4. Heart
Author’s note: This is a very short one. Don’t expect an explanation of why, who, what, where. It’s one of those stories that make you wonder later on. I enjoyed the way The Twilight Zone shorts did that for me.
Unashamedly trinket adorned, the cozy home appeared well lived in and smelled of old things and old people. Not stale nor dusty, in fact the exact opposite, spotless and tidy with everything so neat and orderly that it may have been a display home. No sounds emanated from anywhere inside the two bedroom home, except maybe a squeak or groan with the shift of timber and plaster.
The only occupant would also not return for a few days, if even at all. Of this, the man who stood in the lounge room of this home, was certain. Opportunities arose often, he just had to be alert enough to make use of them. A few days earlier the woman of the house was taken away in need of medical aid. The source of his knowledge had come only two days past, after overhearing her neighbours talking near an ambulance. They had said the old woman phoned for help complaining of a tightness in her chest and shortness of breath. She had not looked well, one of them had said, as he walked past them on his way to the supermarket to look for unlocked cars.
This had given him absolute freedom to search her home for anything of value. The back door, his first obstacle, had been much too easy to force open, merely requiring a push with his shoulder a few times until the warn timber cracked. He had laughed, then quickly put his hand over his mouth and scanned the property for sign of neighbours. Then shuffled inside, a smile on his lips.
He studied the lounge room and furniture, touching, weighing and deciding what to take. He then reached a room which had been converted from a bedroom to an office and found papers piled neatly on the desk but oddly covered in a heavy dust. Strange since the rest of the house had been cleaned and dusted so thoroughly.
The stack of papers appeared to be bills and invoices, nothing worthy of his attention. Also on the desk, a picture of the old woman and a man, possibly her deceased husband. Although it was bordered with a silver frame, just in need of some polishing to receive some decent cash for it.
One desk drawer, the top one, had been jammed partly closed, but still slightly ajar. He stopped his rummaging and closed one eye to look inside and pierce the dark. Loose change and notes had been stuffed inside, which is what had kept the door from closing properly. Indeed, so full that the drawer wouldn’t budge either way. He persisted, and would take the whole desk with him or return with an axe if need be. Finally the drawer shot open and the handle tore from the timber. The notes, money and the drawer crashed to the ground.
With a smile on his lips, an outside person would see as a mixture of child-delight as well as self appreciation, he began to fill his bag and pockets.
A clunk sounded from the other side of the room and he stopped mid-way stuffing his third handful into his pockets, cash crinkling in his fists. A coin dropped from his hand and clanked on the hard wood floor. The thief jumped, then cursed himself for being so dim-witted. He stared to where the sound had come from and saw that the closet door had come partly open. Only a crack and on silent oiled hinges.
A cat maybe? He crept forwards to investigate wondering if other treasures may be found in this small office. Rather than being riddled with starving felines.
As he reached the closet door a white face poked out from the dark shadows. The face growled. A man, not a cat, too high. The knowing and self appreciating smile fell away and he jumped back against the old oak desk. The picture of the old man and his wife fell to the floor and the glass smashed. The old man from the picture. This was him, although pale and ugly. Something beyond what any man should look like.
The man leapt from the closet, frothy saliva spat from his mouth in large globules. Unintelligible words croaked from his dry cracked lips staining his white sweaty complexion. His grey-silver eyes burned cold with pin prick irises and deadly fever.
Cold hands clasped the thief’s throat, then pressure until a crack sounded, and another, then finally a sickening crunch.
The powder white hands released their grip and the body fell to the ground with a thump. The man walked slowly back to the closet with his head drooping as if tired. Once inside, he closed the door and stood in darkness again.
End
