Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).
It’s 3 a.m. and I’m the only one up. I’m glued to my laptop, tapping away at the keyboard as I write about the previous day when I hear a disturbance downstairs. It’s a scraping, tumbling sound, as if someone had broken in through the back door and knocked down the alphabet blocks that my niece had left in front of it. We had stacked them before retiring to bed.
I’m tense as I listen, wondering if someone is breaking in. But all is silent now. I begin to relax and then—there’s the noise again! Immediately I’m on edge. I consider waking my parents but that will take too long plus this is an old house and the floors creak. The robber will hear me. Why didn’t we activate the stupid house alarm? Did we activate the alarm? I can’t remember. My mind is racing and my adrenaline is pumping, rendering me immobile. I don’t know what to do. Now it sounds as if someone is creeping around downstairs, trying to slide their boots along the wooden floors to avoid the creaks. Maybe if I move around a bit it will scare him off or maybe he will come up here and kill me. Ah, what to do?
I wonder what he’s trying to steal down there. Better not be the carrot cake my mom baked earlier today or the TV, my dad would be raving mad. He’s looking forward to the football match between Real Madrid and Barcelona scheduled for later this morning. But I can’t stay in bed like a punk while someone creeps about my house. I need to take charge and figure out what this is about. Maybe we can talk it out. That works sometimes. In the movies.
I take my time sneaking out the bed, creeping down the hall (avoiding the creaky spots), and then down the stairs. It’s dark but this is my house and I know it well. I get to the bottom of the stairs. I see no one but I jump as I hear the noise again—scraping and tumbling. Quickly I silence my gasp, hoping the burglar didn’t hear me. With my phone in my pajama pocket and a heavy book (the dictionary) in hand, I slowly creep towards the noise while straining my eyes for any movements. There’s the noise again. It’s coming from where the refrigerator is. That dumbass is raiding my fridge!
I raise the book high and quickly jump from behind the wall separating the kitchen from the dining room to see who is messing with my fridge but no one’s there. Now I’m terrified and once again rooted to the spot this time with my eyes bulging and with a thick book raised above my head. Is there a ghost down here? I know I heard the noise coming from here mere seconds ago. I don’t know what to do and fear has caused my nerves to give out. I can no longer think clearly. Thoughts come undone. And now I’m starting to tremble, slight tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. I guess now I know why people in scary movies never run when I yell at them to—
I hear the noise again but it’s closer this time. Right next to me actually. The scream snaps my brain back in motion and as the noise continues, I realize it is coming from the fridge. The silly thing is making ice and the tumbling ice is what I hear. Stupid fridge. I turn on the kitchen lights, relieved, and make a cup of tea to settle my nerves. Just to reassure myself, I check all locks and windows in the kitchen, living, and dining rooms, and double-check that the door to the garage is also locked. Ah ha! The silly fridge had me going there for a while. It and my pesky imagination.
I settle into a chair at the breakfast table to sip my tea, reveling in the silence of the night. Everyone and thing is asleep and there’s nary a sound, except for the tumbling ice. My eyes scan the room taking in the shredder for the mail we throw on the breakfast table, the radio my mom turns on when she’s cooking, the bags in the corner from my visiting cousins, and the toys my niece played with earlier. There’re the blocks we stacked now tumbled over and the dirty rain boots—
What? I stop drinking my tea. I didn’t bump into those blocks when I came down and we did stack them before bed. We don’t have any pets and I’m the last person up….Is there someone in my house?
Related articles: The first 4 are poetry. I’m not a poetry fan but I enjoyed reading these. The remaining 3 are stories. They aren’t long and are worth the read.
- idealized (tuckedintoacorner.wordpress.com)
- A Sad Dark Poem (tombalistreri.wordpress.com)
- A Night Full of Dreams (namelessspaces.wordpress.com)
- Midnight Light (grieflessons.wordpress.com)
- The Beautiful Barmaid (fusionislove.wordpress.com)
- Deep Freeze (guthonestfaith.wordpress.com)
- Spooky Salem (simplygiselle.com)