The Horror - Short Story

It’s that time of year when I dust off my very limited fiction writing skills, and share my ramblings with my writers group as part of our annual David Gibson Cup competition. This time the theme was “Something In The Water”, and there were some insanely good entries. Always boggles my mind how many different ways people interpret a topic and how they create such imaginative short stories. Whilst I didn’t win, I did pick up the “Gnome de Plume” for my pseudonym “Walter E. Grave”. Anyway, hope you enjoy the latest madness from my mind.

Something In The Water

Cora nudged Chris, as the large door in front of them swung open, enveloping them in the brilliant light of what they could only assume was the early morning sun. Masato loomed large behind them in an ornate and elaborate outfit and grunted as a gust of warm air swirled through the space as Cora started to whisper.

“I bet they’re here for Trevor, same as every morning” she hissed. It had been a long time since anyone had made a grab for her first thing, and she was sure her insides would rot if she was passed over again, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to endure the constant handling that Trevor had to suffer, multiple times a day.

Chris shushed Cora - he knew she didn’t know better, being so fresh, young and full of an energy that seemed to keep her awake until the early hours of every morning. She was also relatively new, though there was always at least one of her kind in this prison of theirs. Those outside the suffocatingly small space they called home, always seemed to replace her kind quickly once they found that they had used her until she was nothing more than an empty husk.

Trevor on the other hand looked old and defeated. He’d been in here forever and his armour bore the battle scars of being roughly moved from place to place, in constant use. Just when the others thought that he could take no more and was a spent force, the captors would inflict more unnecessary pain by stuffing him so full of his favourite treats that they practically spilled out of him. Cruelly leaving him, fit to burst, for days on end, not even bothering to open the door to gloat at his rotundness.

But today was different. The shadowy figure in front of them did not look like their usual tormentor and merely stood there, unmoving, seemingly preoccupied with a grumbling noise that was slowly building to a roar, just out of sight of the still and silent occupants.

Finally, the roar reached its crescendo and was immediately followed by an eerie silence, as a large grey cloud, glistening with tiny droplets of water floated in front of them and upwards. The figure, roused out of their apparent stupor, took the steaming liquid that only moments ago had been rolling and bubbling and went through the usual motions of adding it to the container that each of the captives were both fearful and fascinated by in equal measure.  

Satisfied that the container was ready, the captor lumbered to the adjacent door, this time a large metal one that the occupants in the room had never seen behind yet knew all too well that it would soon be time for Millie to be released, her teeth chattering in the cold as usual. But something again, felt wrong. Something felt missing. Confused the occupants murmured to each other, the same question arising time and again.

“What about Trevor?”

And then, they all watched in collective horror, as pure, sweet, innocent Millie was lifted and slowly deposited into the steaming water.  

“I’ve heard tales about this”, Chris gasped, “from my time at that shared house over in Brighton. But I never thought I’d see it in person.” 

“What is it?” Cora asked anxiously, her eyes agog at the scene playing out in front of them.  

“It’s, it’s….” Chris stumbled over his words, unsure of how his next sentence would be taken.

“It’s an American.” Trevor grimly voiced, startling his fellow occupants.  “And he’s putting something in the water that we all know belongs there. But not right now. Not yet”. His voice cracked under the enormity of what was unfolding.

Cora let out a sob and shuffled backwards to hide herself behind Masato

“Yes”. Chris confirmed, his mouth grimacing, “he’s put the bastard milk into the hot water before the tea bag”.  

Watching Millie Milk, slosh around in the hot water, with no Trevor Teabag to cling onto, Chris Cocoa put his arm around Cora Coffee to comfort her. Masato Matcha stood stoically at the back, wishing for his homeland, but all of them praying for the cupboard door to be closed, so that they would no longer have to witness the abomination unfolding in front of them.

“At least he left the microwave alone and used a kettle to boil the water” Chris muttered, hoping that this American would not be returning anytime soon.