Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! Each day a member of the elite Rave Writers International Society of Authors will post a sample of his or her written work. Featured on Day 7 of the tour is RWISA author John Howell with his unsettling story of a man’s ill-fated brush with evil, “Trouble.”
by John W. Howell
I know its morning, but I don’t want to open my eyes. I am starting to remember what went on last night and I don’t even want to imagine who might be sleeping next to me. Not that I think there is anyone there since I’m pretty sure I came home alone. I didn’t want to go back alone, and god knows I tried hard to prevent sleeping by myself. I do remember coming on to the beautiful woman in the bar. Wait a minute. I remember it because it was so early in the evening, I didn’t have a lot to drink then. I know I drink too much and lately, I have been having a hard time getting the events of the previous night together. Okay, so before I open my eyes, I will give a thought to what I believe the evening turned out to be.
First, I met David at the bar, and we had a drink. I ordered gin on the rocks and David had bourbon. So far so good. David and I were discussing something about workout shoes, then he left for the bathroom. The woman came in and asked if I would mind buying her a drink. She had some story about losing her purse and being pretty much stranded. I remember asking her if she had someone she could call. I think she told me, no, but I’m not sure. Anyway, we had a couple more drinks, and sometime in there, David came back. I introduced the woman to David. I think her name was Chloe or Carolyn. By this time, I am starting to feel pretty good. I ask her if she would like to stay over and I remember her telling me she was not that kind of girl. We had some more drinks and then decided to go to dinner. I asked the woman if she would like to join us and she was pretty definite about the decline. I chalked it up to my usual déclassé, and David and I left.
Now from there, it is a little fuzzy. I remember ordering dinner and a couple more drinks. I really don’t remember finishing the meal or leaving the place. This lack of memory is foretelling me that from experience the outcome will not be good. I’m sure David and I went out after dinner as we always do and so there are some blank places where mayhem could have occurred. I am now sweating quite hard, and it isn’t the heat either. The room must be fifty degrees if it is one. The sweat is as a result of the sinking, bottom of stomach pit nervousness coming from the fact I have no idea what I did after we left the restaurant. My head is also beginning to ache as a warning to my body the caffeine level in my system is getting dangerously low. I am afraid I have no alternative, but to get up and face whatever needs facing so I can get some coffee. I know I will also need some painkiller as well. I will try aspirin and know from previous headaches I will need to wash it down with about three fingers of vodka. No ice just the ice-cold vodka from the freezer in a glass with no ceremony. Get it into the system fast so the memory will come back, and these infernal shakes will slow down for the moment.
I steel myself and get ready to get out of the bed. I will need to move my body slowly, so I don’t cause a situation that inevitably leads to nausea and the arrival of the dreaded throw up that doesn’t have the decency to come when I’m numb and in the bag. I know my body would prefer if I did, in fact, throw up, but my mind still considers throwing up the sign of someone who can’t hold their liquor. God knows I can hold mine even if I can’t remember a damn thing about the night before. Now is the time to open the eyes and have a look around. I do the left one first since I think I am closer to the left side of the bed and I’m sure no one is there. When I open my eye, I can almost hear the tearing of the lids as they try to separate. Another joy of falling asleep drunk; the eyes feel glued shut. I look with my left eye and see nothing but the bedroom window looking reddish and covered in the gauzy curtains one of my past loves put up there. The red glow must be the bloodshot view my iris gets looking out of my eyeball.
I open the right and almost scream out loud. My worst nightmare has come true and is lying next to me. That beautiful Chloe or Caroline is sound asleep, and now I have to wonder why I didn’t feel the heat of her body before I opened my eyes. Immediately the old Coyote ugly joke comes to mind about chewing off an arm to get away, but this woman is not ugly and not on my arm. I begin to hyperventilate since no good can come from not remembering how this lovely creature ended up in my bed. I can see she doesn’t seem to have a shirt on either. I am not about to probe to understand about the pants and must try to get to my medications before I actually throw up right here in the bed. I roll to the left and swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit up as gracefully as I can. I see I am completely naked and instead of feeling free, I believe I feel more like someone who has a clamp around the midsection. I rise off the bed very slowly.
“Morning darling,” she says.
“Uh good morning,” I say. “Would you like some coffee?”
“Ummm that sounds so good right now.”
“I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”
“Oh, don’t worry I won’t.”
Son of a bitch. What the hell have I done now? I can feel my gag reflex starting to go into automatic drive, so I rush to the kitchen and open the freezer. The vodka is right there, and I am not even going to wait for the glass. I take three big swallows and hold my breath. My stomach gives a lurch like I just dropped an explosive down the hatch but retains the liquid in place. “God thank you,” I say out loud. It Looks like I can go to the coffee machine and brew some strong stuff. At times like these, I am so thankful I quit smoking. As bad as I feel, had I consumed a couple of packs of smokes, I would have wanted to kill myself about now. I hold on to the counter as the coffee begins its cycle.
“How do you feel?”
I wheel around and almost lose my precious vodka which is just starting to worm its way into my brain. “I feel like shit.”
“I am not surprised. When I ran into you again, you were pretty wasted.”
“Whoa, I sure was. Where is David?
“You and David got into a fight.”
“A fight? What were we fighting about?”
“You wanted to take me home, and David didn’t want you to do so.”
“So, where is he?”
“I really don’t know. We left him on the street.”
“What? Left him on the street? Why the hell did we do that?”
“As I said you were pretty wasted.”
“Yeah but leaving him passed out on the street.”
“Oh, he wasn’t passed out.”
“What was he?”
“You shot him. I believe David is dead.”
“Shot him? How is that possible. I don’t own a gun.”
“That didn’t stop you from finding one.”
“Finding one? Where did I find a gun?”
“I loaned you mine.”
“And I shot David with it?”
“Yup. Right in the back as he tried to walk away.”
“Oh my God. What on Earth made me do that? He’s my best friend.”
“Was. I wouldn’t say it was an Earthly persuasion. I do believe my work is done here.”
“Your work? What do you mean?”
“Hear those sirens. They are coming for you. I called them. I would get some clothes on if I were you. Oh, and a piece of advice.”
“Yeah. Think twice before you decide to mess with the devil. See you on the other side.”
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Thank you for visiting and for your support. Please send John some feedback in the comments section below!
A chilling tale, John, both about alcoholism/addiction and the dark energies it can attract. Thank you for sharing your work!
Thank you, Eric.
This really surprised me on many levels. I loved your images and descriptions. It covered addiction like Eric said but only in a way you can. Well done. Thanks for hosting Eric.
Thank you, Denise, for the comment and for the support.
This was quite the story from John. “Trouble” is an appropriate title for sure. But, the last two lines are golden! Thanks for hosting, Eric.
Thank you, Jan. I liked those two lines myself and glad you did as well.
Yeah, I love the punch line! Thanks for coming by, Jan. Always appreciated.
Thank you for hosting my story today, Eric. I appreciate your support.
It’s my honor, John. Thanks for your work and for stopping by.