen and promptly forgot anything to do with dead hamsters. “Billy, honey, what are you doing home so early? Did something happen? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but, see, Mom, there was this squirrel, right? And-”
“Mm-hm, that’s nice, hon. Jimmy’s mother called earlier. She wanted to know if you wanted to go to a sleepover at their house tonight. How’s that sound?” It sounded just fine to her; sometimes is felt like she hadn’t had five minutes alone with her husband since Billy had been born. It would be like a vacation.
After packing Billy a bag for the night and seeing him happily settled in front of the television in the living room for the few hours until he could be safely packed off to his friend’s house, Marie decided a celebration was in order. As she was grabbing herself a candy bar from the secret stash she kept behind the leafy green vegetables in the crisper – which was where she also kept her spending money because no one, be it a burglar or her family, would ever touch the vegetables – she noticed some suspicious raisin-like brown things on the floor. Obviously time to put out the mousetraps again. Knowing Billy was out of the way for at least a few more hours, she decided a long, hot bath would be in order.
Marie had just gotten comfortable, with the bubbles just right and the soothing music just loud enough to be heard, when, of course, the phone rang. Unfortunately, Billy would by now be too engrossed in his show to even hear it. It was either get up and answer it or let the machine pick up. They’d call back, she decided, if it was important. So she stretched out, put her head on her bath pillow, and relaxed into the water. She thought of how she would spend her day after Billy was gone to his sleepover. Ah, the possibilities. She was feeling very relaxed watching the dancing pink bunnies when “Mom! Jimmy’s mom is here! Bye!” The slamming of the front door firmly pushed away the bunnies and brought her awake to the realization that her water was freezing. Getting out and putting on her towel, she glanced at the clock. Quarter to five. No wonder she looked so much like a prune.
The warm water had definitely muddled her head. She decided she should probably go lay down for a quick nap before her husband got home. On her way to the bedroom, however, she glanced down off the landing and noticed the front door standing ajar. Hadn’t she just heard Billy shut it? She went to her room and quickly threw some clothes on before heading down the stairs. Glancing around the foyer and seeing nothing else amiss, she shut the door and locked it. Strange, she thought, but that door had never shut properly, that was probably the logical explanation. Not that Marie and logic had ever been on speaking terms.
Finding herself wide awake and with time to kill, Marie sat down in her lovely chintz armchair that had been an anniversary gift from her mummy and daddy. Flipping the television on, she scanned the channels, looking for something worth watching. Discovering “America’s Most Wanted” on one of the cable networks, she got out her pad and pencil to write down all the descriptions and identifying marks of the criminals. She had long ago programmed the number into her speed dial and rarely a show went by that she didn’t call in with a hot tip. It was horrible, she thought, living in such a crime-ridden area, but at least that allowed her to do her part. She almost felt sorry for those people who lived in out-of-the-way, criminal-free places. Her secret ambition was to one day find one of the “most wanted,” capture him, and turn him in personally for some sort of award. She had watched police raids on television and was sure it didn’t look that hard.
Tonight was her lucky night. She had recognized not just one but two of the men on the show. She was sure one of them lived just down the street, the one who had escaped from prison while serving three consecutive life sentences. She got up to call the hotline, leaving the television set on. There was a loud crash in the kitchen. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like her heart was going to burst. Something moved out of the corner of her eye. She turned, ready to scream for help, and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.
Laughing nervously at herself, she walked back to the kitchen. There on the floor was the large metal canister of coffee beans. They had been knocked off the counter where they usually sat. She looked at the back entrance to the kitchen, the door that led out to the hallway and the bedrooms. It was slightly ajar. Had it been like that earlier? She couldn’t remember. Suddenly a scream shattered the calm that had descended over the house, echoed moments later by Marie. She dashed blindly back out to the living room. On the television a murder mystery show had started following “America’s Most Wanted.” The mysterious murder had apparently just been committed. Walking quickly to the television, she turned it off and tossed the remote onto the chair. Returning to the mess in the kitchen, she tried to explain it all away. The beans had been left too close to the edge after she made herself a cup of coffee earlier. The window was open; it must have just been a strong breeze, or something. She was sure, now, that she had left the hall door ajar.
She had obviously been watching too many of those crime shows. Still laughing at herself, she cleaned up the coffee beans and set the tin back on the counter, being careful to set it far enough back that it wouldn’t fall off again. Checking the clock, she wondered what was keeping her husband. He was usually home earlier than this. He made it a point to escape the office as soon as possible. He knew she worried horribly when he wasn’t home on time, and he always called when he would be late. Maybe something had happened, maybe…No, she was just being paranoid, of course. He was fine, probably just hadn’t had a chance to call. Opening the refrigerator door, she grabbed herself another candy bar. She definitely deserved it after the day she’d been having. It was one of the dark chocolate ones. They did nothing for her figure but they were her guilty pleasure and she refused to give them up. Unwrapping the end of the bar, she was startled by another scream.
Abandoning the kitchen without even closing the fridge, she reentered the living room to discover that the television was on. She was certain she’d turned it off. She rushed over. The remote was lying on the ground and the pillow which had been upright on the chair back was turned over. She might not be much of a housewife when it came to cooking or caring for her family, but she was obsessively neat around her home. One never knows when company may stop by was practically her motto. She never would have left the pillow like that. It was simply inconceivable.
She would stay calm; she would stay calm. Perhaps if she repeated that enough, it would become true. And where in the blazes was her husband? She glanced out the window, checking for his car. It was getting dark; the sun had already disappeared behind the trees. No one was in sight, not unusual considering the sleepy suburb in which they lived. But the silence seemed ominous to Marie. She put the pillow back in place and picked up the remote. The “America’s Most Wanted” from before was being replayed. The show had reached the profile of the man she thought lived down the street. She thumbed the off button and the screen faded to a monotone off-black. She would stay calm; she would stay calm. She really needed that candy bar.
She walked – calmly – back to the kitchen. Nothing had moved. She bent down to pick up her candy bar from where she’d left it. That was when she saw that the lettuce had, indeed, been moved. Not much, but enough that her previously secret stash was now easily visible. Had someone else been there? No, surely it was her imagination. It had to be. She must have moved the lettuce and just forgotten about it. That was the only explanation. Now that she thought about it, she didn’t really want the chocolate as much as she thought she did; what she needed was the long nap that had been previously aborted. She replaced everything just as it had been, closed the refrigerator door, and left the kitchen. She was starting up the stairs when there came another crash from the back parlor which had been converted to a play room for Billy. As she watched, a quickly deflating beach ball with a large rip in it came rolling out of the room. At the same time, a motion sensor Billy had set up in the room to annoy his parents with suddenly went off. Faulty wiring, thought Marie. Faulty wiring and overloaded shelves. She vowed to talk to Frank about it when he got home.
As she walked across the landing toward her bedroom, she noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. Of course! The phone call from earlier. She had completely forgotten about it between one thing and another. She pushed the button to retrieve the message and was startled at the large squawk of static the machine burst out. She hit the stop button and turned the sound down before trying again. “….’s me….can’….too late….can’t….get out….soon…” The beep signaling the end of the message came much too soon. It was her husband, but he was too hard to understand on the stupid cell phone. What had he been trying to tell her? It had sounded odd. She played the message two more times before she felt sure she had heard all she could hear from the poor recording. Had something happened to him and that was why he wasn’t home? She was almost frantic with worry. She quickly picked up the receiver to call him. There was no dial tone. She pushed a few buttons, but nothing helped. She slammed the receiver down, crying with frustration, and traced the cord to the wall. About an inch from the wall, the cord had been cut. She had no illusions now. She was sure: somebody was in the house.
She had to think. She couldn’t let her nerves get the best of her. The person could obviously move through the house freely without her knowing it. He could be anywhere. She was just sure it was the man from down the street. Who else could it be? If she could just get to the phone in the kitchen, she could call the police. She began to creep down the steps, and then thought better of it. She ran back to Billy’s room. Throwing open the toy chest, she grabbed the bat Frank had bought for Billy just last summer. Now just watch the murderer try to get her. She felt brave. She felt daring. She felt like she was about to go in her pants. She began to creep down the stairs again. Suddenly, a crash sounded in the living room. He was waiting for her! She ran back up the stairs and into the bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was the only door with a lock on it.
She didn’t know where to turn the light on or not, but decided the killer probably already knew where she was so she left the light on so she could see. There she was, crouching in the bathtub, hoping against hope that he would give up and go away. She waited for what seemed like hours. The house was silent but for occasional crashes or other noises from the downstairs rooms. Occasionally a car would drive by, and she envisioned rushing out to one of the bedrooms, flinging the window open, and yelling for help. As if sensing her thoughts, a car drove by slowly. That was when the killer must have gotten up his nerve because she could hear someone moving in the foyer. Finally, there was silence except for the sound she had been dreading to hear: the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.
She knew he was coming for her. She would not die easily. She readied herself to fling the door open, holding the bat tightly in one hand. The footsteps drew closer. She twisted the doorknob. He was right outside. She flung the door open and, with a wild cry, brought the bat down toward his head. He raised an arm in self defense and spoke: “Aw, hell, Marie, what do you think you’re doing? Trying to bash my head in?”
She threw down the bat. She couldn’t believe it. “Frank! You’re home! Oh, God, I’ve been so terrified. There’s someone in the house, and I think it’s the killer I saw on one of those crime shows, and he’s trying to kill me!”
“Calm down, Marie. I’m sure you’re just overreacting- What was that?”
Another crash downstairs in the kitchen. Before either one thought about it, they had both grabbed for the bat lying forgotten on the floor. Frank got to it first. With a glare, Marie gestured to the stairs, indicating that he should go down first. Reluctantly, he inched towards the end of the landing. Creeping down the stairs, Marie kept a death grip on the back of Frank’s shirt. He was the one that had the weapon, so she had no compunctions against using him as a human shield. Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, Marie reached for the master light switch and turned on all the lights in the hallway and living room. The house flared into sudden brightness.
At the same time, Frank bolted through the door to the kitchen, bat held high. In his haste he knocked the canister of beans back off the counter. The loud crunch after he stepped on a number of them brought him to his senses long enough to realize no one was there. He turned slowly in a circle like he’d seen the cops in the movies do. Definitely no one there. Marie had again turned on all the lights in the kitchen and was standing nervously near the kitchen phone, dialing 911. He poked the door open with the bat and saw no one there, either. He moved into the hallway with Marie attached to his hip. He rushed into the back parlor, smashing a small vase that had fallen to the floor. The room was in chaos. Toys had tumbled off the shelves, the bags of hamster food and treats were overturned, and a series of holes – which Marie thought looked suspiciously like a knife cuts – had been left in the curtains.
Marie returned to the kitchen to use the phone as Frank checked the living room. Marie had gotten through to the emergency operator and was busily explaining the situation to the other lady. After having been asked repeatedly to speak more calmly, she had just gotten to the part about the other phone cord being cut when a sudden bang sounded from upstairs. Marie felt for the second time that day as if she were having a heart attack. Hanging up despite the protests of the operator – she wasn’t about to let Frank face a killer on his own – she ran from the kitchen to the foyer, where Frank was just about to start up the stairs. Reattaching herself to his shirt, she crept behind him up the stairs. They reached the landing. The door to their master bedroom stood ajar. Moving quickly, Frank lunged into the room. Marie was a step behind him. At first, there was nothing, and then Marie heard a noise in the closet. She turned. The door was open. She screeched and everything went black.
Marie awoke to find herself on the floor, and police sirens beginning to blare outside. After her initial surprise at waking up at all passed, she glanced to Frank, who hadn’t moved. As the thought that she hadn’t blacked out for very long passed, she turned again to the closet, preparing to scream again. It was not, however, what she had expected. Dimly she heard the officers breaking in through the front door and shouting for anyone in the house to come out. Looking into the closet at the cause of all her day’s problems, she couldn’t stop a hysterical laugh from escaping her. As Frank asked her what was the matter and Police officers stormed into the room, Marie pondered helplessly just how appropriate Havok’s name seemed.