Monday, February 16, 2009

extremely short fiction


It wasn’t until Denny was approximately three steps from the front door that he noticed it was pried open, the strike plate bent and dented, presumably with a screwdriver or other such tool, and slices of splintered wood hung in hearty chunks from the cracked doorway, some of the splinters dangling like paper from a hurriedly unwrapped birthday present.

The light from the front hallway spilled out onto the front porch and well manicured front lawn like artificial moonlight, and Denny froze in mid-step at the realization that someone violated his home. His stomach knotted up, and he slowly stepped backward to his car to look for some type of sharp or heavy object. Although he’d never been in a fight or any type of physical altercation in his life, just holding something would keep his hands from shaking so much.

Now the pieces fell into place like an ugly puzzle: he stayed at work later than usual, as a sort of test to validate his suspicions about his wife’s whereabouts. She had not answered her phone all evening, and her car was not in the driveway, despite the fact that it was 10 p.m.

The anger over possible marital infidelity, however, was overshadowed by the fact that someone forced entry into his house.

On his second walk to the front door, this one taken with much more trepidation than previously, Denny wonders where his dogs are and why they aren’t barking, as they typically do as soon as he pulls into the driveway. And as he gently pushes open the door, it’s quiet save for the sound of footsteps upstairs.


-chris miller

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