I hesitate to call this a horror story. It's not a horror to many people besides Mrs. HM. It's a horrible story, though. I hope not in the execution (bwah ha ha) of the writing.
With the boys gone off to live their lives, we don't celebrate Halloween here at the Mansion. Nobody brings their kids trick-or-treating up a gravel road where a scant half-mile away, a headless body was found in a septic tank. I figured Halloween night would be just like any other night.
I heard Farmer H up above, stumping about on footless ankles, cranking back in his La-Z-Boy after warming his supper of a Devil's Playground deli prepared meatloaf meal. I was happily texting Genius, who deigned to initiate the textversation, about the lottery tickets I'd sent him for Halloween.
Nature called, and I lurched like a decaying Frankenstein toward the NASCAR bathroom. My arm, ensconced in its gray jacket that is NOT Old Baby Blue, brushed against the counter where I'd laid my winning scratcher. A $25 winner! On a St. Louis Blues ticket. It floated to the floor. Since nature was urgently calling, and I'm not Usain Bolt, I let my ticket lie, figuring I'd pick it up when I returned, after nature was answered.
And I did. I bent over and picked up my ticket, and saw
A CRICKET ! ! !
sitting underneath. Well! That is most certainly horrible for me! I hate crickets! I almost like spiders better, as long as they're not the kind that explode with babies when they drop from my dark basement lair drop-ceiling after midnight.
Sweet Gummi Mary! I stomped on that cricket critter as a matter of reflex. Then I disposed of the body with a Puffs Plus Lotion wrapped around it, plus an extra squeeze, and shoved the carcass down into my big black trash bag that awaits carrying upstairs.
It might not make a good movie, but it was definitely horrifying enough for me!
5 comments:
A cricket inside your house is supposed to be lucky, like having a gecko inside. Now you've gone and crushed all the luck right out of the poor critter, I guess he was an Unlucky cricket. it's millipede season here in Adelaide, I don't mind seeing them outside so much, but I hate seeing them inside. But the earwigs are worse, they scuttle faster.
River,
Well, then. I guess it's bad luck for me. As well as for the cricket! NO! I can't get my head around a millipede SEASON! It's like a penitentiary tour advertising "NOW WITH MORE ESCAPED MURDERERS!"
I've never seen an earwig (that I know of), but it makes me think of the Edgar Allen Poe era.
Google images and see earwigs, note the tiny pincers which WILL pinch you if you try to pick them up with a tissue without first stomping them good and dead.
Our foster dog (the one who was destined for the South Korean meat market) is a cricket hunter. I guess he feels since he has a roof over his head and plenty of food to eat, he needs to earn his keep.
River,
I wonder how long I'll be able to resist that Google... The thought horrifies me, but my curiosity will no doubt win over.
***
Sioux,
What a GOOD BOY! He would definitely earn his keep here. I found another one last night. I think crickets are the new millipede.
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