One More Night

A short horror story by David Maiden of Llwynypia, Rhondda.

She’d call them tomorrow for definite - just one more night, that’s all she needed to help her go through with it, was one more night. That’s what was running through her mind as she looked at the clock stationed above the TV. It read eleven-forty-five, and it was well past her usual, ten o’clock bedtime.

For the best part of a week now, Abigail couldn’t bring herself to go up to that cold old bed anymore - not since James had died. They had been married for ten years; most of them good. Every night they would watch TV from six onwards of an evening, then depart for bed at ten sharp, as James had work early in the mornings. Maybe it was for this reason that Abi never truly went to bed at ten anymore; after all, James wasn’t around for work in the mornings these days.

But, it was time now she thought: her eyes had started to close, plus the detective show she’d been watching was poor. Forcing herself up from her comfy chair in the living room, she ambled over to the telly, and switched it off. In the blankness of the screen she saw James, sitting in his rocker behind her. She smiled softly whilst holding her crossed arms at the elbows to keep the chill back; Abigail could hear the soft creaking motion of his chair and spoke gently: “When are you going to fix that dear?”

She turned smoothly, her smile diminishing at the sight of the empty seat. There was a faint hint of his tobacco in the air - God, how he had loved his pipe. It lay cold now (like James) on the small table that stood by his chair - the last amount of tobacco long burnt out.

Abigail pulled at the nightgowns lapels and shuddered. The unused objects twisted in her a pain so deep, it hurt: she would have to throw out the pipe and sell the chair - for she couldn’t bear to look at them anymore. Moving past the rocker, she made her way into the kitchen to fix a mug of hot chocolate for herself; it helped her to sleep at night.

After passing back through the kitchen with her drink in hand, she knocked the lights off as she went. Then, there in the darkness at the foot of the staircase it crossed her mind again: just one more night, that’s all. Just the one more night, then she would get it done. The strong armour of the milky drink stuffed up her nostrils as she climbed the wooden hill. The yielding carpet underneath her fluffy slippers made soft swishing sounds as she went. Halfway up she began thinking about not having to get up early in the mornings anymore. That was the only good thing about being past the age of retirement.

At the top of the stairs she made straight for her bedroom - leaving the landing light on (as she always did these days). Her room was shrouded in blackness that gave Abigail a slight start - then she scolded herself for being so silly, that there was nothing in there that was going to hurt her. Easing the door open fully she shuffled in, being careful not to slop her drink, and burn her frail hand. Getting to her usual side of the bed Abigail switched on the bedside lamp then placed her mug down onto the table that supported the lighting device.

Turning to the bed she threw back the covers, and the smell hit her; she wrinkled her old nose and thought it was getting worse. Yes she thought - it will have to be tomorrow, no putting it off anymore. Before getting in, she looked at his ever greying corpse - it had once been so vibrant and healthy; he had been such a strong man, but now all that remained was a stiff and lifeless body. The heat burnt out, leaving a cold harsh shell. She could have sworn that he had a wry little smile on his face. She’d left him how she had found him a week ago on that hot July day; it must have been a heart attack.

Abigail had failed to except that her beloved James had passed away in his sleep just like that. He had been so fit and healthy; they had made love that very night. Now, small tears welled at the corners of her eyes as she clung onto those fleeting memories.

“Aw James,” she said in a loving tone - whilst climbing into bed beside the cold naked body. Snuggling up close to the cadaver she whispered into its ear: “we only have tonight my love, for tomorrow I shall have to call the doctor.”  

.........................The End