SHORT FICTION

Saturday, 26 May 2012

THE VISITOR-SHORT STORY

The Visitor

   The knock made him look up from his book. He didn't get up right away and waited a moment. The knock came again but this time with an air of impatience to it. He rolled his eyes thinking what idiot would come to his door wanting him to "answer it".
He quietly closed the book and sat it down carefully next to him letting his hand rest on the book for a moment until another impatient knock finally pulled him off the couch.
He casually sauntered over to the door and twisted the heavy door knock. He opened the door but his eyes looked at nothing.
Then something made him look down and there standing  was a little girl about the age of 8 or 9. She was dressed in a floral dress with a pale pink sash that tied in the back. Her long dark haired locks hung down past her shoulders. A butterfly barrette adorned her right side framing a delicate face.
It was her eyes that made him chill. They were big and brown. They were iridescent and magical and they made him take a step back.
Silence snaked around them before he shook his head.
Then he smiled and bent down to the little girl.
"What can I do for you little girl"?
She looked right at him and never blinked. Her large brown eyes stayed focused on his face.
"Are you selling something"?
She still stood there-never blinking. He straightened up and for some reason took another step back inside his house.
She came closer.
Silence flitted about them again filling the air with a stifling heat.
Her eyes let him go and looked down and even though she never said anything, it broke the silence and he could breathe again.
She placed her tiny hand in the right front pocket of her dress and pulled out an old skeletal key. She handed it to him waiting for him to take it.
He held out his hand and she dropped the key into the palm of his hand. It felt heavy and cold.
Like she had completed what she had set out to do she turned around and skipped down the stairs. But before taking off she looked at him. Her tiny rose coloured lips smiled at him.
"You'll come play with me later". Her voice was barely above a whisper but yet it echoed inside his head.
Her big brown eyes took one more look at the exterior of the house.
"I like your house" she said.
As she turned away and watched her skip down to the street the door shut in front of him leaving him looking down at the key.
He looked back at the couch and the book then back at the skeletal key.
What was he supposed to do with this?
He laid the key in the bowl  where he threw his car keys in. The key slid down clanging up against his car keys.
Later that night he got ready for his hunt. He didn't go out last night so his stomach was twisting and turning. When that happened it made him more aggressive towards his prey.
He skipped up the stairs to his bowl to retrieve his car keys. When he looked down in the bowl the only thing there was the skeletal key. He knew his car keys where there. Where did they go?
A funny feeling went through him making him back away from the bowl. What the little girl had said came back into his head.
He decided he didn't need his car anyway.
Out into the night he went-on foot.

Friday, 18 May 2012

GARDENS


                                                         Gardens

We create them as a reflection of our hearts and soul.
We breathe in the beauty that the garden gives us.
It sustains us.

We create paths to follow dreams and maybe somewhere else.
Arbours filled with green or flowering vines welcome us through with what we can't wait for.

Sometimes, we might ponder in our gardens and wonder what secrets our garden might hold.
It's beauty holds us still but whispers nothing in our ear.
We turn and go back through our paths or sometimes for unknown reason we follow another more natural path, not created by us.

Our gardens sometimes pulls us to other worlds and other dreams.
It's strange but we accept it.
And sometimes we look back at the garden like we're looking at someone.
For some strange reason we think ...faerie.