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Angel in Disguise

Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.
Author's note: This story is inspired by the great Stephen King.  « Hide author's note
Chapters:   « Previous 1 ... 3 4 5 6 7 8 ... 10 Next »

Spilled Milk

Paul followed the sheriff back to his office, which was positioned in the very back of the station, shielded from the bustle of the rest of the station. The sheriff set the box of delicious doughnuts on his desk and opened the lid. He shoved it toward Paul and encouraged him to take one. Paul shrugged the offer off and laid his newspaper on the desk. He pointed the obituaries toward the sheriff and pointed at Barry’s picture.
“See this?” asked Paul. “Do you know this man?”
“Why, yes, I do. That’s old Barry Kissinger. Used to hunt with him and his daddy.” answered the sheriff, with a hint of confusion in his voice.
“I saw him get killed this morning. He was hit by oncoming traffic as I passed down the highway.” Paul informed the sheriff.
“Oh, boy, I’m sorry. Death is never an easy thing to see. However, I don’t think I can help you with that. The psychiatrist down the road can help with th-” said the sheriff.
“No, no. You don’t understand,” interrupted Paul. “This man was at my home this morning and decided to bloody my face. He showed up completely out of the blue and terrorized me!”
The sheriff gave Paul a look that showed he had little, if no interest at all in hearing him yarn.
“Listen, I have work to do,” said the sheriff. “You can come by after hours if you’d like, I’m staying a few hours late tonight.”
Paul knew he couldn’t fight the sheriff over this matter, for he seemed pretty well set in his ways. Paul nodded and turned around to leave the sheriff’s office.
“I’ll be back later. Will 9 be alright?” Paul asked.
“Yes, that’ll be fine. In the meantime, take care of yourself. You look bad.”
Paul escorted himself out of the office and headed out toward the front of the station. He noticed more and more the picture of Barry in the obituaries as he passed by the newspaper readers near the door. It seemed that Barry had grown skinnier in each picture Paul had seen. Though it was the exact same picture each time, Barry looked as if he weighed half the weight he had in the previous picture. Once a solid three hundred pounds, Barry looked now as if he was about two hundred and ten. Paul was no fool, he had noticed. However, he was sensible and did not jump to conclusions. Maybe it was just a hallucination. Like the thing I had seen outside my shower this morning. Yes, that’s the explanation.
The smell of fresh doughnuts had awoken a hunger in the pit of Paul’s alcohol-soaked stomach. The diner was just across the street from the police station and now, since Paul had time to waste, he decided to grab a bite to eat. He promptly crossed that street and slugged his way into the eatery. More and more newspapers depicting the man he had saw get killed that morning had swayed past his eyes. It seemed that everyone in town had a copy of this particular newspaper in their possession.
“One black coffee and some eggs, please.” ordered Paul to the slouching waitress tending to him.
“Sugar or creamer with that?” she asked while gnawing on a piece of winterfresh gum. Paul knew the kind because it was what his wife used to chew.
“I wouldn’t mind a bit of milk with it, if that’s okay.” Paul retorted.
The waitress penned his order and got back to her menial life, taking orders from sluggish men who would do whatever they could to take her home with them. She was nothing special, Paul knew that. He also knew truckers can get quite lonely, so he withheld his judgment. After seeing Barry’s now-skinny face plastered on about 5 more newspapers, his meal had arrived. The waitress set Paul’s hot plate full of steamy eggs on the table in front of him. She then set the coffee down and left the table.
“Excuse me, Miss, the milk?” Paul reminded the waitress.
“Oh yeah, sorry hon. Busy day today.” responded the waitress.
The waitress rushed behind the counter and reached into the fridge, hidden from plain sight. She pulled out a carton of milk that looked as if the milkman had just delivered it this morning. She brought it over to Paul’s table and opened the carton with her freshly painted fingernails. Paul watched her pour the sweet milk into his mug and in doing so he noticed a picture on the side of the carton. It was a ‘missing’ sign, like the ones the distributors send out for children who had gone unfound. This would have been a normality for Paul if he hadn’t seen the picture. It was Barry Kissinger, now looking as if he weighed a mere one hundred pounds. Paul’s heart stopped and he jerked his arm fast enough to knock the coffee off the table. The glass mug shattered on the floor as easily as an eggshell as if it had been dropped from its crate. The waitress stepped back, frightened.
“What the hell?” shouted the waitress.
Paul felt a surge of guilt and terror overcome him as he observed pairs upon pairs of eyes staring holes straight through his soul. Immediately, Paul started apologizing but was hushed by a gang of truckers eager to show their worth to the “beautiful” waitress. Paul’s table was surrounded by these men. Some of them were fat, bearded men and others were skinny, greasy men. Each one was a proud owner of an 18-wheeled clunker parked in the back of the diner, waiting eagerly to be driven across the country. Paul stared up at each of these men and swallowed hard. He was unsure of what to say to them so his smart mouth took over for him.
“Get the hell away from me, this aint between any of you oiled pigs!” Paul shouted.
Chapters:   « Previous 1 ... 3 4 5 6 7 8 ... 10 Next »


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