I am late with posting this. I didn't write for last week's Mid-Week Blues-Buster - this is from the week before. It was a tough one to write for, and to keep the story in check as I wasn't sure where it was going to go, and I wasn't sure how dark I wanted to get - didn't want to go too gruesome.
The prompt song was:
“Me and the Devil” by Gil Scott-Heron.
He tied the ropes and pulled them hard, the gasp it provoked
satisfying him that that they were tight enough. He stood up and looked round
the cellar; its empty, dankness reassuring him. The bare light bulb reflected
the stark minimalist feelings that fuelled him.
He took the steps back up to the bright light of real life,
and made sure he locked the door behind him. He’d give them a few hours to
Scott walked into the kitchen where his wife was busy
preparing lunchtime pack ups, and their two kids were busy eating breakfast. He
grabbed a stool next to his son and started in on the toast that had been
placed in front of him.
“Whatja doing in the cellar, Papa?”
Little George’s face looked up at him all inquisitive. He
tousled his hair.
“Never you mind, buddy. You ready for your test today?”
“Yes. I’m gonna ace it. Piece of cake.”
Scott grinned. At 7 years old his son was so self-assured.
He loved that.
They finished up breakfast and he dropped the kids off at
school while his wife went to work. When he got back, he thought of going up to
his office first to prepare the papers, but he was curious how they were
getting on in the cellar.
He grabbed a bucket from under the kitchen sink and filled
it with water, taking it with him as he unlocked the cellar door. He paused at
the top, waiting to hear any sounds, but there was nothing - not even a
When he reached the bottom he stood facing them, standing
between the chairs they were tied too. He threw half the water on one and half
on the other. It brought gasps from the man, but nothing from the woman, although
she shook the water off. That intrigued him.
He stepped toward her and lifted her chin up. Her eyes were
cold, determined, seeing him, but resistant. He liked that, it titillated him. He
glanced at the man who was watching him. There was fear in his eyes. His mind
no doubt racing, wondering what Scott was going to do.
Scott laughed. He couldn’t help himself. They had no idea.
Maybe he should get on with it then, although there was no hurry, he had all
He needed to be careful; he didn’t want to create too much
noise. The dope he’d injected when he’d found them earlier that morning kept
them muted, but he knew that would change when he began.
The phone ring, and he paused. Looked like they had a
reprieve for now.
He conscientiously locked the door again when he reached the
top, and grabbed the phone in the kitchen.
“Hey Scotty.” Her voice was like silk. “You got them?”
“I sure do.”
“Do you need any help?”
“I got this.”
“You sure?” She sounded disappointed.
“It’s simpler this way. Just make sure you’re ready.”
“Oh I’m ready all right, I was out all night.”
He closed his eyes and swallowed had, he hated what her
voice did to him.
“I don’t mean digging their graves.”
“I know you don’t baby.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your baby anymore.” Scott was
“Fine.” She hung up. He knew she was upset, but he didn’t
care. He was done with this.
He went back to work down in the cellar.
Scott patted the top layer with the spade until it was nice
and firm and then placed some forest debris over it, so it didn’t stand out.
Then he reached in his back pocket and pulled out an
“Here. This closes everything off.”
“I can’t thank you enough Scotty.”
Her voice in the dark still aroused him. He gritted his
“I don’t need your thanks. I just want my soul back.”
He could see her bottom lip pout. “You sure? We were so good
“I’ve paid your price, now it’s over.”
“As you wish.”
There was a flash as the envelope went up in flames, the
light catching her face, exposing its true grotesque nature seconds before she
vanished. He shuddered. It was done.