A Friday the 13th prompt…well…another one I mean.
The man was dying.
He had lived a long and prosperous life. His family surrounded his bed and filled the large bedroom. The house was full of kin folks and lifetime friends. His life had been full of joy, the laughter of many children and the beautiful companionship of 55 years with his lovely wife. It had been a happy life. He had been blessed.
But there was an evil side to the dying man that his family were not aware of. There was no hint of the darkness that crept around in his soul. A darkness that clung to him like dried blood. He had hidden it from them and the world. One last act of evil would make his “true” life complete.
He felt no remorse for his decision, to leave them all at a loss for what he was about to unleash on them…and why? He hoped that all the stories he had heard, of souls drifting around in the room after they died were true. He wanted to see the horror and fear that he had wrought. It was something that drove his type of pathological nature.
The after effects.
The impact on a person’s life, or continuation of it was his nectar of life. He loved to see the angst and bewilderment on his victim’s eyes. “How lost they would feel” he thought to himself…the veil closing around him, warm and snug. It was almost time to go. Just a little longer… a little longer. “Don’t cheat me of this” he asked Death, “Not now”. Death stepped back.
“Dad?” his oldest son asked, trying to make himself heard through his beloved father’s fog. “Dad?” he said louder. The son grasped his father by his wizened old hand. The pleasure in the dying mans eyes was plain to see by everyone. “He see’s Jesus” his wife said tenderly, clutching at his other hand…trying to keep her dear, dear husband in her world…there with her.
The oldest daughter stepped forward, leaning over her brother’s shoulder. The dying man could see her through the mist of his eyes, the tears in hers…the pain. Oh, the sweet nectar of pain.
“Dad?” she said quietly. Her brother looked over his shoulder at her. He gave her hand a quick squeeze and a nod of encouragement. “Dad?” she repeated a little braver.
The dying man waited for the moment, “His” moment at last. All those years of struggle and frugality…to give them all they needed and wanted was fixing to pay off….Finally.
“Dad, what did you do with the remote and garage door opener?”
The old man smiled. He began to relax. He waved his hand towards Death to coax him closer…it was time. He was fulfilled.
Death stopped his approach, looking at the bedroom door.
A little boy had ran racing into the crowd of mourners, face flushed and breathless. He held up the 2 missing items. “I found them in the magazine rack in the bathroom!” he shouted proudly. The family cheered!
Death looked at the old man and turned away into the mist.
The old man sat up…eyes wide open and wild. Strength returning to his frame!
The now very alive man screamed, “FFFUUUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!””