Two. Chapter One.
Eleanor Wykeham struggled through the storm door with the washing basket ungainly against her side. Carefully negotiating the slippery wooden steps down to the yard, out of the corner of her eye she noted at least seven toys Thomas had left out in the drizzle when the weather turned. He had a disconcerting knack of looking her straight in the eye and lying, in this case about putting his toys away, so boldly and believably that she didn’t know whether to admire or deplore his skewed interpretation of right and wrong. After all, she honestly believed that he would get much further in the world he was entering by being able to charm, no come on - fess up - con, his way through. She knew that her grip on his social orientation wasn’t exactly PC but suffered from a sustained fear of the environment they now seemed to live in to the extent that she was willing to arm him with all available tricks in order that he be prepared to go forth etc. She started to collect the soaked washing from the line - she’d completely forgotten it when the rain had started.
Her view of Tom’s development was not one shared by Chris, her husband and she was careful not to allow him to see the evidence too often. This was not difficult considering the hours he worked. He may be pulling down an excellent salary - which she’d been excited by in their first years of marriage - but now she found herself wishing theirs was a more old-fashioned situation with less money but more time spent together. She struggled with a large sheet as she considered that the major test of Tom’s duplicity was Chris’ mother Clara - her cow-in-law. How is it possible to become the perfect stereotype without noticing? Anyway, Clara believed Tom walked on water. Eleanor knew that the old bag would immediately notice and put a stop to any gauche behaviour on her grandson’s behalf - if he could fool her, he was bloody good. She reached the end of that line, humped the basket onto her hip, and stepped over to the other.
It watched from beneath the bushes that lined the garden, prowling the ranch-style fence separating the property from the common land. Part of its mind admired the curve of her lithe youthful body, the way her breasts stretched the fabric of her sweater and how her toned thighs were outlined against her skirt by the breeze. Her legs flowed from her trim waist, tapering neatly to tiny ankles and feet - bare in the wet grass. The more dominant side of its brain however concentrated on - was consumed by - the smell of prey. Fresh flesh.
As the woman lugged the half full basket over to the second line It flattened itself to the earth and crept forward, building speed before launching itself at her body with the force of a battering ram. In seconds it was over - her startled cry was snatched from her throat by its savage teeth. Peace, momentarily shattered, quickly returned to the suburban garden and as the sun finalised its descent the only sounds to be heard were the soft call of bird song and the gentle squelch of ripping flesh with the crunch of bone… Tommy found his mother’s remains 20 minutes later.
From that point on young Tommy’s social development was a little fucked up.
Her view of Tom’s development was not one shared by Chris, her husband and she was careful not to allow him to see the evidence too often. This was not difficult considering the hours he worked. He may be pulling down an excellent salary - which she’d been excited by in their first years of marriage - but now she found herself wishing theirs was a more old-fashioned situation with less money but more time spent together. She struggled with a large sheet as she considered that the major test of Tom’s duplicity was Chris’ mother Clara - her cow-in-law. How is it possible to become the perfect stereotype without noticing? Anyway, Clara believed Tom walked on water. Eleanor knew that the old bag would immediately notice and put a stop to any gauche behaviour on her grandson’s behalf - if he could fool her, he was bloody good. She reached the end of that line, humped the basket onto her hip, and stepped over to the other.
It watched from beneath the bushes that lined the garden, prowling the ranch-style fence separating the property from the common land. Part of its mind admired the curve of her lithe youthful body, the way her breasts stretched the fabric of her sweater and how her toned thighs were outlined against her skirt by the breeze. Her legs flowed from her trim waist, tapering neatly to tiny ankles and feet - bare in the wet grass. The more dominant side of its brain however concentrated on - was consumed by - the smell of prey. Fresh flesh.
As the woman lugged the half full basket over to the second line It flattened itself to the earth and crept forward, building speed before launching itself at her body with the force of a battering ram. In seconds it was over - her startled cry was snatched from her throat by its savage teeth. Peace, momentarily shattered, quickly returned to the suburban garden and as the sun finalised its descent the only sounds to be heard were the soft call of bird song and the gentle squelch of ripping flesh with the crunch of bone… Tommy found his mother’s remains 20 minutes later.
From that point on young Tommy’s social development was a little fucked up.
posted by Oleanderman at 7:47 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home