Don't You know Me? (Plus "Flash Fiction - Werewolves")
By well-wisher
- 1107 reads
Don’t You Know Me?
The old fashioned bell above the door rang as the man came into Sheila’s card and gift shop. He was a handsome sort of chap, Sheila thought at first; slim and neatly dressed with short cut dark hair and deep brown eyes but then he leaned upon the counter.
“Don’t you know me?”, he asked, grinning in a knowing sort of way that made Sheila uneasy.
“No”, said Shiela, trying not to be intimidated, “Should I? Have we met?”.
“Oh, you could say I used to be very good friends with you and your sister…Sally, I think her name is, isn’t it?...When you were just little girls”, he said.
Sheila searched her memory.
“No. I don’t remember us having any little boys as friends when we were kids, not close friends anyway”, she said.
The man looked hurt.
“I’m rather saddened that you don’t remember me”, he said, “I felt sure you would. I remember you and your sister very well. I even remember that little rhyme you used to tell your sister when it got dark outside. The one you used to scare her senseless with. D’you remember?”.
“Rhyme?”, asked Sheila, puzzled but curious and slightly amused, “What rhyme was that?”.
“You know how it went”, said the man, leaning closer and speaking in a sort of whisper, “Here comes the bogeyman creeping up the stairs; one step, two step, soon he will be here with one hand on the door knob and the other on a knife, then in comes that wicked man to take away your life”.
“Oh yes”, said Sheila, remembering and starting to laugh as she remembered, “She was always so terrified of that. She used to scream and beg me, ‘Stoppit, Sheila, Stoppit!’”.
But then she stopped laughing, her face perplexed again.
“But how did you know that?”, she asked.
There was a cold draft behind her that blew open the door of the darkened store cupboard
and, suddenly, she wasn’t in her gift shop anymore with all the Halloween decorations; she was in her old bedroom, the one she used to share with her sister and now she heard her sister speaking the rhyme about the bogeyman.
But, more than that, she heard the door of the bedroom opening and a voice; his voice.
“I’ve come, Sheila”, he cackled, his shadow slowly entering the room, “Just like you said”.
Plus: ****Flash Fiction - Werewolves****
“Did you say 'Werewolves'?”, asked Mr Trumbell, the greengrocer, looking up from his account book and laughing at the strange young man who had just entered his shop.
“Yes”, said the man, his whole body trembling; his eyes wide and his pupils dilated with fear, “Do you have anything for keeping them away; wolfbane? Silver Bullets? They must be made of silver, mind you, that has been blessed by a priest? Do you have anything like that in your shop?”.
Mr Trumbell couldn’t believe what the young man was asking, “Ofcourse not”, he said, “This is Leighton Buzzard, not bloomin’ Transylvania. Why? Are you having trouble with werewolves, are you?”.
“No”, said the man, his voice growing into a deep, rumbling growl, “I am a werewolf”.
- Log in to post comments
Comments
Can't stop laughing at your
Can't stop laughing at your shameless two for one story! Both of them were spooky pleasures.
- Log in to post comments
Whenever I read your stories,
Whenever I read your stories, I think you seem like a really sweet person. Even your 'horror' has a touch of innocence. Great stuff.
- Log in to post comments
I always enjoy your stories -
I always enjoy your stories - you're one of my favourite writers on here. I admire the way you keep writing and writing, even when you've got the flu!
- Log in to post comments