creative writing short fiction piece

7/27/2019 Creative Writing Short Fiction Piece

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/creative-writing-short-fiction-piece 1/5

Ananth Rao – SOE 2015Creative Writing – Professor Svich

Stranger at Night

David sat up with a jolt. He scrambled for his alarm clock and

immediately knew something was wrong. The clock said 1:30. The clock never

said 1:30. Was he really up so early?

He turned on the bedside lamp and took a quick look around. The

intercom system, the Fellowship of the Rings poster on the far wall, mahogany

dresser, mirror on mahogany dresser – looking good. This was his room all

right. Then why did he feel so strange, so off? He felt a icy draft wriggle down

his back and looked around for an open window, finding none. There was

definitely something wrong. He reached under his four-poster bed with sudden

trepidation. His fingers closed around a cold, leather wrapped metal handle,

and he breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Well, that was taken care of. He had

feared his wife might have moved it to – hey! He realized what was so unusual.It was the middle of the night. Where was Denise?

That’s when he heard it. The unmistakable noise of drawers opening and

closing. He switched off his lamp as fast as he could. He could almost picture

it. A grimy, unshaven man with a hooked nose and bushy eyebrows comes

sauntering in through a casually unlocked window. Oh, and he has a tattered

shirt and muddy elbows. You never can trust a man with muddy elbows.

David couldn’t suppress a slight thrill. This was it; here was where all the

training was finally going to come into play. He pushed himself out of his puffy mattress and started doing squats. You always need the warm-up, he always

said. He was always saying things.

He groped around in the dark for his bed, found it and reached under

once more. He found the grip easily this time, and he started to imagine the

face of the poor sap when he brought it down with him. He imagined saying,

“nobody raids my house,” all tough-like. That sounded pretty good.

David made his way gingerly to the doorway, dodging bundles of

discarded underwear just as he always dodged the cracks in the sidewalk. As

he always said, the best way to do that was to imagine the cracks were trick

steps in a dungeon. You step on a crack, you die. That was good. He wanted to

say something like that to the burglar when he found him. You rob my house,

you die. My name is Inigo Montoya.

As he went sneaking down the creaky stairs, he heard something that

made him stop in his tracks, horrified. That was his wife’s voice! Now his



mission took on a special note of urgency. David imagined sailing into the

midst of a dozen burglars – a full prison gang there – Denise tied up in a corner.

Her eyes were gleaming, screaming, “My hero!”

And then he heard laughing.

A peal of clear laughter rang out. His wife’s laugh. A manly guffaw

answered back, reverberating in David’s head. Followed by a sound like

something out of a wind tunnel. Was she shushing him? Oh, was there some

big secret, something he wasn’t supposed to see, was it?

A dreadful thought came to him, and his earlier eagerness vanished

instantly, replaced by something just as vivid and far more deadly. He saw his

wife again, but this time, she was sitting in a black swivel chair, with long,

glossy black, pointy fingernails stroking a white cat. She had always wanted a

cat, even though he was full of allergies. The inconsiderate minx, she hadprobably bought a cat the moment he’d gone out of town. He should’ve, he

would’ve looked for one if he hadn’t been so tired coming back.

There was her laugh again. Or was it a cackle? Tiptoeing down the rest of

the stairs, David picked up snatches of the conversation.

“Oh Denise, that’s so funny!” No, really? Why else would you have been

laughing so hard, genius?

Listening to the mystery man’s reedy voice almost made David gnaw his

own arm off. It was like hearing a congregation of talkative bullfrogs. Or maybe

like listening to a clumsy burglar sneaking down creaky stairs; you couldn’t

wait to jump out and hit him with a Louisville Slugger.

He edged closer to the kitchen, peering in from beyond the dining room.

He caught a glimpse of a tall figure standing illuminated by the kitchen

chandelier and silently cursed the chandelier vehemently for shining upon

such a perfidious meeting.

The man sniggered. “How weird! He’s got a armory?!” David wanted to

run up to him and stuff that mismatched indefinite article down his throat.Perhaps he would have forgiven spelling. Perhaps. But basic English? What

kind of wife-stealer couldn’t speak in basic English grammar? David gnashed

his teeth with a heavy frown. A reprobate, a scoundrel, a troglodyte , that’s who!

He couldn’t hear Denise’s reply, but he knew what she was saying. She

was doing the voice. Oh god, she was doing the voice! I thought it was my voice.



What the hell is some stranger doing in the middle of the night getting my

voice? Who else gets the voice? Does she give away my voice to every two-bit

grammar-killer on the planet?

David couldn’t stand it any longer. He barreled forward and hurled an

angry battle cry at the startled man. “For Narnia!”

The man took one good look at David and screamed. Who knew a man

who sounded like a badly played oboe could have such a nice singing voice?

When Denise heard that throaty roar, she knew who it was. But what

she didn’t expect – even from her husband – when she saw him careening

around the corner was for him to brandish a god-damned broadsword ! She

stared after the two of them, flabbergasted. Where in hell did he come from?

What was he going to do to Eric?

The men traipsed about from room to room, and Denise chased

desperately after them. Oh, the fool! She’d married him for the swords, for his

strange and interesting personality, for the way he had almost won the

Wimbledon by fighting imaginary duels. But this-this was just going too far.

She thought about the path they were taking, and it hit her like cold water, he

was steering Eric into the armory!

David was feeling wonderful. He felt the air blow back his hair. This is

living. Chasing someone with a broadsword in the middle of the night. This is

living. That was good. He thought maybe he would write a book like thatsomeday. He could hear Denise shrieking at him to stop, but he wasn’t about

to listen. It was her fault, she decided to have some strange man over in the

middle of the night, what did she expect?

Eric wasn’t even feeling anymore. His feet were moving somehow, but he

wasn’t telling them to do it. His mental faculties at this point were

approximately on the level with that of a rabid mongoose. The only thing Eric

knew for certain was that he had just developed a morbid phobia of two-

hundred-and-twenty-pound sword-waving maniacs. He pushed through the

first doors he could find and …the bottom blew out of his mind.

Up to the top of a 40-foot ceiling were medieval style weapons of all

shapes and sizes. Eric hadn’t really known exactly what an armory was, but he

had no doubt he was in one now. Just for a moment, he forgot his bizarre

situation, caught up in the awe that the weapons inspired in him. He came



skidding heavily back into reality when David burst through the double doors,

chest heaving.

They stared at each other across the room. David, breathing like a

frenzied animal, took a step forward, and Eric, eyes darting wildly, rushed to

the nearest wall and grabbed the first weapon he could get loose. He almost fellunder the weight, god, it was way heavier than it looked.

Eric got to his feet to find David giving him a frosty glare. “This,” said

David, waving his hand, “is an armory. Not a armory, mind you.” He advanced

again menacingly, and Eric, maddened by desperation, swung a wild blow.

David laughed. The idiot had picked up a two handed claymore. That was like

picking up a tree when faced with a Bo staff. Pretty impressive, but pretty

much useless. Eric swung again in utter panic, backing away, and David

calmly batted the sword aside and whacked Eric solidly in the middle with the

flat of his blade.

Eric whimpered and started running, and David followed, grinning

fiendishly. They were spinning around the armory now, Eric flailing wildly and

David, defending himself expertly, adding an extra blade slap in return. Swish,

whack! Swish, whack! Poor Eric’s whimpers broke the rhythm every now and

then. Denise, standing beyond the door, couldn’t do anything except watch the

sad ballet and bite her fingernails. The madman wouldn’t kill him, would he?

David was enjoying himself so much. “Your skills are strong,” he intoned

solemnly. He deftly plucked the claymore from Eric’s clumsy fingers. “But notthat strong.”

Eric cast a terrified glance at the Renaissance wall. That didn’ t miss

David. “Ahh,” he gestured, “I see you favor the modern fencing styles.” He

pulled two rapiers from the wall and tossed one to the floor. “Have at you then!”

he challenged mockingly.

Eric took one look at the two additional blades and fled the room,

bawling violently. David laughed after him. Oh, that was fun. Then he turned

to his wife. No smiles now.

She was rigid, clenched fists at her sides and frown on her face. She

swallowed slowly and managed a tight smile at him. A smile? After all she’d

done? Wasn’t she even a bit scared of him? “Davie, go back to bed, honey, I’m

sorry we woke you,” she lilted. God, he hated and loved that voice. That curious

singsong was so cute! And yet, he thought, his brows sinking, so seductive



towards someone he didn’t even know. Sorry we woke you? T hat’s it? What the

hell!

She smiled again, embarrassment blazing at him from cheekbone to

cheekbone. Excellent, if a trifle overdone. He’d never thought seriously about it

before, but she was right, she could have been an actress. He found himself focusing on dimples that were just bursting to pop out and say hello. She was

exquisite, and right now, he didn’t want her to be. She was in the wrong, in the

wrong, damn it!

“Not cutting it!” he barked gruffly. He thought that was pretty good. Color

dotted her cheeks. Like twin bloodstains spreading across an alabaster

tablecloth. Good, he told himself, think of it that way. Blood and tablecloths.

That was very good. He wondered if he should write it down.

“What the hell?” Denise thundered. “Even after all you did, I was tryingto be nice, and this is your response?”

He folded his arms smugly. “What have we learned today?”

“Well,” she replied. “Two things. One, never invite my brother Eric home.

You obviously don’t even remember him. Two.” She paused. “I should’ve

married the actor.”

David blanched. Things were definitely not going to plan.

Denise smiled viciously at him.

“What have we learned today?”

creative writing short fiction piece

Documents