The Spinetinglers Anthology 2011

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  “Oh, dear God! Not a mouse surely?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “I’m sorry, Steve, I know it’s Christmas Day, but please will you go into the loft and have a look round, this is really scaring me?”

  Steve nodded. “What are we going to tell Timmy?”

  “We’ll have to say it died of natural causes,” replied Steven.

  “He’s not going to believe that is he? It was only a year old, poor thing.”

  “Well we’ll just have to tell him there was something wrong with it.”

  It was a very unhappy Steve who was crawling around in his loft space a few minutes later. He was cursing quietly to himself about how everyone else was enjoying The Great Escape or The Sound of Music on TV, neither of which he knew he would have watched anyway, when he suddenly noticed something in his torch beam. He carefully edged towards it and let out a gasp of surprise when he saw what it was. Stacked in a pile on one of the loft boards in one of the most inaccessible parts of the loft unless you happened to be a pigmy, which he wasn’t, were various household items such as cufflinks, photos and buttons.

  “How the hell did they get there?” He asked no one in particular.

  He had started to put the few items he could reach into his pocket when a sudden movement at the periphery of his vision, made him swing round, the torch beam following a split second later. He moved the torch back and forth, but couldn’t see anything. He was just contemplating going further into the loft to investigate when a sudden sharp pain in his right hand made him scream out loud, drawing a worried shout from Helen downstairs.

  Steven looked first at his hand which was bleeding profusely and then swung his torch up just in time to see something brown and furry with a long tail, retreat behind the chimney stack. A rat and a big one at that. With all thoughts of retrieving the other items gone, Steve hurried out of the loft and down the ladder where a concerned looking Helen was waiting for him.

  “What happened to your hand?” Asked Helen concerned.

  “Nothing, I just snagged it on a nail,” he lied.

  She took his hand in hers and studied the wound from which a lot of bright red blood was oozing. “Don’t lie to me, Steve, I’m not stupid. That’s a bite wound if ever I’ve seen one. You’re going to need tetanus or something.”

  “All right something bit me, a mouse I expect. We’ll get the council in after Christmas to come and lay some traps.”

  “Is there no other way, I might not like them but I wouldn’t want them to suffer?”

  “Well we could leave them a polite note asking them to leave but I’m guessing they’ll choose to ignore it. You’ve seen my hand right? For that alone they deserve to suffer.”

  “You said ‘they’,” said Helen nervously.

  “That’s right. If it’s a mouse there’ll probably be more than one of them,” replied Steven.

  Helen shuddered at the thought of dozens of mice scurrying around above her as she slept. “You call the council as soon as Christmas is over and in the meantime, keep that trap door closed.”

  Steven looked at his wound despairingly. “Trust me, I’m going nowhere near it.”

  “Good. Right come on let’s get that wound cleaned up with some antiseptic.”

  As Helen cleaned his wound, Steven showed her some of the things that he had retrieved from the loft, but neither had an explanation. Sure, magpies were known to steal shiny things but this was no magpie doing this.

  ***

  Timmy lay awake staring up at his bedroom ceiling. His joy at meeting Rollo had been tempered by the sudden loss of Hooters, who his dad had said had died as a result of a serious illness that nobody knew he had. He was going to miss him.

  A sudden squealing noise made Timmy sit up in bed. He reached for his bedside torch and shone it in the direction from which the noise came. Timmy’s throat constricted as he watched the gas vent slowly open before the evil furry face of a roof person peered into his bedroom, eventually locking eyes with Timmy. It smiled evilly at him and Timmy swallowed hard with fear. He watched as the creature threw a long string down out of the loft and began to climb quickly down towards the floor, the familiar and repulsive smell pervading the bedroom.

  Once down it began muttering to itself again and slowly started to make its way towards a frightened looking Timmy. Halfway across the floor it stopped and looked at the space where the hamster cage had once been and laughed. Timmy felt his temper begin to rise; how did this foul creature know something had happened to Hooters?

  The creature looked back at Timmy and grinned malevolently. It was all Timmy could do to stay put, whilst all of his instincts screamed at him to run or cry out. He waited patiently for the creature to take one more step closer to him and then pulled his surprise. Quickly tugging the duvet back, Timmy revealed a previously concealed Rollo who he had until then been restraining by his collar. Timmy now let go of the collar and in a flash Rollo had leapt from the bed at the creature.

  It screamed, firstly with surprise and then fright at this unexpected turn of events. The creature tried desperately to back away and defend itself from this new adversary, an adversary who was bigger than itself with fearsome looking teeth. Upon seeing the creature Rollo had turned from a placid playful puppy to a snarling and vicious weapon which was determined to protect its owner from a creature it perceived as dangerous.

  “Get it Rollo, get it, good boy,” screamed Timmy as the puppy tore into the creature.

  Timmy’s parents came racing into the bedroom just as the creature managed to disengage itself from the puppy and make for the vent. The bedroom light being switched on momentarily distracted the puppy giving the creature just enough time to haul itself painfully up the string and back through the vent. Timmy stared at the vent whilst Rollo stood and excitedly barked up at it.

  “What the hell’s going on now, Timmy?” Asked his dad.

  Timmy pointed at the vent and both parents looked but it was too late, although Helen briefly thought she saw something being pulled inside through one of the slits.

  “There’s nothing there, Timmy, there never was,” said his dad.

  The dog continued to bark excitedly as it stared up at the vent, unnerving Helen further.

  “Quiet, Rollo,” said Helen. Something then caught her eye. “Oh, no.”

  “What is it?” Asked Steven.

  Helen pointed. “Is that blood?”

  Steven reached down and stuck a finger in the substance on the carpet. “I don’t know. Looks like it but it’s very dark. Has the puppy bitten you, Timmy?”

  “No,” Timmy replied smiling. “He hurt one of the roof people – Rollo saved me.”

  “Not that again, Timmy, please, we’ve been over this. There are no roof people,” said his mum.

  “Then whose blood is it?” Asked Timmy.

  Steven raised his eyebrows as he considered that and then lifted the puppy into the air to inspect it. There was no sign of a wound anywhere on the puppy. Helen glanced at the vent, but then dismissed the idea. Still, she had thought she’d seen something being pulled up just as she entered the room. She dismissed the notion again as being ridiculous.

  “Look there’s more blood there and there,” said Steven pointing. The trail finished directly below the gas vent. He stopped and stared up at the vent before casting an enquiring look in Helen’s direction. She looked frightened and merely shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to buy into Timmy’s story but at a loss for an explanation of her own.

  “Why don’t you come and sleep in our bed tonight, Timmy, but just tonight okay?”

  “Can Rollo come to?”

  “Yes, but he sleeps on the floor, okay?”

  Timmy nodded and was out of bed in a flash for the best night’s sleep he had had in ages. “Thanks, mum and dad, Rollo’s the best Christmas present I’ve ever had.”

  ***

  “So how many traps have you laid?” Steven asked as he passed the council’s pest control officer
a mug of tea.

  “I haven’t laid any, to be honest,” said the man taking a slurp of the boiling hot tea.

  “Why not?”

  “I think your problem’s over. There’s a skeleton up there towards the back of the loft near the water tank. Strangest looking skeleton I’ve ever seen, but I’d say that whatever it was scampering about up here, it’s now dead.”

  “That’s good I suppose. Any idea what it was?”

  “As I say it’s right at the back in an inaccessible place so I can’t have a good look, but I’d guess it was a rat and a big one at that. Smells a bit up there too, but hopefully that’ll soon go.”

  “Great, well that’s a relief I’ve got to tell you. We hadn’t heard anything for a few days so we wondered if it had died or left. I’ll get some peace and quiet off the missus now I hope.”

  “Should do. Mind you, can’t blame her, nobody likes the thought of one of those beggars running around in your house.”

  ***

  In the dark recesses, three pairs of red eyes watched the man climb carefully out of the loft. Since her mate had been killed by the vicious creature downstairs, the female and her two young ones had gone hungry; her mate’s body had only kept them nourished for a short while. Soon she would have to venture below to search for food and vengeance. As the loft trap door was clunked back into place, she smiled malevolently and peered through the gas vent at the people below and licked her lips.

  The Dinner Party

  By John Hunt

  Seven women, affluence evident in their plastic smiles, doctored bodies and stylish clothes, postured in a beautiful living room decorated in decadence. All indolent, some lay on couches with wine glasses gripped in a light fingertip touch, surveying their friends and sometimes rivals with admiration or mocking disdain. Others were above such pettiness as they were so inward-looking they thought of how the others directly affected them or not at all. It was not a room filled with soft, docile women. These women were practical and ambitious as was gleaned from their forthright manner and ruthless honesty. They thrived on each other’s wickedness and were amused and entertained by it. They all knew it would be a comical evening filled with quick-witted barbs camouflaged in feigned concern. They were eager for it.

  “Tell us now Tracy, how many boyfriends have you lost to their infidelity now? Six? Seven?” Morgan asked with an audible smile. They were all between thirty and forty years of age and did their best to appear younger than thirty. Tracy, though she was thirty-eight, was the only one who succeeded at the ruse and dated young, fit and attractive men. Men who always ended up cheating on her, much to Morgan’s transparent delight.

  “You seem to be more informed on that subject than I,” replied Tracy, “maybe you should enlighten me.”

  “It is just a passing curiosity, nothing more. You do seem to run through men at an alarming rate.”

  “I wouldn’t say alarming. Most of my relationships last at least a year.” Tracy said in a bored tone, not even looking at Morgan when she replied.

  “Blah-Blah-Blah,” said Karen, a blonde, blue-eyed woman known for her impatience as well as her thirst for alcohol. “Tell us how you found out this one was cheating. Kevin isn’t it?”

  The other women nodded and straightened, a little like children ready to be told a good tale. All except Morgan who brooded at the minimal response she had elicited from Tracy and made a point of drinking from her wine glass and looking out the window when Tracy began her narrative.

  “Well, as Morgan was so kind to point out, I have become almost an expert at recognizing the signs of a cheater. It started out with him coming home late from work. He claimed he was just handed a big important project but I could always detect a gentle smell of whiskey on his breath and perfume at the collar.”

  Some women nodded at this, others shook their heads in disapproval, but all listened, even the caustic Morgan. Kevin’s betrayal was magnetic fodder for Morgan’s vindictiveness.

  “In the past, at this point, I have jumped the gun and confronted past boyfriends only to be mollified with sweet words and kind gestures. At this stage, it is unlikely that they have begun cheating physically, but they are definitely building up the courage for it. So I decided to monitor the situation, see if the other indicators would appear or if he would go back to the way he was, eager to come home, eager to be with me. He didn’t revert back to his charming self. His poor behaviour continued and I knew that they had started to have sex because he stopped wanting to have it with me. And, as soon as he returned home from another long day at the office he would have a shower before sliding into bed with me. He never did that before. I could always count on him at least three to four times a week on giving me the ‘look’. The ‘look’ would always be followed by the ‘touch’. An exploratory, oh-so-gentle touch and based on my reaction he would decide whether to proceed or not. It went dramatically from three times a week to one, then, sadly, to none. I was reduced to having to try and solicit sex from him!”

  Chest heaving, Tracy glanced at her friends’ sympathetic and horrified expressions. Satisfied that they understood the enormity of this simple thing, the controller of power in the relationship, she said, “even then he would sometimes tell me he was too tired and that he didn’t want to! That was my line and he used it on me!”

  Disgusted gasps and snorts hiccoughed throughout the room. Too tired? Has the world gone insane? Did he think she wouldn’t know something was amiss?

  “But even then, I wanted to be sure. The consequences for him and my heart were too dire to proceed in haste. So I hired a private detective to get the proof one way or another. If I was paranoid, of which I was very doubtful, he was to prove it and if I was right, I wanted concrete evidence. Indisputable evidence of his debauchery. After a few, short weeks I got it.”

  Enrapt in the story, Lisa blurted out, “what’d you get? Can you tell us?”

  “I can do better than that. I can show you. Wait here.” Tracy said, glowing from their empathetic approbation.

  “Who th’ell would leave now?” said Karen, her alcohol consumption and outrage filtering through her speech.

  Tracy left the room and returned with a bulky, brown manila envelope. Tracy sat on the couch and placed the envelope on the coffee table in the middle of the group and leaned over it. Her friends concentrated on the envelope with wide eyes, entranced at Tracy’s equanimity.

  “Now, there are some photographs in here but they are rather pornographic and not in good taste. What I will share with you is a tape recording of their conversation after they had done it on my bed while I was out visiting you, Lisa.”

  Lisa raised a hand to her mouth to hide her unbidden delight at being an inadvertent part of this drama.

  Tracy removed the recorder and placed it on the table. When she had their focus, she pressed play.

  “Don’t you feel dirty? Doing it in her bed?” A breathless, female voice.

  “No, it was kind of exciting.” Kevin replied.

  “When are you going to tell her?”

  “Tell her what?”

  “Are you really asking that question? You know what.”

  “I don’t think I will. It would be better if we just took off together.”

  “That’s pretty high school. Just break it off like an adult.”

  “You don’t know her. She has something in her, something real cold. I almost feel like… ah, just forget it.”

  “No, just tell me.”

  “She looks at me sometimes, like a… I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Just spit it out.”

  “I don’t know, like the way a snake eyes a mouse. She makes me feel like I’m her next meal or something.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I know.”

  “And you still wanted to do it in her bed? You sound afraid of her.”

  “I guess I kind of am. But don’t they say sex is more exciting with an element of danger?”

  “Yeah, idiots s
ay that.”

  He chuckled. A short pause.

  “Hey Kevin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you still do it with her?”

  “No honey, after you? Be like humping a corpse or a…”

  Tracy reached over and slammed the stop button, dismayed at the smirk on Morgan’s, knowing that insult would be stored in Morgan’s memory for future use.

  “So? What did he say when you confronted him?” Lisa said.

  “I haven’t yet,” Tracy said.

  “What!?”

  “He is the surprise guest of honour at this little dinner party!”

  There was a long pause right after this announcement and Tracy wondered if she had blundered but this notion was discounted when her friends broke out into joyous shouts and whistles. Never had they witnessed a dramatic confrontation of this magnitude.

  “Is he here now?” Asked Karen, all traces of intoxication seeming to have vanished with the excitement.

  “No, he should be here for seven o’clock. He believes I have a surprise for him, and, of course, he is right.”

  It was early afternoon and they spent the remaining time discussing and refining strategies to maximize humiliation. The seven women always had a dinner party after a betrayal, but they never discussed what happened to a betrayer there. They all knew.

  ***

  At six-fifty in the evening they were all seated at a massive oak dining table, awaiting the guest of honour. The dining room blazed with crystal chandeliers and the room warmed with the fire in the marble fireplace. A light scent of cinnamon incense permeated the air. Karen was at her intoxicated finest pouring insults at the same pace as she indulged in alcohol. No one paid her any attention as her jibes lacked refinement and wit. Everyone else small talked, awaiting Kevin’s arrival with barely restrained patience and doing little to hide their building excited anticipation. Silence descended with Kevin’s arrival.