Micro-fiction: Just In Time For Supper
A very British tasty 600 word dark comedy horror
Hiya! It’s time for your weekly taste of horror, which today comes served with milk and sugar.
Also, hang around after the story, because I’ve a link to an interview you might enjoy, too.
I hope you’re feeling thirsty (no, not that kind of ‘thirsty’) because I’ve brewed a dark comedy this week, so bring your favourite mug and settle in for the story:
Just In Time For Supper
Would you like another a cup of tea, dear?
Now, now, don’t slouch. Back when I was young, they’d smack your bottom if you didn’t sit up straight.
And there’s no reason to wiggle about like that, either, jittering all over the place. ‘Sit up, sit still, and mind your manners’, that’s what we were told, and if we didn’t listen the first time we’d be told the second time with a cane. Didn’t do me any harm, once I’d learnt.
Would you like a biscuit? I’ve put some Digestives out, but I’ll open the Hob-Nobs if you fancy, as a treat. Deirdre is coming over for supper and she likes a Hob-Nob or three—greedy guzzler, she is—so it’ll do no harm to have two packs on the go.
What was I saying? Oh yes. This is the problem these days. Back then, people weren’t afraid of using a bit of pain when it was necessary. It made the words stick, didn’t it? Now everyone is too coddled, everything is soft.
Did they read you Goldilocks when you were little? I bet they did. A wayward child sneaks into a house, tries everything, makes a mess, and gets to run away with no punishment, only a promise that she’ll be better, less curious, more obedient. It’s codswallop. No child learns like that.
Anyway.
It’s nice you came to visit. I’ve not had a visitor since Mary from the 8th floor helped me with my groceries. Did you know her? You must have seen her photo on the posters. Big lady, but strong. Not just a lump hauling herself around, she was powerful. Lots of muscle in her. I saw on the Facebook that she taught Yoga. She was nice.
She was like my Benny. He was a policeman, and big man most of his life, stout, but not so much towards the end when…
I dropped my bags on the way back from the shops, right as I was passing Mary’s door. Everything is so expensive these days and the pennies just don’t stretch. I can’t afford to let anything go to waste. Potatoes, a loaf, a few onions, cabbage, the daytime pills and the night time ones to make me sleep through the pain, everything falling everywhere—I dropped them all over, and Mary helped me carry it them up here. She enjoyed my tea.
You really should have that other cup of tea. I’ll pop the kettle on.
Where was I? I mentioned Benny, didn’t I? The pension wasn’t going far, and that winter fuel money didn’t do the trick. As kids, we made-do with what we had, and we made-do until the end. I think he passed from the cold.
He always said, ‘waste not want not’, so I didn’t let him go to waste, not a scrap.
It’s funny you know. I still hear him, now he’s inside me, rattling around in there. He helps me get by, gives me ideas. He told me to drop my bag by Mary’s door. He’s a funny one, my Benny. Mary’s in here too, but she only weeps. After Benny was done, Mary kept the freezer full for a long time, but nothing lasts forever, so it’s good you’ve come when you did.
I’m going to have to insist on that cup of tea. It’ll calm you down, I promise. You’ll just have a nice sleep.
Stop wriggling. Mary couldn’t get out of those cuffs and neither will you.
You’re only making this worse for yourself. I don’t want you jiggling around when I start cutting. The arthritis in my knuckles is playing silly buggers, so why don’t you just do what you’re told? I can’t sit around chatting all day. Have the tea.
I told you Deirdre’s coming tonight, didn’t I? She’s as impatient as she is hungry, so drink up or you’ll make supper late.
The end
When the government cuts back on the benefits that keep people alive, maybe some people start their own kind of cutting too.
If you enjoyed that, and want to hear more about writing horror, this week I had the honour of being the second ever guest to be interviewed by the newly-formed UK chapter of the Horror Writers’ Association. The lovely Newton Webb and I chatted about horror, writing, and much more for 90 minutes. If you fancy watching/listening, then you can find it all here:
Okay, the teapot is empty so that’s all for this week. See you next time for more scary shenanigans.
Before you go, please click the ‘like’ heart or leave a comment if you enjoyed this story, or share this to help me reach new readers. The more, the gloomier!
I hope you have the best week you can. Go be kind and spooky,
Mata
xxx
Great little story. "Awww... that poor old lady... she's just trying to get by and... oh... I see..." 🫣
Awesome interview by the way, Mata - some really interesting background, and nice to hear someone else finding inspiration in a "system"! I only recently came across Save The Cat (Writes A Novel), but very quickly found it to throw a whole new light on writing that I'd always purposely avoided (for no good reason).