Who`s There?
by 
scriever
|
Posted: Saturday, March 18, 2017 Word Count: 412 Summary: For the challenge. Each and every phrase, in the right order! Who cares if the story's rubbish? |
"Aren't you afraid?" She didn’t seem to hear me. I couldn’t be sure, from my position behind the couch. I knew one thing; I wasn’t coming out. Not for her, not while the Thing was still there. There was a single, dull thud.
"So what happened?" No response. On the other side of the couch, the tv droned on. I heard a clink, then a gurgle. She was pouring herself more wine. I wasn’t having that. I stood up, scanned the room and moved to the business side of the couch. With as much dignity as I could muster, I poured myself a glass. I sat down, sipped delicately, then looked at her. "Do you enjoy hurting people?"
She laughed, raised her glass. “Cheers.” I scowled, took a bigger gulp of Chianti. I looked around. “It’s gone then?”
She smiled. “I killed it.” She looked so smug I felt like throwing the rest of my glass in her face. Wisely, I drank it instead, then looked her straight in the eye. "How can I possibly believe you?"
She snorted. “Why would I lie? If you stayed behind the couch I’d have more wine for myself.”
“Good point. Now you mention it, my glass is empty.” I held it towards her and watched carefully as it was filled with blood-red liquid. She filled her own, held it up to mine and, both satisfied that neither of us had gained any alcoholic advantage over the other, settled back.
We watched without comment as an officer of the law was gunned down on the screen. “How did you kill it?”
She nodded her head to the right. “With a book.” The Big Book of Aerial Photographs of the British Isles lay on the carpet. I grunted. The fallen policeman’s colleague kicked a door open and shot a shadowy figure crouched behind a table. Quite a shot. The scene changed to a dark, silent house. The camera moved slowly along a passageway lit only by a thin strip of light coming from a partly open door at the far end.
“Shit.” My wife was staring at The Big Book of Aerial Photographs of the British Isles. “It moved.”
On the screen, the door at the end of the hallway swung open. A voice came from behind it. “Who's there?"
"So what happened?" No response. On the other side of the couch, the tv droned on. I heard a clink, then a gurgle. She was pouring herself more wine. I wasn’t having that. I stood up, scanned the room and moved to the business side of the couch. With as much dignity as I could muster, I poured myself a glass. I sat down, sipped delicately, then looked at her. "Do you enjoy hurting people?"
She laughed, raised her glass. “Cheers.” I scowled, took a bigger gulp of Chianti. I looked around. “It’s gone then?”
She smiled. “I killed it.” She looked so smug I felt like throwing the rest of my glass in her face. Wisely, I drank it instead, then looked her straight in the eye. "How can I possibly believe you?"
She snorted. “Why would I lie? If you stayed behind the couch I’d have more wine for myself.”
“Good point. Now you mention it, my glass is empty.” I held it towards her and watched carefully as it was filled with blood-red liquid. She filled her own, held it up to mine and, both satisfied that neither of us had gained any alcoholic advantage over the other, settled back.
We watched without comment as an officer of the law was gunned down on the screen. “How did you kill it?”
She nodded her head to the right. “With a book.” The Big Book of Aerial Photographs of the British Isles lay on the carpet. I grunted. The fallen policeman’s colleague kicked a door open and shot a shadowy figure crouched behind a table. Quite a shot. The scene changed to a dark, silent house. The camera moved slowly along a passageway lit only by a thin strip of light coming from a partly open door at the far end.
“Shit.” My wife was staring at The Big Book of Aerial Photographs of the British Isles. “It moved.”
On the screen, the door at the end of the hallway swung open. A voice came from behind it. “Who's there?"
We looked at each other. “Do you want to find out who’s there?” I asked. She held up the empty wine bottle. “Time for bed.”