Spooked!
Created | Updated 5 Weeks Ago
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Spooked!
'. . . .didn't want my loved ones to have that final cost, so, I took out a super funeral plan with. . . '
He hit the off button, yawned, and shook his head.
What was it with daytime television? Constant adverts for life insurance, funeral plans, and 'peace of mind' will-writing services.
Obviously targeting the at-home retirees.
How about some programming for shift workers instead, something to wake him up a bit, after a week of nights?
He looked out of the kitchen window, a gust of wind already disturbing the tree tops, another bloody storm coming.
He set up the speaker to play random tracks, and began chopping veg for their tea.
His wife would be home in an hour, and he wanted to cook them a decent meal after a week of quick-fix dinners.
Her supper was his breakfast, so it was a relief when that last shift was over, and he could force himself to get his body clock and appetite, back to some semblance of normality.
Chopping onions to 'Time to Say Goodbye'.
Garlic and celery to 'Under the Graveyard'. Tomatoes accompanied by 'In My Time of Dying'. Herbs and 'See You On The Other Side!'
Jeez, bloody morbid selection!
He thumbed through his playlist, selecting something more cheery.
Ten seconds in, and the song abruptly stopped, replaced by 'Gravedigger'. Even bloody Willie Nelson wanted to put a downer on his mood!
Skip. . . 'Die For You'.
Skip. . . 'Gone Away'.
Skip. . . 'Soon I Will Be Gone'.
Eddie turned the music off, weird that everything today seemed to be about death, probably just his night-lagged brain feeling sorry for itself.
Switching over to the radio. . . .
'. . . we'll be discussing that after the news, but first, death. Just how prepared are you if the worst should happen? As usual the number is 0349. . . '
Thankfully he heard the front door open, his wife home, maybe a glass of red and her beautiful company would change his mood?
All through the meal, however, his thoughts turned to the weird number of times death had popped up today. TV, radio, his own music collection.
He really spooked himself as the thought came unbidden, up through his consciousness, uninvited, unwelcome, but insistent.
Maybe someone or something was trying to warn him? Prepare him for the frighteningly inevitable?
His wife turned on the music, 'If Today Was Your Last Day' did nothing to ease his growing sense of dread.
That night, sleep failed to come. The wind reached storm levels, rain battered their bedroom window, the house creaked and groaned, one of those horribly noisy, horribly dark, nights, tossing and turning, mind screaming out for silence and peace.
Like death.
The thought nudged him further into wakefulness, his heart loud in his chest, panickingly loud those beats, but each welcome as the thought that each one could be his last refused to leave him.
He was aware his wife was awake.
Whispering in the noisy dark. What a horrible night, mere minutes of sleep, and she had that drive down the bloody motorway in under an hour, may as well get up, roads will be awful in this weather.
She kissed him and told him to try and get some sleep.
He asked her to text him as soon as she arrived, please don't forget, he'd worry about her driving through this, especially with no sleep, at least he was used to being up all night.
He lay, staring at the thin line of light coming under the bedroom door, heard her getting ready, creeping around despite the noise of the storm, always thoughtful.
God he loved her, what would he do without that beautiful woman?
Again, unbidden, the dread surfaced. What if the warnings (for he'd more than convinced himself he was being warned) weren't for him?
What if her life was in danger?
A dark drive, a stormy motorway, little sleep, some idiot driving too fast. . .
He jumped out of bed, pulling on last night's clothes, desperate to catch her before she left, be with her, protect her.
He made an excuse, no way would he get back to sleep, may as well get an early start, he'd drop her off, maybe do the shopping early, so he'd need the car. . . .
The drive was just as horrible as he'd thought it would be, squinting against tiredness and the horizontal rain, the car being buffeted by strong side winds. Idiots driving way too fast in this weather.
But he'd got her there, safe and sound, if a little soggy.
They'd kissed goodbye, and his mood had lifted as the clouds passed and a glimpse of sunshine hit the windscreen.
He nearly stopped himself from turning the radio on, smiling shame-faced as he realized what a prat he'd been, how stupid.
A few coincidences and he was suddenly dodging the bloody Grim Reaper!
He was whistling happily to himself as he entered his drive, parking the car and making daft faces as the dog jumped up at the window, tail wagging.
He paused at the front door, enjoying the delight on the animal's face.
Today would be a good day after all.
He was still smiling as, thirty feet above his head, a crow landed upon the chimney stack, which, weakened by the storm, collapsed.
He never stood a chance. If only there'd been some kind of warning.
