Milkman

A man arrives home from work, enters his house and heads to the kitchen. Along the way, he tosses the keys onto the table. His mother is seated on a rocking chair while the television is blaring an old Western movie. He strikes up a friendly conversation with her as usual, pouring her favourite chocolate milk and some croissants he bought earlier.

His mother keeps mum, unresponsive towards her son’s petty pleasantries. Even so, the man continues droning, as though oblivious to his mother’s cold shoulder.

He starts to feed her lovingly, slowly bringing the spoonful of cereal up to her lips. You seem to view this touching scene from behind, like on a movie screen of sorts. Slowly, somehow, your view begins to get closer.

You feel your heart palpitating nervously.
You try to close your eyes but find yourself compelled to see their faces.
The whole house suddenly plunges into darkness the moment you stepped closer.

Its pitch black.

Suddenly, a torchlight flickers on, illuminating a small patch. You seem to be eyeing yourself in a mirror. Your features seem to be alright. However, you peer gently into it, inching forward.

Your eyes detect some shadows getting nearer.

“Close my eyes, come on, do it!” you exclaim in your thoughts, and for once, your body obeys.

You wait. Its just a dream, isn’t it? Or is it?

After a moment, you decided to open your eyes. Big mistake.

Right behind you, near both your shoulders, stands the man, holding his dead mother’s head in his left hand and a knife in the other, licking it slowly.

“Do you want some milk?” his words drip with evil.

The light then dies. The sound of a stab makes itself known. You scream.

-END-

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About haziqfoxayy

Full time student. Part time wandering fox and storyteller.
This entry was posted in Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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