DEATH COMES A-KNOCKING

DEATH COMES A-KNOCKING

A Story by mark slade
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A SHORT-SHORT, WRITTEN IN ONE SITTING.

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Here in my bed, I await Death.

I am a sick old man. I have lived a long and prosperous life, as good as I could be, and as bad as I could be. I helped the poor when I was barely scraping by myself, learning the law to help the suffering and make sure the innocent was not persecuted. And when I passed the bar, I joined a big law firm.


I defended the innocent in my early days, and I always lost. So I started defending the guilty. After that, I rarely lost a case. Soon, I was the Vinero family 's only lawyer. I ended up starting a big law firm with another lawyer. I stole my partner's wife. He committed suicide and I became sole owner of the firm. I raise two children. A boy and a girl. My son has left the family, never to stay in touch. I have no way of knowing if he is alive, dead or has a family of his own. My daughter has lived with me after burying two husbands, one dying of acute alcoholism, the other in an unnamed war half-way across the globe.


She has been been taking care of me since my wife died ten years ago after a terrible fall down the stairs. My daughter is good to me. Even after I am horrible to her. She still worships the ground I stand on----


Wait.







What is that scratching on my window?


It is Death. I know it. He is scratching on the glass with his long boney finger. I see his red eyes staring at me from out the cold,dark night. I hear him hissing---


My bedroom door creaks open. I scream, “Back, you fiend! Back to the land of the dead! You'll never take me with you!”


It is only my daughter to bring me tea and my supper.

She is good to me.

I smile at her, so very glad she is here with me. I tell her that. She laughs, tells me I am a silly old man.


She sets the silver tray in front of me. I welcome the tray containing my plate of scrambled eggs and tea with much excitement.


I pat my daughter's hand. She smiles at me, says she loves me. In mere moments, I feel her hand growing colder-----ice cold. I look down and see it no longer has warm peach skin upon it.









It is now a long bone white hand.

I look up at my daughter. She is still smiling, endearingly, those horrible red eyes staring me down.........




© 2012 mark slade



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Reviews

Regrettably, another one beyond my ability to praise. It's like you wrote it with a quill pen, blending the poetic sensibilities of the great 19th century masters with those great EC Comics stories where the gangsters always, always, ALWAYS get theirs. Impressive that you can use such a subtle and restrained hand in work like this and yet unleash the sex and gore when appropriate. VERY well done.

Posted 6 Years Ago


mark slade

6 Years Ago

thanks for the review.
T__T This honestly touched upon some of my greatest fears. Your vivid narrative voice sold this story to be honest. I was almost afraid to read in all honesty because I am a wuss when it goes to death and...well let's just leave it at that. I liked this story though despite my fears. You have some well-honed skills.

Posted 6 Years Ago


mark slade

6 Years Ago

Thanks for reading it and the review.

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309 Views
2 Reviews
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Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on November 9, 2012
Last Updated on November 9, 2012
Tags: HORROR, CRIME, THRILLER, MYSTERY, DARK FANTASY, STORY

Author

mark slade
mark slade

williamsburg, VA



About
a writer of horror and dark fantasy http://bloodydreadful.blogspot.com/ more..

Writing
THE HIND THE HIND

A Story by mark slade