Written for Short Story Slam
I can’t sleep. I lay on my side watching the glowing green
numbers on my bedside clock ticking the time away. Minutes, hours; will this
night never end? A car whooshes past and a blade of light shoots through the
gap in the curtains and slashes sabre-like across the ceiling. Then silence. An
uneasy silence. Now and then the hoot of an owl. Now and then the rustle of
leaves. Tonight something is different. I don’t know what and I don’t know why.
But something isn’t right.
What’s that? A low
thump from the room below. Oh, it’s nothing. I probably imagined it. They say
counting sheep helps. Doesn’t help me. What was that joke I heard about sheep
the other day? Or was it pigs? Never mind. Another hour has passed. Perhaps I
shouldn’t have eaten so late. There it is again, that thump. I can feel my
heart beginning to beat faster, and faster, and faster, and faster. I’m not
imagining things, that was clearly the clink of a glass. There’s someone down
there. They said on my bedside radio the other day not to face an intruder, but there’s
no way I’m going to let anyone get away with trashing my place.
I knew this cricket bat would come in useful one day. It’s
never hit a ball; not yet anyway! I shouldn’t be joking at a time like this; it’s
just a nervous reaction. This is serious. I never realised these stairs
creaked. My heart feels as if it’s about to leap out of my chest. Breathe.
Breathe. Slowly.Silently.
I push the door to my kitchen open very slowly, inch by
inch. There’s a torch on the table lighting up the wall opposite. Suddenly an
invisible hand grabs the torch and it paints a waving pattern of light in the
darkness as the intruder flies through the back door and out into the yard.
Silence. All I hear is the cathump cathump cathump of my
heart. I venture into the kitchen and fumble for the switch on the wall. For a
second I’m blinded by the light. There on the table is my favourite whisky
glass; I’m sure I put it away last night. There’s scotch in it. I never leave a
drink unfinished. And what is my hourglass doing beside it? It’s been upturned and the
sand is flowing through. Why can’t I move, why am I frozen to the spot? Something
in my jumbled head is telling me to grab it and turn it over again. With a jerk
I manage to snatch it but not before the last grain of sand falls through. The end .
Nice! Great build up to a fantastic finish line. Well done!
ReplyDeletehttp://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/11/23/the-last-grain-of-sand/
There is always second chances,
ReplyDeletevery creative composition,
Smiles.
Happy Writing.
it sounds like one of those nights, when we feel restless and anxious.
ReplyDeleteCheers.
loved your story.
What a way to spend a night of insomnia, I feel the beat of your heart... You had my attention from the first line..."I can't sleep".
ReplyDeleteYou're good at suspense. Like it.
ReplyDeleteNot sure which is scarier, the thought of confronting a burglar, or the thought of confronting the "reaper." Excellent, suspenseful tale!
ReplyDeleteKeith, Too cool!! Loved it a lot :) Blessings, Terri
ReplyDeleteSpooky indeed. Funny how all our everyday things are so much scarier in the middle of the night and the nights are never ending when we can't sleep.
ReplyDeleteVery well told, made me feel on edge!
Things that go bump in the night, eh? lol
ReplyDeleteWell written, nice build-up.
ReplyDeleteexcellent story.
ReplyDeleteOuch--nice twist!
ReplyDeleteVery captivating. Now I am waiting chapter 2.
ReplyDeleteGreat job.
William