Ol' Silas

Silas shuts the door with a click. A slice of the child running away from his house caught for a moment in the doorframe. His hook gleams at him from where it's hanging with his overcoat and waterproofs.

Leaning on his stick, he peers past the dying houseplant on the sill. Almost dark, the back of that cheap polyester costume only just visible. See how they run. This one is carefree, now. All trace of fear gone. Excited to get back and show off the generous hall in that tacky orange bucket. Brag about the encounter with scary ole Silas Crowley.

Stumping along the hallway, Silas reflects that that was the main thing that kept it alive: it would tell its friends. Let this one go, and more would surely follow.

Silas tipped away his cold cocoa, and washed out the mug. He didn't like people. Didn't care to be liked, either. The rumours about his wife and daughter had flown around freely for years. It'd never impacted him after the police lost interest.

Except...

He'd had to behave. No more experiments. Give them no more reason for suspicion. Subsisting on scraps of fear from kids like that one, creeping up to his door on a dare.

Already he could feel the aches in his joints easing. Walking a little straighter, he entered the dining room, and kissed his dear wife with a flourish, such as he hadn't for decades. Her desiccated skin hung off her bones.

"We are to have company, Margot. The guest rooms will need preparing," His grin almost matched hers. No lips, no mirth, but lots of teeth. He tucked a strand of Harriet's hair behind a non-existent ear, and landed a ghostly peck where her nose-tip ought to be. The gesture was more proprietary than affectionate. "You will have some playmates, at last. Won't you like that?"

It was time and more than time to do it again. Before he got too old and creaky to manage the labour. Heaving, digging, the occasional bout of undignified wrestling to subdue them...

Now a new rumour would spread, like a tumour. More robust and malignant than the others, and not nearly so true.

Ole Silas isn't so bad after all...

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Saturday 26th October at 15.28

Quick Author's Note

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 300 (!!!) daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

WE HAVE REACHED 300, I REPEAT, WE HAVE REACHED 300!

ONLY SIXTY-SIX DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments. Bear with me while I catch up on reads!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

This is my latest dollar challenge. Please have a look.

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Thank you again!