Art

    Everything had been going just fine for Ginger. Then this had to happen. Things would be moving along at a steady pace and then some obstacle would get in the way, spoiling her neatly made plans! Just once she wished that things would work out the way she wanted them to!

    When Ginger and her new husband, Joe, were married, he was expected to move in with her, because she was not giving up the house where everything was just the way she liked it. On the day he moved in she explained how things were going to be.

    "We're good as long as you stay out of my art studio. That's my private space. If you go in there you'll regret it!" Of course, just to be safe, she kept the studio locked when she was away. Her art was sacred to her and she wasn't going to have just anyone gawking at it.

    So far, Joe had been a model husband. He never asked Ginger to buy him expensive things or complained about the amount of his allowance. In fact, he seemed content to spend his time working outside or watching TV. She returned home every night to find dinner ready. It was a pleasant surprise to have a man who could cook. After dinner he would put her feet in his lap and give them a relaxing massage while she told him about her day. Then, she would go up to work in her studio, while he cleaned the dishes and straightened things downstairs.

    One morning, as she was leaving for work, she decided to treat him to a surprise because he'd been so good. After work, she stopped by Electronic Emporium and purchased one of those new high definition TV's that he'd been wanting. Anticipating his pleasure, she headed home.  As soon as she opened the front door she knew something was wrong. The house was silent. Nothing was simmering in the kitchen. Suspicion made her heart sink.

    Ginger didn't bother to call out his name. She'd made that mistake before with her first husband. God! What a mess that had been! Instead she went directly to the coat closet and got the hammer she kept hidden there. Then, she went upstairs.

    Not surprisingly, she found Joe standing in the open doorway that led to her studio. He had clearly broken the lock on the door, which meant he had directly disobeyed her!  And now he was making judgements, staring into her studio with an expression of horror on his handsome face. She felt a flash of anger. Why did this have to happen now? Things had been going so well.

    In the studio, her previous husbands were arranged neatly throughout the large room in various postures. She had worked very hard to preserve them. They looked as if they might come to life at any moment. Her art was flawless.  Yet Joe just stood there, as frozen in place as any of them, looking on with undisguised repulsion. She felt the familiar sting of rejection. Nobody understood her art. Why couldn't Joe have been different?

    Joe heard Ginger approaching and started to turn. Quickly, before he could react, she swung the hammer with all of her strength. There was a meaty thud as the hammer connected with Joe's head. His body went limp. He fell to the floor with a crash, clearly unconscious. She stood there looking down at him with a mixture of frustration and affection on her face. Blood was beginning to pool around his head. The man could cook like a dream and he'd been a thoughtful husband, but he'd been too curious for his own good. Too bad.

    Well, she couldn't stand around all day. It was time to get busy. Art is a full time occupation some days. She bent over and got a firm grip on his ankles. Then she began to drag him into her studio. A trail of blood followed in his wake.

    Soon he would become Art.

 

Written by efoshee. 

Story idea: efoshee.

Have an idea for a spooky short story you'd like to read? Let me know in the comment section below. You could see your idea used in my next story with YOUR name in the credits!

The Face in the Window

    When Sarah saw the face at the window, she thought at first that it must be a hallucination.

    As usual, she was at her desk sorting through the stacks of paper that had accumulated during the day. A glass of chardonnay and a small plate of gourmet chocolates sat near an open laptop. This was her favorite time of the evening because she liked to use the time to relax and finish up paperwork. She was going through a stack of unopened letters when she saw movement from the corner of her eye.

    She looked in the direction of the movement and gasped. Her eyes grew big and her breath caught in her throat. The face was a culmination of evil masquerading behind a twisted parody of humor. It must be a mask, she thought faintly. Surely nothing that hideous could be real. She tried to stand but couldn't find the strength to move.

    The face was painted white with green triangles painted around eerily glowing eyes. The nose, round and bulbous, was painted a bright cherry red. The lips had also been covered with bright red paint. The lips pulled back in a menacing grin, revealing white teeth with wickedly pointed canines that were much too long to belong in a human mouth.

    Night pressed at the window, making the face appear to be floating. The glow of the streetlamp should have been visible from the window, but she saw no light other than the glow of eyes. How long would it stay there before deciding to come in? The grin widened as if the face could read her thoughts. The glowing eyes mocked her. She felt as if her chest contained a small frightened bird beating its wings frantically in a futile effort to escape.

    She heard dark, wet laughter from behind her and her paralysis broke. She staggered up from the chair and whirled around to face the open door, knowing what she would see. The face.

    The doorway was empty. She stared at the empty space in disbelief. She didn't know what she had expected to see, but it was not this emptiness. Her legs were trembling and her breath was coming in ragged, uneven gasps. She placed a hand on the desk to steady herself and felt something warm and wet beneath her palm.

    She snatched her hand up in revulsion as she looked down at her desk. Blood screamed up at her from the surface. Her eyes moved jerkily across the desk. There was blood splattered across the laptop, smeared around the stem of the champagne glass, and dotted around the chocolates.

    She looked toward the window again. There was only her reflection. Her St. John's suit was covered with gore. Terror stole into her, turning her blood to ice that moved sluggishly through her veins. She suddenly knew why she had seen the face in the window. It was the grinning face of insanity. It was her face.

 

Written by efoshee.  

Story idea: efoshee.

Have an idea for a spooky short story you'd like to read? Let me know in the comment section below. You could see your idea used in my next story with YOUR name in the credits!