Walter wakes up with Martha shaking him. “Honey, somebody’s pounding on the front door.”
Thump thump thump.
Walter slips out of bed and pulls his robe on over his pajamas. As he walks down the hall, he pauses to make sure the door to the spare room is closed securely.
Thump thump thump.
Walter turns on the porch light, looks through the peephole and sees a man in a green jacket with his hand to his face.
Thump thump thump. “Help! There’s been an accident. Something’s in my eyes. I have to flush it out. Please.” Thump thump thump.
Walter hesitates then twists the lock and slowly opens the door. The man in the green jacket lunges in, pulling on a ski mask, then closes and re-locks the door behind him. “Sucker.” The man puts a hand in his coat pocket and seems to be pointing a gun. “You get out here, too, old lady,” he yells.
“No one’s here but me.”
The man slaps Walter with the back of his hand, nearly knocking the old man over. “I’ve been watching. Now tell her to get out here.” The man puts his hand back in his coat pocket.
“Martha, lock the bedroom door!” Walter shouts. The man is about to slap him again when Martha walks into the foyer.
“You’re smart, granny” the man says, pulling several lengths of rope out of his other pocket.
*
“Ow, Walter, that’s too tight. It’s hurting my wrists.” Martha sits in a kitchen chair as Walter ties her up.
“Sorry, Honey.”
“Now you.” The man motions for Walter to sit then ties his hands and legs to the chair. When he’s finished, he unzips his jacket. “Don’t you know it’s July?”
“We keep it warm for—”
“For the air conditioning bill,” Martha continues. “Try making ends meet on a fixed income.”
“Oh, cry me a song, old woman. You think I give—”
“Cry me a river,” Walter says.
“What?”
“You said ‘cry me a song.’ The saying is ‘cry me a river.’ After the song.”
The man smashes his fist to the kitchen table. “Both of you shut up. Now where’s your purse, old lady … and your wallet, gramps.”
Walter and Martha remain quiet.
“You hear me?” the man screams, then seems to catch himself and whispers the same words as if repeating them quietly will undo the shout.
“You told us to shut up,” Walter says.
Martha presses her lips together.
“Keep it up, and somebody’s gonna get hurt.” The man puts his face to Martha’s and slithers his tongue in and out of the mouth hole in his mask. “You’re not too bad for an old lady.” Martha twists her head away and sobs.
“In the bedroom on the dresser,” Walter says quickly.
*
The man drops Walter’s wallet and empties Martha’s purse on the kitchen table. He jangles a set of keys and goes out the kitchen door into the garage.
“There’s a weird cage out there,” he says when he comes back. “You got a dog?” He looks around nervously.
“No dog,” Walter says. “It’s a rabbit hutch. We—”
“Pet rabbits,” Martha interjects quickly. “But they all … died.”
“Crazy old coots.” The man tosses the keys back onto the table. “That Ford must be 20 years old. Not even worth stealing.”
“You try living on a fixed—”
“God, get me out of here.” The man takes a bank card from Walter’s wallet and also from Martha’s purse. “What’s the auto-teller PIN?” Walter starts to speak. “Wait a minute,” the man says and rummages through the kitchen drawers till he finds a pencil and paper. Walter starts to speak again. “Wait a minute,” the man says and puts his fist under Walter’s chin. “You better give me the real PIN.”
“Scout’s honor,” Walter says.
The man looks at Walter, then Martha. “OK, here’s what we’re going to do: When I say ‘go,’ you each say the PIN. And you’d better say the same number. Ready … set … go!”
“Four, four, one, zero,” they both say, but Martha says each number an instant after Walter does.
The man looks at them both. “Say it again quick!”
Martha and Walter remain quiet.
“Did you hear me?”
“I didn’t hear ‘go,’” Martha says.
Walter nods.
“Lord, take me,” the man says. “Frickin’ ready, set, go.”
Martha and Walter recite the numbers simultaneously this time.
“That better be right. You don’t want me to come back here.” He looks at Martha and snakes out his tongue again. “Now, before I leave, where’s your jewelry, grandma? Old ladies always have jewelry.”
Martha bursts into tears. “It’s in the spare bedroom. Just take it all. Please, just go and leave us alone.”
The man goes down the hallway. There’s the sound of the spare room door squeaking open followed by a scream being choked off. There are several thumps then silence.
Martha slips her hands out of the rope. “Ow, Walter, that’s too tight! You’re hurting me!” she laughs.
“You were always the best actress in community theater,” Walter says as Martha unties her legs then frees him. “And the prettiest, too.” He kisses her cheek.
The two creep down the hallway and peek into the spare bedroom.
“Ugh,” Walter says.
“The stuff of nightmares,” Martha says, pulling the door closed.
*
Walter and Martha are sipping their morning coffee when Becky lets herself in. “Hi, Mom, Dad.” She holds up a gunny sack full of squeaks, kicks, and squirms. “Got your rabbits. A couple of breeders and three ready to go.” Becky heads for the spare bedroom. “I’ll give one to Ana. She in her cage?”
Martha stands quickly and takes the sack. “Oh, she got out again, Sweetie. She gets so restless when she sheds. Anyway let’s put these in the garage. I don’t think Ana’s going to be hungry for awhile.”
#
author bio:
David Henson and his wife have lived in Belgium and Hong Kong over the years and now are retired and reside in Peoria, Illinois. His work has appeared in various journals including Gravel, Literally Stories, Bewildering Stories, Dime Show Review, Flash Fiction Magazine, Fiction on the Web, The Fiction Pool, The Eunoia Review, and Fictive Dream. His website is http://writings217.