Thursday, 10 October 2019

October Frights 2019 Begins!

Welcome to the October Frights Blog Hop!




It's that time of year again when the blog gets all creepy and spooky and the creatures of the night come out to play. It's time for October Frights. This year during the hop week I'll have some stories for you, some new book covers, some poetry and lots of ghosts and ghouls. So pull up and chair and get comfortable, but be sure to leave the lights on...

We kick things off with a blast from the past and a little story I wrote a while back. Settle in for a strange spooky tale ...



Leaking Out


Drip, drip, drip.
The sound dances with the sunbeams streaming through the bedroom window. It’s a rhythm, a mind-numbing vibration of liquid striking metal. Such a strange sound to hear in the morning, the drip, drip, drip of the tap.
Or is it the tap?
Maybe it isn’t a leak. Maybe it’s something else. Blood flowing through the veins of the house. Drip, drip, dripping someone’s life away. All oozing out over the sink. Or the floor.
I wonder why I thought that?

I smell coffee.
I’m in the kitchen.
How did I get here? I’m not sure. My memory plays tricks these days. Or maybe time is playing tricks. Either way, I’ve gotten used to it. Mostly. But the dripping noise is gone. Maybe it never was. Maybe it was in my head. Probably was. Too many things are in my head.
But I still smell coffee. And toast. He made breakfast. He always made breakfast when we were first married. Or maybe I did. No, that’s not true. He did. He was sweet in the beginning.
I don’t think he’s here anymore. I think he left. But I don’t know why. Why would he leave? None of this feels right. All I know is the house is empty. Shut up tight. It’s so quiet.
And there’s no breakfast on the table. Just dust.

We were happy.
I thought we were happy.
I must’ve been wrong.
Something must’ve been wrong.
Our happiness had cracks.
He didn’t love me.
Or he wouldn’t have… no, I won’t… he didn’t… couldn’t have… he left me?
No.
I left?

Drip, drip, drip.
I can hear it again. The wet noise.
It isn’t coming from the kitchen. It sounds like it’s coming from the bathroom.
But it may not be coming from anywhere, except my head. It’s hard sometimes to know.
I’m standing outside the bathroom door now. But I was just in the kitchen. Wasn’t I? I think I was. Maybe not.
I don’t want to be here. Why? Why do I want to run? Something happened in there? I think it did. My hand is shaking.
I’m afraid.
But I can still hear the dripping.
I open the door.
The room is empty. A cheerless room.
I look down.
The stain’s still there. It’s been scrubbed and scrubbed, but it wouldn’t come out of the tile. Where the blood dripped into the widening pool of red. Bright, bright red. The stain’s pinker now.
It’s even kind of pretty. If I forget what made it.
Blood. Too much blood.
Painted on my memory. Scarlet and screaming, and all jumbled with questions. Why's and how’s. I don’t have answers. I’m not sure I want answers. I might not like them. I’d rather forget. I like it best when I don’t remember it at all. Those are the best days.
But that’s not today. Today’s not a day when I don’t remember.
Today I know what happened.
Someone died.
No, someone was murdered.
I remember.
My husband murdered me.



So that ends today's post. Be sure to hop on over and check out the offerings of the other participants as well. Here's the list.

10 comments:

Debbie Christiana said...

Love stories like this. Nice job.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Debbie.

Samantha Bryant said...

Holy smokes! I love a good twist ending like that.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Samantha, glad you enjoyed it.

Lyssa Medana said...

Loved the twist! Great story.

MJM said...

Ooh, very nice!

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, Lyssa, I do love my twists.

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks, MJM, glad you enjoyed.

Winnie Jean Howard said...

A lovely twist at the end!

A. F. Stewart said...

Thanks.

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