'Nine Lives Minus Two' - original micro fiction

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Author's Note

This is a short short story I have been shopping around for a home. It was a story that originated in a Creative Writing course I took two years ago. But, seeing as it's a bit tongue-in-cheek and not a very serious piece, I have decided Hubpages will be its final resting place.

"Nine Lives Minus Two" - Copyright, 2011, Jennifer Bowen

      Brandon Sylvester woke up in a haze. He was lying on brown, broken tiles in a rusty bathroom that smelled of mold. The only light fixture in the boxy room was a garish bulb that dangled from the ceiling. He tried to sit up, but his body was sore and his legs were numb. The sensation of needles sprang to attention in his feet. He could, however, turn his head and rest it against the cool, torn floral wallpapered wall. From this vantage point, he saw that the dirty cracked mirror held a message. “Dead,” it read. The breath caught in his throat. Was the message intended for him? He turned frightened eyes to the broken paneled ceiling. Where was he?

      “Meowwwww…” a woman’s voice from outside trilled suddenly. This was punctuated with scratching along the wall. He turned his head, watching the dented plywood door open.

      “Raaaaoooorrrrr!” In one sudden burst, a slim red-haired woman flung open the door. She slinked up and down its wilted frame, her tight red dress sliding up and down her black gartered legs.

      “There’s the Cat,” she said huskily. “Sylvester the Cat.” She smiled, her beautiful face suddenly transformed, revealing teeth that were yellow, slimy and fanged.

      He started to gain movement in his body, and was able to sit up and scoot away to the tub, caked with mildew and sludge.

      “Where am I? Who are you?” Brandon asked apprehensively.

      She stopped wiggling and slouched slightly.

      “We met at Mel’s.” Her red eyes slid over the length of his body, taking in his Italian wingtips, designer shirt, and chiseled jaw-line. Sharply, she met his eyes.

      “Mel’s?” Searching his memory, he tried try to remember. “Oh! The Italian restaurant downtown?”

      A small smile played upon her lips and she nodded her head slowly. “That’s right. I tasted your father, but he…” She cocked her head to the right, and Brandon was horrified to see a large gash in the side of her neck. The wound did not look fresh; there were flakes of crusted blood dangling from it. His mind was fuzzy. All he could remember of his night in the Italian bistro was sitting down to dinner with his father for a late-night business dinner. They had ordered wine…Think, think! They had ordered appetizers… His thoughts went black then. He could picture nothing farther into that night than ordering a side of garlic bread from…

      His eyes widened and he stared horrified at her.

      She giggled suddenly like any cheerleader from his past and he was repulsed by her mimicry. “Let’s just say he wasn’t yummy like you.” She moved nearer and all he could do to get away was to press his body closer against the tub. He did not notice its porcelain was not cool to the touch.

      “Remind me where he is.” Brandon said, fighting for time.

      She looked at him, puzzled. “Why do you always do this?”

      Now they were both confused.

      “Do what?”

      “We met last month,” she replied, narrowing her eyes. Because he still looked confused, she prompted, “When you were alive?”

      “Huh?” His mouth dropped open. Where the hell was he, and who the hell was this person? And, as he studied her up-close, why the hell was her skin so gummy and gray?

      “It is getting old, this reminding you every time you wake up. I get so lonely, but really!” She threw her hands into the air. “You’re undead now.”

      She ambled back to the door. “Honestly, Cat, if you keep forgetting when I welcomed you into this world and to our relationship, then I’m just going to have to eliminate you for good like I did to your father that night at Mel’s.”

      “Eliminate?”

      “Yeah, kill you. For good.” She left the bathroom, slamming the frail wooden door behind her.

                                                                   *         *        *

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Comments 4 comments

poorconservative1 profile image

poorconservative1 5 years ago

Good story. I like horror. It's fun. But you can't leave it there, you have to expand on it. I look forward to reading more.

Thanks

Chuck


Rosefall profile image

Rosefall 5 years ago from Ohio! Author

Thanks, poorconservative1! The sensitive writer in me needs all the positive reinforcement I can get. :-)


GetSmart profile image

GetSmart 5 years ago

This was really good! Thanks for sharing, I enjoyed it!


Rosefall profile image

Rosefall 5 years ago from Ohio! Author

Thank you SO very much, GetSmart!

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