Go make sure the door is locked, dear.”
Jim groaned and rolled out of bed. No more than thirty seconds earlier, he had just lain down with a book. He marked his page and tossed the book on the sheets.
“Thank you, dear.” He heard her say sleepily.
He groaned as he felt his way down the dark hallway. He was tired and did not feel like traipsing through the house once he had settled in. He remembered locking the door earlier, but he checked it anyway to give her peace of mind.
Sure enough, the door was locked. He turned to return to the bedroom when he heard a rustling in the kitchen. Another mouse, he groaned silently.
He made his way toward the kitchen when he stubbed his toe. He could not help but to cry out.
“You okay?” A concerned voice chimed from the bedroom.
“Yes!” Jim tried not to sound frustrated with her. After all, he would have never stubbed his toe had he been in bed where he wanted to be. His foot throbbed with each pulsing heartbeat.
The rustling ceased. He assumed that he had scared the mouse away, but he was going to check the pantry anyway. He flicked on the kitchen light and knelt by the pantry doors. The extra pressure on his toe caused it to throb worse.
He looked down and saw an expanding pool of blood. His big toe was missing and blood was jetting from the wound. He felt a wave of nausea pour over him. A trail of bloody footprints led back to where he stubbed his toe.
He felt light-headed and tried to regain his footing. His nausea did not allow him to call for his wife. He just moaned semi-audibly as he limped to get a dish towel to create a make-shift tourniquet.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he rummaged for a clean dish towel. Finally he found one and shut the drawer. He filled up a glass of water and held it to his forehead. It felt cool. Maybe I can resist the temptation to pass out, he hoped.
Behind him, he heard tiny feet slapping against the floor. No mouse had ever been heavy enough for that much noise on a linoleum floor, he thought.
He turned to see a tiny figure. A strange creature with red-gray skin and bright green eyes treaded closer. It was no bigger than eight inches in height. Its tiny claws on its feet clicked on the floor with every step.
The pantry door swung open. Two more emerged. The three of them growled tiny little growls that sounded like a gang of snarling puppies. Suddenly they charged. Jim screamed as loud as his lungs would allow.
Their claws tore into Jim. They sliced off hunks of flesh with minimal effort. One clamped onto his toes and bit them off one at a time, laughing all-the-while.
His wife ran into the dining room and eventually found the scene in the kitchen. She began to shake, and she shrieked at the creatures, “No! This is all wrong! You got the wrong one!”
She ran to the bedroom and pulled out her spell book. She scanned the pages and found the passages that she read earlier in the evening. Sure enough, she inadvertently hexed her husband and brought good fortune to her boss.
The creatures were finished with their work. All that was left of her husband was a pile of pulp. The creatures’ eyes flashed bright green and they disappeared in a puff of green smoke. Through her tears, she began to flick through the pages to find a decent resurrection spell.
©2009 Brian Barnett
Brian Barnett lives in Frankfort, Kentucky with his wife, Stephanie, and son, Michael. He enjoys to write during his free time. To date, he has been either accepted for publication or published by MicroHorror.com, Static Movement, Flashes in the Dark, The Monsters Next Door, Flashshot, Sonar4 Ezine, Blood Moon Rising, The Daily Tourniquet, and The Short Humour Site.