Gravity shortscarystories

“What the hell are you looking at?” I asked myself, not amused in the slightest. But I didn’t answer.

I had shown up a few hours ago, just out of the blue, right there on my own porch. Corners of my mouth turned down; eyes all googly. I looked intense. It had really creeped me out. What do you even say at a moment like that? I just stood there, slack jawed. And, frankly, a bit unhinged.

Now I was just sitting there on my couch like nothing was amiss.

“What do you want?” I asked myself, for something like the third time.

Again only silence responded.

Jesus. The calm was maddening. Like the eye of a storm on Jupiter. Like that split second before the sun creeps around a corner just enough to pierce your eye with a sudden, painfully bright lance. Like… like something else too, I forget what. Wait, why is there

“Blood on your hands?”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Why is there blood on your hands?’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jesus. The words were maddening. Like talking to a fucking turkey baster.

I sighed, and got up to go the bathroom. But before I left the room, I stopped and looked back.

“You need to stop following me around, or I’m going to call the police.”

It was a bluff. I wasn’t going to call anyone.

"Did it work?"

I shrugged. I don’t think it worked. I sure didn’t look very scared, anyway.

I followed myself into the kitchen, apparently unfazed. I sighed again and opened the drawer next to the refrigerator. The drawer was filled with turkey basters. It took me a few seconds to find the one I wanted. I went back into the living room and sat back down on the couch.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I said.

“What?”

“Please, mister. Please. Don’t hurt me.”

I was crying. Why was I crying? I reached over and wiped a tear from my cheek, gently. Some of the blood smeared on my face. I flinched away from my touch, squeezing my eyes closed, as if I were trying to make the world go away. For some reason that just made me start crying even harder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered.

And now I wouldn’t shut up. Jesus. I was just rocking myself back and forth, asking myself not to hurt me. Suddenly I looked a lot smaller than I had before. Different. More vulnerable.

Jesus. My disgust at myself grew. I had to do something. Suddenly, I remembered the turkey carving knife in my hand. Brilliant! I went to work. Methodically. Diligently. I started screaming, of course, but I shushed myself and ignored it. I knew it wouldn’t last long.

Humph. Or so I had thought.

“Do you ever shut up?” I screamed, my patience finally at an end.

But then of course I did.

I sighed. A-GAIN.

"What do you want?"

Nothing.

Jesus. Maddening, I tell you.

Submitted May 27, 2017 at 01:32PM by Sage_Lee http://ift.tt/2r6qbIy shortscarystories