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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Horror
- Subject: Horror / Scary
- Published: 09/21/2018
The Stone Troll
Born 1964, F, from Gordon, ACT, AustraliaWendy hung up the phone and covered her eyes with her hands, careful not to smudge her makeup.
Karly looked at her sympathetically. “Trouble with the ex?”
“Trouble with the daughter.” She sat back and sighed. “Apparently I’m a nightmare to live with, and she wants to stay with her dad for a while. She’s eighteen now, I guess she can do whatever she likes.”
Karly nodded. “You’re better off just letting her go. At least you’ll still have a good relationship with her. Pick your battles, and all that.”
The women fell silent as they heard the mailroom trolley squick-squicking its way towards them, pushed energetically, if a trifle erratically, by Michael from the mailroom. He blushed and smiled shyly as he handed over their mail and a heavy package for Wendy before making his escape.
Karly laughed. “Looks like Mailroom Mikey’s still got a crush on you.”
Wendy smiled and thoughtfully hefted the package before carefully opening the box and unrolling protective bubble wrap to reveal an exquisitely ugly statuette. The medium seemed to be some sort of polished dark green-grey rock or maybe marble, carved into a horrifyingly detailed troll-like figure. Its eyes were deep dark pits, with slits for nostrils and a disproportionately large mouth bristled with grey teeth. Its fat body crouched slightly as if it were about to jump at her.
It was unpleasant to touch, cold and somehow greasy, and Wendy wiped her fingers on her skirt before nudging the troll with a ruler into the bin and covering its accusing glare with a sheet of paper.
She looked through the packaging again, but couldn’t find a note or any clues as to the sender. Most peculiar.
A sleety rain gently pelted the office window, the sky darkening with the onset of another wintry evening. Office workers suddenly came to life, packing files away and grabbing their personal belongings before heading out the door, wishing each other a good weekend, safe driving, see you next week.
The cold wind nearly stopped Wendy’s breath as she left the office, and she pulled her wool coat tightly around her as she quick-stepped her way to her sky blue VW, the cheery colour never failing to give her a lift. Somehow, the interior of the car was colder than outside, and she shivered uncontrollably while she waited for the heater to warm her up.
A thump from the dark shadows of the back seat, followed by a faint scuffling. Then silence.
Wendy sat paralysed for a moment before flinging open the front door and backing away from the car, her heart pounding, mouth dry. She cautiously approached the back window and peered in. The overhead light barely penetrated the shadows, but it was enough to see there was nothing there.
Tired? Stressed? Who knew. Wendy cautiously got back behind the wheel and listened intently. The only sound was the wind moaning around her car, rocking the small vehicle, trying to get in.
Wendy couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone in the car, but she refused to check the back seat again like a nervous old granny. Just get home, have a glass of wine, relax.
She nervously drove out of the carpark into Friday afternoon traffic. Away from the relative shelter of the carpark, the wind rocked the car from side to side, but at least the rain had eased a little.
Traffic jams, car accidents, insane drivers confident in their invincibility, red lights prismed brightly through the rainspotted windscreen. By the time Wendy pulled into her garage, her shoulders were rock-hard with tension and a headache spread like cancer over the top of her head and behind her eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the ringing silence. Was that someone breathing? Her own breath caught in her throat and the sound stopped. She cautiously exhaled, shook her head. She must be more tired than she realised.
Wendy wearily hauled herself out of the car and into the house, made a beeline for the bottle of wine chilling in her fridge. Although sorely tempted to drink straight from the bottle, she poured a civilised glass of wine and flopped in front of the television. Wine, a box of cheezels, and junk tv, just the thing.
A cold draught eddied around her ankles. Goddammit, now what?
Wendy reluctantly stood up again and checked the house. The door from the garage into the house stood slightly ajar. Had she shut it properly? Couldn’t remember. She slammed it shut and locked it. Listened for a moment. The only sound was the tidal laughter coming from the game show playing in the living room.
Her handbag hung from the back of the chair in the kitchen, swaying slightly … from the breeze? Surely it wasn’t THAT windy!
Wendy approached her handbag and stared at it for a moment. The swaying stopped, and the bag hung absolutely motionless, waiting for her to … Dammit, this was ridiculous! Wendy snatched up her bag and opened it, promptly dropping it in fright. The stone troll rolled out onto the floor and grinned up at her with its needle teeth. She poked it with her stockinged foot, and it rocked back and forth with a soft grating sound on the tiles. Had someone seen it in the bin and put it back in her bag, figuring it was in the bin by accident? Had Wendy herself absentmindedly picked it up and taken it home?
She gingerly picked the figurine up and studied its ugly face before depositing it among the other dusty knickknacks on the kitchen shelf and washing her hands. Twice.
Back in the living room, Wendy flopped back onto the lounge and reached for her wine. Her fingertips brushed the wineglass, sending it toppling dramatically onto the carpet. Red wine spread like blood, soaking into the beige pile. Dammit.
Wendy mopped up the spillage as best she could, then settled back with a fresh glass of wine. Lord, what a day. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
She awoke later that night still clutching the glass, red wine now staining the couch and matching it with the carpet. What had woken her? She listened to the silence ringing in her ears. A faint scuffling outside, hissed whispering. What the hell?
The dull sound of breaking glass at the front door sent her stomach into freefall, and she stood paralysed with fear as the intruder fumbled at the inside lock. Hell no! Wendy raced through to the kitchen and grabbed a large knife before darting to the front door and stabbing wildly at the hand waving through the glass side-panel. A disembodied voice cursed and threatened, growing fainter as the culprit marched off in indignation at the unwarranted attack. Silence. Then the shrill sound of breaking glass as the would-be intruder petulantly threw a rock through the living room window.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Wendy grabbed her phone and dialed the emergency number. Her hand shook so much, it took her three goes to get it right. A bored operator promised to send the police over, they should be there in .. oh, let’s say ten to fifteen minutes.
By the time the police knocked on her door forty minutes later, Wendy was a nervous wreck, pacing from broken window to broken window in case the intruder returned.
An unimpressed police officer took her details, promised to file a report, and suggested she nail some plywood over the windows until she could get them repaired properly, then left. The interview took less time than the wait for them to turn up.
Wendy made herself a hot chocolate and watched late night television until she drifted off into a grey sleep, twitching awake at every sound. Finally, the sun came up and she forced down a coffee and breakfast, killing time until she could call an emergency glazier.
Three hours later, plywood unattractively covered the broken glass, casting her normally sunny home into gloom. Four weeks until the glass could be restored. Four weeks of being reminded of her night of terror every time she looked at the plain wood where glass used to be.
Suddenly claustrophobic, Wendy grabbed her bag and car keys and headed for the car, running a mental list of everyone she could visit. Backing down the driveway, a crunch and ear-rending screeching scrape stopped her in her tracks. She got out and dismally surveyed the damage. Not only was the corner of her car banged in and scraped up the side, but her letterbox was now leaning sideways like a drunk after a massive bender. Good God almighty, surely she hadn’t been going that fast! Dammit, something to worry about later. Right now, she needed to get away from this place.
She drove randomly through the suburban streets before coming out onto the main highway, mindlessly cruising through the green light …
Hospital staff told her later that day that she was lucky to be alive. A vehicle had run the red light and caved in the passenger side of her car. The driver of the other car swore his brakes didn’t work for some reason, but the police mechanic could find nothing wrong. The doctor pronounced Wendy fit to go home, and the front counter called a taxi for her.
Back at home, Wendy walked up the driveway and dismally surveyed her open front door. Inside, what hadn’t been taken had been either broken or tipped over. Even the couch cushions had been cut open, foam rubber bulged through the slits.
The police were a little more sympathetic this time, and recommended agencies who were experienced in clearing up after a break-in.
Wendy numbly arranged for a cleaning crew, a locksmith, and recalled the glazier. Left the door open with instructions to the locksmith to leave the new keys in the letterbox, then caught another taxi to a hotel where she drank the mini bar dry and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sunday morning. Even her hair hurt. She lay in her hotel bed a while longer, tears running down the sides of her face and soaking the hotel pillow. Surely nothing else could go wrong! Her mind drifted and connected with that damn stone troll. Everything was fine until she acquired that ugly little trinket. Could it be cursed? Cursed or not, it was an eyesore and she decided to get rid of it, pronto.
Back home, her house was a little bare but otherwise restored to liveability. She wandered through the dim rooms feeling strangely unsettled, a stranger in her own home.
The stone troll was unceremoniously dumped down the storm water drain.
Wendy put her battered body and soul to bed early, and slept soundly. Until she was awoken in the early hours with a dark weight on her chest. A monstrously ugly old man was kneeling on her body, not saying a word, just staring … staring … staring. Wendy struggled to sit upright, gasping for breath. “What do you want?” she cried. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! Why can’t you leave me alone?”
The creature sniggered. “Who do you love?”
“What? WHAT?” Wendy struggled to wake up, and the creature disintegrated into nothingness. Wendy lay back down, exhausted, and drifted back to into a haunted sleep.
She wasn’t surprised to find the stone troll back in its place on the kitchen shelf the next morning, a little damp from the drain, but otherwise unharmed from its short trip.
At the office, Wendy headed straight for the mailroom with the stone troll to try and find some clues as to who sent her the cursed thing. Mikey jumped to his feet and looked at her in terror. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to get rid of it, it was destroying my life.”
Wendy glared at him. “YOU sent me that … that … thing? Why?”
Mikey blushed and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I kept having dreams about it. I asked what I had to do to make it go away, and it said I had to give it to someone I … um … you know.” He mumbled something that sounded like “love”. Wendy let it go.
“How could you pass that thing onto someone you … like?” she asked.
Mikey shrugged. “I was desperate. You’ve only had it a couple of days, it gets worse. Much worse. It attracts negative energy, makes things … bad things happen.” He looked down at his feet. “And if the person you give it to dies, it comes back to you.” Tears of guilt and self-hate shone in his eyes. “I gave it to my grandma,” he whispered.
Wendy sagged into a chair and put her head in her hands. “Oh just great. Anything else you want to tell me?”
Michael thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “This thing used to visit me in my dreams, but it wasn’t always clear what it was saying. It was more like it was putting thoughts in my head so I kind of knew stuff without knowing how I knew. I think that if the person passes it on within 24 hours, then they skip the curse or something. I’m not really sure, though.”
Wendy sighed bitterly. “And it didn’t occur to you to let me know about this at the time?” She thought of her ex-husband, and how quickly and easily she could have passed the thing on. After all, hate was just the flip side of love, right?
Mikey hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I was so tired, I just couldn’t think straight. I’m so sorry.”
Wendy left without another word, leaving the troll on Mikey’s office. It was sitting in her in-tray by the time she got back to her desk.
Karly looked at her cautiously. “Everything okay?” she ventured.
“Yep, just dandy. I had my house broken into twice, I got rammed by some numbnuts at the traffic lights, wrote my car off. And my letterbox is about to fall over. Wendy quickly wrapped the stone troll in a couple of blank envelopes, wrote her husband’s name on the front, and slung the package into her bag. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. Got an errand to run.”
The taxi driver leered at Wendy as she lowered herself onto the front seat and gave the driver her ex-husband’s address. She leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling the creep’s gaze crawl all over her. When she opened her eyes, she was startled to find they had parked in the secluded driveway of an obviously empty house. The driver had unzipped his pants and was eyeing her hungrily while he aroused himself.
He reached a gnarled hand towards Wendy, but she threw open the door and fell onto the concrete driveway, painfully scuffing her knees. The taxi driver looked at her in horror while he stuffed his manhood back into his trousers.
“Holy crap! I am so sorry, miss. I don’t know what came over me! I have never done anything like this …” His eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been married for over 30 years!” He held up his ring finger as proof, the dull gold band glinting in the afternoon light. “Please don’t say anything, I’ll lose my job, I’ll …” He put his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head on his arms, his shoulders shaking with sobs of shock and remorse.
Wendy cautiously hooked her handbag out of the taxi, and limped away. She doubted the taxi driver would dare demand his fare. She quickly got her bearings, and was grateful that her old house was within walking distance.
She stood at the front of the house, for the first time wondering if she could really do this to someone she had once loved. An image flashed into her mind, Wendy coming home early and standing at the bedroom door, watching while her husband humped busily on top of some faceless, nameless woman. A clichéd end to a clichéd marriage.
Wendy left the package on the doorstep and caught the bus home. Sad, guilty, but with an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders.
When she got home she was delighted to find the glaziers had been able to secure and fix her windows well ahead of schedule. Someone had even straightened her letterbox for her, and it stood proudly upright as she fished out her new door keys.
Her home was immeasurably brighter without the plywood covering the windows, and she decided the minimalist look actually wasn’t that bad. She put her voicemail on speaker while making a sandwich and coffee. It was well past lunchtime, and she was suddenly starving.
Karly from work had left a message, delicately querying Wendy’s mental state. A message from the insurance company letting her know that a representative would drop off a loan car that day for her to use while her claim was assessed. Messages from other friends and family who had heard about her troubles and wanted to make sure she was okay. Then best of all, a message from her daughter.
“Hi mum, it’s Lee. Just letting you know I’m at dad’s place, not really sure I want to stay here though. Um, I’ll come over tonight, maybe have dinner? Love you, see you later.”
Wendy’s heart warmed, her lips stretching into an unfamiliar smile. Things were definitely looking up after her horror weekend!
The insurance representative turned up just as she finished her late lunch, and handed over the keys to a new Honda before jumping in his colleague’s car and driving off.
Wendy had a shower and applied disinfectant cream and gauze bandages to her scraped knees. Not a great look, but easily covered with loose pants.
She carefully drove the Honda to the shopping centre and picked up Lee’s favourite food for dinner. Chicken drumsticks, potato wedges, peas. Chocolate mousse for dessert. She impulsively bought a bunch of brightly coloured flowers, and inhaled their faint scent as she returned to the car.
The afternoon sun glowed golden against the darkening pink and red sky, casting its unearthly light across the landscape, black shadows contrasting sharply against the brightly lit hills.
Wendy admired the view from her kitchen window as she rolled the drumsticks in a mix of oil and spices, sliced the potatoes into wedges, put everything into the oven. She figured Lee would arrive before everything was ready, and envisaged the two of them enjoying a companionable glass of wine, talking as friends rather than mother and daughter. It was time to accept Lee was an adult now, and to treat her as such. Wendy hoped this would go a long way towards healing the rift between them.
Two hours later, dinner was overcooked and cold, but Lee still hadn’t arrived. Wendy sat glumly at the table and sipped her wine. The worry in her stomach killed her appetite, and she felt she would choke if she tried to eat anything.
Another glass of wine before she had the courage to call her ex-husband.
“Hi Paul. It’s me. Wendy.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched a bit too long.
“Hello? Are you there, Paul?”
“Yes, sorry. Just .. you know. You're about the last person I ever expected to hear from.”
“Yes, well. I wasn’t actually calling you. Lee said she was going to come over for dinner, but she hasn’t turned up yet. Is she there?”
Paul paused before answering, carefully accusing. “She left nearly two hours ago, she should be there.”
“Well she’s not.” Wendy thought for a moment, dread building and spreading through her body. “Hey, you didn’t happen to get a weird package did you?”
“Yeah, I did. Was that you? What the hell were you thinking? That was the ugliest damn thing I ever saw in my life!”
Wendy swallowed, tried to catch her breath. “What did you do with it?” she whispered.
“Lee saw it, loved it. So I gave it to her. So what was that about, anyway?”
Wendy hung up and put her head on her knees until the dizziness cleared. She looked up at the flowers, dead and wilting in the vase.
Outside, black clouds formed, thunderclaps shaking the house. The lights went out.
In the dazzle of lightning flashes, she saw the stone troll coming for her.
The Stone Troll(Hazel Dow)
Wendy hung up the phone and covered her eyes with her hands, careful not to smudge her makeup.
Karly looked at her sympathetically. “Trouble with the ex?”
“Trouble with the daughter.” She sat back and sighed. “Apparently I’m a nightmare to live with, and she wants to stay with her dad for a while. She’s eighteen now, I guess she can do whatever she likes.”
Karly nodded. “You’re better off just letting her go. At least you’ll still have a good relationship with her. Pick your battles, and all that.”
The women fell silent as they heard the mailroom trolley squick-squicking its way towards them, pushed energetically, if a trifle erratically, by Michael from the mailroom. He blushed and smiled shyly as he handed over their mail and a heavy package for Wendy before making his escape.
Karly laughed. “Looks like Mailroom Mikey’s still got a crush on you.”
Wendy smiled and thoughtfully hefted the package before carefully opening the box and unrolling protective bubble wrap to reveal an exquisitely ugly statuette. The medium seemed to be some sort of polished dark green-grey rock or maybe marble, carved into a horrifyingly detailed troll-like figure. Its eyes were deep dark pits, with slits for nostrils and a disproportionately large mouth bristled with grey teeth. Its fat body crouched slightly as if it were about to jump at her.
It was unpleasant to touch, cold and somehow greasy, and Wendy wiped her fingers on her skirt before nudging the troll with a ruler into the bin and covering its accusing glare with a sheet of paper.
She looked through the packaging again, but couldn’t find a note or any clues as to the sender. Most peculiar.
A sleety rain gently pelted the office window, the sky darkening with the onset of another wintry evening. Office workers suddenly came to life, packing files away and grabbing their personal belongings before heading out the door, wishing each other a good weekend, safe driving, see you next week.
The cold wind nearly stopped Wendy’s breath as she left the office, and she pulled her wool coat tightly around her as she quick-stepped her way to her sky blue VW, the cheery colour never failing to give her a lift. Somehow, the interior of the car was colder than outside, and she shivered uncontrollably while she waited for the heater to warm her up.
A thump from the dark shadows of the back seat, followed by a faint scuffling. Then silence.
Wendy sat paralysed for a moment before flinging open the front door and backing away from the car, her heart pounding, mouth dry. She cautiously approached the back window and peered in. The overhead light barely penetrated the shadows, but it was enough to see there was nothing there.
Tired? Stressed? Who knew. Wendy cautiously got back behind the wheel and listened intently. The only sound was the wind moaning around her car, rocking the small vehicle, trying to get in.
Wendy couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone in the car, but she refused to check the back seat again like a nervous old granny. Just get home, have a glass of wine, relax.
She nervously drove out of the carpark into Friday afternoon traffic. Away from the relative shelter of the carpark, the wind rocked the car from side to side, but at least the rain had eased a little.
Traffic jams, car accidents, insane drivers confident in their invincibility, red lights prismed brightly through the rainspotted windscreen. By the time Wendy pulled into her garage, her shoulders were rock-hard with tension and a headache spread like cancer over the top of her head and behind her eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the ringing silence. Was that someone breathing? Her own breath caught in her throat and the sound stopped. She cautiously exhaled, shook her head. She must be more tired than she realised.
Wendy wearily hauled herself out of the car and into the house, made a beeline for the bottle of wine chilling in her fridge. Although sorely tempted to drink straight from the bottle, she poured a civilised glass of wine and flopped in front of the television. Wine, a box of cheezels, and junk tv, just the thing.
A cold draught eddied around her ankles. Goddammit, now what?
Wendy reluctantly stood up again and checked the house. The door from the garage into the house stood slightly ajar. Had she shut it properly? Couldn’t remember. She slammed it shut and locked it. Listened for a moment. The only sound was the tidal laughter coming from the game show playing in the living room.
Her handbag hung from the back of the chair in the kitchen, swaying slightly … from the breeze? Surely it wasn’t THAT windy!
Wendy approached her handbag and stared at it for a moment. The swaying stopped, and the bag hung absolutely motionless, waiting for her to … Dammit, this was ridiculous! Wendy snatched up her bag and opened it, promptly dropping it in fright. The stone troll rolled out onto the floor and grinned up at her with its needle teeth. She poked it with her stockinged foot, and it rocked back and forth with a soft grating sound on the tiles. Had someone seen it in the bin and put it back in her bag, figuring it was in the bin by accident? Had Wendy herself absentmindedly picked it up and taken it home?
She gingerly picked the figurine up and studied its ugly face before depositing it among the other dusty knickknacks on the kitchen shelf and washing her hands. Twice.
Back in the living room, Wendy flopped back onto the lounge and reached for her wine. Her fingertips brushed the wineglass, sending it toppling dramatically onto the carpet. Red wine spread like blood, soaking into the beige pile. Dammit.
Wendy mopped up the spillage as best she could, then settled back with a fresh glass of wine. Lord, what a day. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
She awoke later that night still clutching the glass, red wine now staining the couch and matching it with the carpet. What had woken her? She listened to the silence ringing in her ears. A faint scuffling outside, hissed whispering. What the hell?
The dull sound of breaking glass at the front door sent her stomach into freefall, and she stood paralysed with fear as the intruder fumbled at the inside lock. Hell no! Wendy raced through to the kitchen and grabbed a large knife before darting to the front door and stabbing wildly at the hand waving through the glass side-panel. A disembodied voice cursed and threatened, growing fainter as the culprit marched off in indignation at the unwarranted attack. Silence. Then the shrill sound of breaking glass as the would-be intruder petulantly threw a rock through the living room window.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Wendy grabbed her phone and dialed the emergency number. Her hand shook so much, it took her three goes to get it right. A bored operator promised to send the police over, they should be there in .. oh, let’s say ten to fifteen minutes.
By the time the police knocked on her door forty minutes later, Wendy was a nervous wreck, pacing from broken window to broken window in case the intruder returned.
An unimpressed police officer took her details, promised to file a report, and suggested she nail some plywood over the windows until she could get them repaired properly, then left. The interview took less time than the wait for them to turn up.
Wendy made herself a hot chocolate and watched late night television until she drifted off into a grey sleep, twitching awake at every sound. Finally, the sun came up and she forced down a coffee and breakfast, killing time until she could call an emergency glazier.
Three hours later, plywood unattractively covered the broken glass, casting her normally sunny home into gloom. Four weeks until the glass could be restored. Four weeks of being reminded of her night of terror every time she looked at the plain wood where glass used to be.
Suddenly claustrophobic, Wendy grabbed her bag and car keys and headed for the car, running a mental list of everyone she could visit. Backing down the driveway, a crunch and ear-rending screeching scrape stopped her in her tracks. She got out and dismally surveyed the damage. Not only was the corner of her car banged in and scraped up the side, but her letterbox was now leaning sideways like a drunk after a massive bender. Good God almighty, surely she hadn’t been going that fast! Dammit, something to worry about later. Right now, she needed to get away from this place.
She drove randomly through the suburban streets before coming out onto the main highway, mindlessly cruising through the green light …
Hospital staff told her later that day that she was lucky to be alive. A vehicle had run the red light and caved in the passenger side of her car. The driver of the other car swore his brakes didn’t work for some reason, but the police mechanic could find nothing wrong. The doctor pronounced Wendy fit to go home, and the front counter called a taxi for her.
Back at home, Wendy walked up the driveway and dismally surveyed her open front door. Inside, what hadn’t been taken had been either broken or tipped over. Even the couch cushions had been cut open, foam rubber bulged through the slits.
The police were a little more sympathetic this time, and recommended agencies who were experienced in clearing up after a break-in.
Wendy numbly arranged for a cleaning crew, a locksmith, and recalled the glazier. Left the door open with instructions to the locksmith to leave the new keys in the letterbox, then caught another taxi to a hotel where she drank the mini bar dry and fell into a dreamless sleep.
Sunday morning. Even her hair hurt. She lay in her hotel bed a while longer, tears running down the sides of her face and soaking the hotel pillow. Surely nothing else could go wrong! Her mind drifted and connected with that damn stone troll. Everything was fine until she acquired that ugly little trinket. Could it be cursed? Cursed or not, it was an eyesore and she decided to get rid of it, pronto.
Back home, her house was a little bare but otherwise restored to liveability. She wandered through the dim rooms feeling strangely unsettled, a stranger in her own home.
The stone troll was unceremoniously dumped down the storm water drain.
Wendy put her battered body and soul to bed early, and slept soundly. Until she was awoken in the early hours with a dark weight on her chest. A monstrously ugly old man was kneeling on her body, not saying a word, just staring … staring … staring. Wendy struggled to sit upright, gasping for breath. “What do you want?” she cried. “I haven’t done anything to deserve this! Why can’t you leave me alone?”
The creature sniggered. “Who do you love?”
“What? WHAT?” Wendy struggled to wake up, and the creature disintegrated into nothingness. Wendy lay back down, exhausted, and drifted back to into a haunted sleep.
She wasn’t surprised to find the stone troll back in its place on the kitchen shelf the next morning, a little damp from the drain, but otherwise unharmed from its short trip.
At the office, Wendy headed straight for the mailroom with the stone troll to try and find some clues as to who sent her the cursed thing. Mikey jumped to his feet and looked at her in terror. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I had to get rid of it, it was destroying my life.”
Wendy glared at him. “YOU sent me that … that … thing? Why?”
Mikey blushed and shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I kept having dreams about it. I asked what I had to do to make it go away, and it said I had to give it to someone I … um … you know.” He mumbled something that sounded like “love”. Wendy let it go.
“How could you pass that thing onto someone you … like?” she asked.
Mikey shrugged. “I was desperate. You’ve only had it a couple of days, it gets worse. Much worse. It attracts negative energy, makes things … bad things happen.” He looked down at his feet. “And if the person you give it to dies, it comes back to you.” Tears of guilt and self-hate shone in his eyes. “I gave it to my grandma,” he whispered.
Wendy sagged into a chair and put her head in her hands. “Oh just great. Anything else you want to tell me?”
Michael thought for a moment, trying to find the right words. “This thing used to visit me in my dreams, but it wasn’t always clear what it was saying. It was more like it was putting thoughts in my head so I kind of knew stuff without knowing how I knew. I think that if the person passes it on within 24 hours, then they skip the curse or something. I’m not really sure, though.”
Wendy sighed bitterly. “And it didn’t occur to you to let me know about this at the time?” She thought of her ex-husband, and how quickly and easily she could have passed the thing on. After all, hate was just the flip side of love, right?
Mikey hung his head. “I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I was so tired, I just couldn’t think straight. I’m so sorry.”
Wendy left without another word, leaving the troll on Mikey’s office. It was sitting in her in-tray by the time she got back to her desk.
Karly looked at her cautiously. “Everything okay?” she ventured.
“Yep, just dandy. I had my house broken into twice, I got rammed by some numbnuts at the traffic lights, wrote my car off. And my letterbox is about to fall over. Wendy quickly wrapped the stone troll in a couple of blank envelopes, wrote her husband’s name on the front, and slung the package into her bag. “I’m taking the rest of the day off. Got an errand to run.”
The taxi driver leered at Wendy as she lowered herself onto the front seat and gave the driver her ex-husband’s address. She leaned back and closed her eyes, feeling the creep’s gaze crawl all over her. When she opened her eyes, she was startled to find they had parked in the secluded driveway of an obviously empty house. The driver had unzipped his pants and was eyeing her hungrily while he aroused himself.
He reached a gnarled hand towards Wendy, but she threw open the door and fell onto the concrete driveway, painfully scuffing her knees. The taxi driver looked at her in horror while he stuffed his manhood back into his trousers.
“Holy crap! I am so sorry, miss. I don’t know what came over me! I have never done anything like this …” His eyes filled with tears. “I’ve been married for over 30 years!” He held up his ring finger as proof, the dull gold band glinting in the afternoon light. “Please don’t say anything, I’ll lose my job, I’ll …” He put his arms on the steering wheel and rested his head on his arms, his shoulders shaking with sobs of shock and remorse.
Wendy cautiously hooked her handbag out of the taxi, and limped away. She doubted the taxi driver would dare demand his fare. She quickly got her bearings, and was grateful that her old house was within walking distance.
She stood at the front of the house, for the first time wondering if she could really do this to someone she had once loved. An image flashed into her mind, Wendy coming home early and standing at the bedroom door, watching while her husband humped busily on top of some faceless, nameless woman. A clichéd end to a clichéd marriage.
Wendy left the package on the doorstep and caught the bus home. Sad, guilty, but with an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders.
When she got home she was delighted to find the glaziers had been able to secure and fix her windows well ahead of schedule. Someone had even straightened her letterbox for her, and it stood proudly upright as she fished out her new door keys.
Her home was immeasurably brighter without the plywood covering the windows, and she decided the minimalist look actually wasn’t that bad. She put her voicemail on speaker while making a sandwich and coffee. It was well past lunchtime, and she was suddenly starving.
Karly from work had left a message, delicately querying Wendy’s mental state. A message from the insurance company letting her know that a representative would drop off a loan car that day for her to use while her claim was assessed. Messages from other friends and family who had heard about her troubles and wanted to make sure she was okay. Then best of all, a message from her daughter.
“Hi mum, it’s Lee. Just letting you know I’m at dad’s place, not really sure I want to stay here though. Um, I’ll come over tonight, maybe have dinner? Love you, see you later.”
Wendy’s heart warmed, her lips stretching into an unfamiliar smile. Things were definitely looking up after her horror weekend!
The insurance representative turned up just as she finished her late lunch, and handed over the keys to a new Honda before jumping in his colleague’s car and driving off.
Wendy had a shower and applied disinfectant cream and gauze bandages to her scraped knees. Not a great look, but easily covered with loose pants.
She carefully drove the Honda to the shopping centre and picked up Lee’s favourite food for dinner. Chicken drumsticks, potato wedges, peas. Chocolate mousse for dessert. She impulsively bought a bunch of brightly coloured flowers, and inhaled their faint scent as she returned to the car.
The afternoon sun glowed golden against the darkening pink and red sky, casting its unearthly light across the landscape, black shadows contrasting sharply against the brightly lit hills.
Wendy admired the view from her kitchen window as she rolled the drumsticks in a mix of oil and spices, sliced the potatoes into wedges, put everything into the oven. She figured Lee would arrive before everything was ready, and envisaged the two of them enjoying a companionable glass of wine, talking as friends rather than mother and daughter. It was time to accept Lee was an adult now, and to treat her as such. Wendy hoped this would go a long way towards healing the rift between them.
Two hours later, dinner was overcooked and cold, but Lee still hadn’t arrived. Wendy sat glumly at the table and sipped her wine. The worry in her stomach killed her appetite, and she felt she would choke if she tried to eat anything.
Another glass of wine before she had the courage to call her ex-husband.
“Hi Paul. It’s me. Wendy.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched a bit too long.
“Hello? Are you there, Paul?”
“Yes, sorry. Just .. you know. You're about the last person I ever expected to hear from.”
“Yes, well. I wasn’t actually calling you. Lee said she was going to come over for dinner, but she hasn’t turned up yet. Is she there?”
Paul paused before answering, carefully accusing. “She left nearly two hours ago, she should be there.”
“Well she’s not.” Wendy thought for a moment, dread building and spreading through her body. “Hey, you didn’t happen to get a weird package did you?”
“Yeah, I did. Was that you? What the hell were you thinking? That was the ugliest damn thing I ever saw in my life!”
Wendy swallowed, tried to catch her breath. “What did you do with it?” she whispered.
“Lee saw it, loved it. So I gave it to her. So what was that about, anyway?”
Wendy hung up and put her head on her knees until the dizziness cleared. She looked up at the flowers, dead and wilting in the vase.
Outside, black clouds formed, thunderclaps shaking the house. The lights went out.
In the dazzle of lightning flashes, she saw the stone troll coming for her.
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JD
10/22/2018Hazel, I think you already know we all think you're the Horror Queen! So it no doubt is not surprising for you to be featured on the front page of Storystar once again. I hope there will be many more horrifying stories yet to come from you.... after all, you do need to purge all those nightmares from your brain! Thanks for sharing your stories on Storystar, Hazel, and congratulations on being chosen again as one of the Short Story STARS of the Week! : )
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Kevin Hughes
10/22/2018Hazel,
I don't know about the Stone Troll, but now dark thoughts keep coming to me in the middle of the night. If you keep writing these "nightmares" out for us to innocently be drawn into, you are going to have to post a list of competent therapists and their phone numbers.
Yikes!
Smiles, Kevin
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Hazel Dow
10/26/2018Thank you so much! I should feel bad about making people feel bad, but I don't. It's what I live for :-) Thank you for your kind feedback.
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JD
10/22/2018Yeah... Hazel creates the train wreck scenario... you know a horrific wreck is coming down the track but you cannot take your eyes off of watching it happen. Same with her stories. You know the outcome is going to be horrifying, but you can't help yourself from reading it through to end to find out how horrifying it will be! : )
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Kevin Hughes
10/22/2018Thanks Jd,
I was joking...I think! Man, you have to be a really good writer to get people to keep reading after they have already been creeped out! Like Hazel!
Smiles, Kevin
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Hannah
09/22/2018Soooo creepy! I wish I could right creepy stories like this without freaking myself out! Good job!
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Hazel Dow
09/24/2018Thank you. A lot of my stories are based on my nightmares, so it is actually quite therapeutic to get them out of my head and into a story :-)
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Hazel Dow
09/21/2018Thanks :-) I've got plenty of stories stuffed in my head, just wish I had enough time to bash a few out!
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