EDITOR’S NOTE: Using her secret identity of “Robin Morris,” TVWriter™’s Robin Reed came in 2nd in the recent KillerCon 5 Flash Fiction Contest. Not that we’re biased or anything, but it should’ve been first.
Oh, yeah, it’s a horror story contest.
See for yourselves:
A Good Storm
by Robin Morris
“I didn’t want to,” she said. “You made me.”
He looked at her weakly. He pulled on the ropes. “Why?”
The sky lit up for just a second. She looked up, feeling the wind. Her nerves crackled in anticipation. Then thunder boomed, loud enough to rattle the world. It came quicker than last time. The storm was getting closer.
He tried to get loose, but he didn’t have much strength. The chair creaked. He faced the house, with his back to the barn. She stood in the light from the open back door. The wind blew her dress, wrapping the skirt around her legs.
“Tomfoolery.”
“What the fuck?”
“That’s what Dad called it. When a man runs around with another woman.”
He leaned forward, as far as the ropes would allow, and vomited. Whitish goo ran down his chin and stained his shirt. That’s why she dragged him out to the back yard. It wasn’t easy to get him and the chair out the door and down the steps, but she didn’t want to make a mess in the house. It wasn’t just the vomit; there was a lot more mess to come.
“What did you give me?” He coughed. A bubble formed in the vomit on his lips, then popped.
She looked at him squarely. “What you deserve. What we use to kill rats in the barn.”
“Please. Call for help.”
“I did.” She raised her arms. The sky exploded, thunder and lightning coming with barely a second between them. “The sky will help. The rain will help.” Help wash it all away.
“Call an ambulance.”
“Succulent.”
His head fell forward, but he still moved.
“Dad liked big words like that. Dinner was succulent. Fried chicken is your favorite. I just added a new ingredient.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Do you remember the big storm last year?”
“Your dad…”
“Caught his death out here, wouldn’t come out of the rain. Searching for that old watch.” An eighty five year old man shouldn’t have been out in the rain for hours. How did he ever get the idea that she threw the watch out in the yard? A watch passed down in his family for generations. It was never in the yard, of course. It was safe. It was worth quite a bit. It would provide a nice start for her new life.
He forced his head up, his eyes wide. “You…”
“Now I own the house.” She smiled. “When you run away, folks’ll be sympathetic. Everyone knows you’re no good. I’m better off without you.”
She would do the work in the rain, letting it wash the yard clean. What wouldn’t wash away would be buried in small pieces, here and there, for miles around.
He closed his eyes for the last time. He fell slack in the ropes.
The first drops pattered on the dry ground. They formed spots on her dress. She raised her face to the sky and welcomed the rain. Lightning and thunder flashed and banged at the same instant.
She loved a good storm.
