Beaky's Creative Scratchings

Lies, Blood and a Bottle of Scotch

What follows is my short story from last year that we had to base off of another story we read in class. We were supposed to show another point of view from the other story and make this stand by itself, so hopefully it should make sense to you…

The room was warm and clean; the smell of a roast beef filled the air and the afternoon sun was lighting up the room. In the middle of the room sat a small table. A jar of flowers and stack of coasters sat neatly in the centre. A bottle of scotch was also on this table, dripping with condensation as it sat in the sun and beside it, two glasses: one for a husband returning from work and another for Ann Miller.

Ann was a typical housewife. The red curly hair, a skirt she had sewn herself and she looked perfect for her returning husband. Ann grew impatient. Sitting there alone, while it was warm and cozy, the silence was slowly eating away at her sanity. She would glance over at the clock every now and then, but the time didn’t go any faster. If anything, looking at the clock made it agonizingly slower.

The silence had gotten to her. Ann couldn’t take it anymore. She got up to turn the radio on and put her mind at ease, plus who knows, there may be some news about that man. Ann stood at the window. She was looking at her German Shepherd ‘Lucky’ lying on the grass. Lucky was the Miller’s newly acquired guard dog and a friendly companion for Ann’s lonely days at home.

As the clock neared four, a school bus from the convent in Sag Harbour piled around the bend. Some of the girls hung out the window and yelled, no doubt high on their drugs and crazy music. Ann watched the bus go on up around the corner and into the woods and out of sight. Her eyes wandered back to Lucky and he was still lying there, but he had now moved his head. His ears pricked up and he turned his head sharply in the direction of the woods. But Lucky couldn’t possibly be worrying about the bus, for it had already passed.

Thoughts of fear and panic entered Ann’s mind as she remembered last week’s incident. The image of the man became clear as crystal and Ann started to shake. Was it him who the dog had noticed, was it the same man back for more? Before Ann collapsed with shock, Lucky’s head bowed down to sit on his paw. Pulling herself together, Ann gave a quite sigh of relief and returned to her chair. Those mere five minutes felt an eternity to poor Ann. The only thing keeping her together was the impending return of her husband.

Just as Ann had settled, the phone rang. It was Martha Timothy, the neighbour who had been a guiding light in Ann’s times of need, but still an unexpected call for this time of day. “Hello Ann, I must speak with you immediately.” Martha was slightly whispering, as if to not let anybody know she was speaking.

“Why, whatever is the matter, Martha?”

“I think the man who attacked you is here, in my house.”

Ann was silent for a moment. So that was the man Lucky saw. He must have seen the dog and left with fright. But he was now at Martha’s.

“How did he get in, Martha?”

“I let him in.”

“You what!”

“I didn’t realise it was him until I threw some questions at him. He acted strangely and told some lies to me. He says he drives a truck. What do I do, Ann?”

“Are you sure it is him, Martha?”

“Very sure. Why did he attack you, Ann? You said you did nothing.”

“But of course, I never let on; I simply did as you did and let him inside. He then tied me to the chair and ransacked my jewellery box.” These words were hard for Ann, but she was worried about Martha. “Get him out, Martha. Use a knife if you must.”

There was a brief break from Martha’s voice. “I just heard something downstairs. Ann, if I don’t ring back soon, phone the police.”

“No, Martha, wait!”

There was no reply. Ann put the phone down and ran upstairs. She wasn’t going to just sit around while her friend was in need. Searching through the bedside table she caught sight of what she wanted: her husband’s handgun. She grabbed it with both hands, her eyes opening wide. Jumping up, she hurried downstairs and before she reached the door, the phone rang again; it was Martha. “Ann, he just broke my hand… no time to explain… he his heading for your house.”

This time Ann dropped the phone and let it hang by the table. The faint sounds of Martha yelling Ann’s name filled the hallway, before it was broken by the barking of a dog.  Ann froze with absolute fear before he came crashing through the door.  The man started to explain his intrusion.  “I’m terribly sorry for this Ma’am but I must simply use your phone.  You see I’m a dri…” 

“Lies!” Ann cut him short; she had already reached into her pocket, gripping the gun.  She pulled it out and held it straight at the man.

“Mrs Miller, what on earth are you doing?”

Ann’s mind was set on revenge and nothing could stop her.  She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.  The shot was deafening and Ann slowly fell down with her back against the wall. 

To Ann, everything was spinning around. Nothing made sense.  A lifeless body was folded into itself next to the door, blood pooling from underneath it.  Ann wanted to check him for life; she wanted to believe herself that this was a nightmare, but a familiar voice kept her from succumbing to the darkness.  Her husband returned home and rushed to Ann’s aid.  “Ann, what happened?” 

“That’s the man who attacked me, but now he will never haunt me again”.  She said with a smile on her face.  “What? This is Joe, the driver from Lester’s market”.

 

Ann wasn’t smiling anymore.