Just One More Pill

Eric’s latest writing prompt (https://erick79.wordpress.com/) is ‘Just one more pill at it will change everything’. Here’s my attempt…

‘And what is this one, darling?’

‘Oh that – that is your vitamin supplement, my love,’ Henry said.

‘It doesn’t look like the others you’ve given me before.’

‘No, my love. I thought we’d try a new one again.’

Arabella stared at the tablet and sighed. ‘Do you really think it will help this time?’

‘Well, we must try these things, my love. Just once more, at least. You know what Doctor Carstairs said. A vitamin supplement with your regular medication can only help build your strength up. Perhaps in time we can have you out of that wheelchair and on your own two feet again.’

‘Perhaps.’

Henry watched as Arabella swallowed her evening tablets. Then he began to count the seconds. If he had it right this time…

Arabella shuddered. Her body went rigid – then a series of spasms shook her so violently she was flung from her wheelchair to land in a heap on the floor.

‘Yes!’ Henry breathed.

Another set of tremors shook his wife, as if electricity was being pumped through her. They jerked her gradually upright, to stand briefly before, turning, she lumbered out of the drawing room.

There was a crash as she exited the house. Henry made a note to call the glazier in the morning.

Meanwhile, he had work to do. Now he had the process right, he could go into mass production.

He hummed as he made his way back to his laboratory. ‘Patent Rejuvenating Pills’, he’d call them. So much more convenient than an unwieldy potion, which is what he’d had to work with so far.

Rather a shame about the by-product. All that ugly hair.

Still, he could tinker until he got that right. Meanwhile, people would pay a small fortune for a supply of Dr Jekyll’s Patent Rejuvenating Pills.

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For Sale, Des Res

Eric’s latest writing prompt (https://erick79.wordpress.com/), is ‘That door wasn’t there before!’

My interpretation follows…

 

‘So, Mr and Mrs Foster,’ the estate agent said. ‘Happy?’

‘It all looks perfect, doesn’t it, darling?’ Linda said.

‘Absolutely,’ Jack agreed.

Linda turned towards the old lady who was selling. ‘A lovely home, Mrs Prendergast.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad you think so.’

Jack stroked his chin in thought. ‘Mrs Prendergast, would you mind if we looked round again? Just to make sure?’

‘Please do, dears. I tell you what; I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’ She headed towards the kitchen.

‘And I’ll phone the office,’ the agent said. ‘I’ll be with you in a few moments.’

Linda and Jack walked through into the dining room. ‘The Welsh dresser will go perfectly against that wall,’ Linda said.

‘You’re right.’

‘And against that one -’ She stopped. ‘Oh. That door wasn’t there before, was it, darling?’

Jack stared at the adjacent wall. ‘I don’t remember it.’

‘How odd.’

‘Yes.’ He strode towards it. ‘I suppose it must have been here. It’s strange Mr Anderson didn’t show us what’s behind it.’

He tried the door. It swung open easily.

‘It’s pitch black inside.’

‘Is there a light switch?’

He felt round and found one. ‘Oh.’

‘What is it, darling?’

‘It’s another large room. Another recep, or maybe a downstairs bedroom. Come and see.’

They went through, and looked around. ‘It’s huge,’ Linda remarked.

‘It is.’ Jack frowned. ‘No windows, though. And no furniture. I wonder what it’s used for.’

‘Perhaps it’s a storage room.’

‘I suppose -’ He pointed to the far wall. ‘That’s a strange painting.’

‘Yes, and it’s enormous. What is it, though?’

They moved closer. ‘What an odd-looking creature,’ Linda said.

‘Most peculiar.’ Jack leaned in closer. ‘You’d almost believe it was part of the wall, the way it blends in.’

‘That mouth looks rather fearsome. Those teeth!’ She shuddered.

‘What a strange picture to hang in an empty room.’

Jack turned away. ‘Hang on,’ he said.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Where’s the door gone?’

‘What?’

‘The door. The one we came in by. I can’t see it.’

‘Don’t mess around, darling.’

‘I’m not.’

They hurried over to the point where they’d entered. ‘It’s not here,’ Jack said.

‘We must be in the wrong place.’

‘We’re not. This is where it was.’

He began to feel around the wall. ‘Where the hell’s it gone?’

‘Darling – I don’t like this.’

‘Neither do I.’

He started hammering on the wall and yelling. ‘Hey! Hey! Can anybody hear me?’

Linda joined in. ‘Hello? Hello!’

Sounds came from behind them. Slobbering, slithering noises. Jack’s blood froze.

Together, they turned. Linda began to scream.

*

Mrs Prendergast listened to the sounds die away from behind the wall, and sighed. A pity; such a nice young couple.

But when the house was hungry, it had to be satisfied.

‘Hello, Mrs Prendergast.’ Mr Anderson entered the room. ‘Mr and Mrs Foster not with you?’

‘I’m so sorry, dear. They changed their minds, I’m afraid. They asked me to thank you and give you their apologies.’

The estate agent looked crestfallen. ‘Oh. I really thought those two would be buying.

‘Oh well,’ he added, brightening. ‘I’ve been told by the office that there’s another couple would like to come and view. Next Tuesday; is that okay?’

Mrs Prendergast considered. Tuesday; five days.

‘That will be perfect, dear,’ she said.

The Conquest That Came A Cropper

Something different today.

A friend, Eric Klingenberg (https://erick79.wordpress.com/), has begun setting a weekly writing challenge; a phrase to inspire a short story or flash fiction.

Last week’s phrase, The potato is the key, prompted the following. Unfortunately, it’s a few days late, simply because a stomach bug curtailed my writing temporarily.

Ironically, this week’s prompt is about aliens. If I take the challenge, I will have to make it as different as possible from what you’re about to read…

 

When I saw Dylan, he was diggin’ the ground like there weren’t no tomorrow. Which there weren’t, on the face of it.

‘Dylan? What’re you doin’?’

Dylan stooped and picked a potato out the ground. Threw it into the sack beside him. ‘Diggin’ my crops.’

‘Why’re you botherin’?’ I pointed at the sky. ‘That spacecraft’ll be here soon. It’s destroyin’ everythin’ in its path. Won’t be nothin’ left before long.’

Dylan carried on diggin’. ‘Don’t mean I can’t get my food out the ground.’

Another potato went in. Lookin’ west, I saw the spacecraft gettin’ bigger.

‘Heard on the radio the armed forces’ve been destroyed,’ I said. ‘That ship up there’s unbeatable, they’re sayin’. Taken out everythin’ to the west of us, ’s well as the whole of Asia and eastern Europe. Soon get round to the rest.’

Dylan looked up then. ‘That the only ship they got?’ he asked, surprise in his voice.

‘Yeah, ’pparently so. A thousand miles across each way, the radio said. Just ’fore the transmission went dead, that is.’

‘Hmm.’ Dylan pulled another potato.

He straightened, and lifted the sack. ‘Makes it all the easier,’ he said. ‘Thought there’d be thousands of ’em.’

I followed as he lumbered over to where he kept Daisy, his crop-dustin’ plane.

‘What’re you thinkin’?’ I said. I looked up again. The spacecraft was almost fillin’ the sky now. ‘You ain’t thinkin’ of takin’ them on?’

He shrugged. ‘Could be.’

‘You’re insane!’

He hauled the sack into Daisy, then climbed aboard. ‘Maybe.’

He fired the engine. ‘What’re you gonna do?’ I yelled. ‘You gonna do like in that Independence Day film? Fly into their laser beam thing and blow them up from the inside?’

‘You’ll see.’ With that, he took off.

I stared after him, and said a prayer to whatever god might be listenin’. Then I settled back to wait for my cremation.

’Bout twenty minutes after, I saw that spacecraft give a lurch. Like it was drunk, or somethin’.

I watched, fascinated. It wobbled a bit, like it was tryin’ to steady itself. Then suddenly, it gave a nosedive, and carried on goin’ down.

The crash came with a dust-cloud I had to bury my face not to get choked by. When it cleared, I was just in time to see Daisy flyin’ in. Coupla minutes later, Dylan landed.

‘What the hell happened there!’ I asked. ‘Was that you?’

He began haulin’ his sack of potatoes outta the plane. ‘Yeah; guess it was.’

‘But what did you do?’

He grinned. ‘You know that trick you can stop a car workin’ by?’

‘Huh?’ I had a think about it. ‘Hell! You don’t mean…?’

‘Yep.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘Knew all I had to do was find the exhaust and stick a potato in it. Stops anythin’, that.’

He picked up his sack, and started walkin’ towards the homestead. ‘Fancy some potato fries?’ he asked.

 

Back to St Marmaduke’s soon…