The Empty House

The emptiness of the house ran through its pipes. Every time he turned on a tap it burst out fast and furious, like a bull released into the ring. Once, he’d left the bath running whilst he answered the phone. Minutes later he’d felt the emptiness lapping angrily about his ankles and by the time he’d managed to switch off the taps it was up to his knees. It’d taken days to get the house back to normal. He’d left all the doors and windows open for weeks but the emptiness refused to go, clinging to the walls and carpets like stale dogs’ piss. He didn’t dare invite anyone round until he’d had the place professionally cleaned. Especially not the children, they were too perceptive. No matter how much air-freshener he used, they’d detect the emptiness within minutes and then it would be one-way ticket to Saint Anne’s nursing home.

The emptiness was loudest at nights. It took him ages to get to sleep, its thick distressed gurgles ringing incessantly in his ears. At first he’d thought it was tinnitus, but after a while he’d noticed how the sound got louder the closer he was to a wall, a radiator, a pipe. He’d taken to keeping the central heating off, even in winter. The emptiness was intolerable when it was hot, its fiery whips lashed against his flesh until it bled. One night his neighbour came home to find him lying naked in the snow outside his front door.

Everyone had told him he should move after she died, that the house they’d shared for so many years would feel too empty without her. But that was nearly ten years ago. There was no point moving now, it wouldn’t make any difference. The emptiness had started running through his veins.

The Reasons Why

The reasons why she’d left him were numerous and varied. Some were large, noticeable and inexcusable, like the punctuation of the sign for FISH'N CHIPS’ she had to pass on her way to the station each morning. One day she would have to go in and tell them to change it, for it was a daily reminder of the ignorance of the kind of people she was forced to live amongst. Such literary carelessness would never happen in Hampstead, but of course they'd had to leave there because of his job. Oh yes, his job - one of the more large, noticeable and inexcusable reasons why she’d left him. Along with his gambling habits, his life-long affair with the brandy bottle and his on-off affair with a certain large and noticeable blonde, who probably had difficulty spelling her own name.

The other half of the reasons why she’d left him were smaller, more discreet. Take his selfishness in bed for a start; he’d refused to try anything for his snoring, said it was a natural bodily function and he wasn’t willing to have it interfered with. Then there was his tea-making – not only did he put the milk in first, but he left the teaspoon in his cup so long that all their teaspoons were either bent, stained a hideous copper-brown or most often both. And why oh why did have to suddenly stop still every time he wanted to say something when they were walking down the street, even if it was raining? Surely even men could walk and talk at the same time? For anybody else these reasons mightn’t seem like feasible ones to want to leave someone over, but after seventeen years these originally minor annoyances had become as conspicuous and unbearable as a misplaced apostrophe.

STARS

She didn't believe in all that star-sign airy-fairy malarky. But she’d read her magazine cover to cover bar the stars and she still had ten minutes of her journey left to kill.  It was better than nothing. ‘Beware of something red, it could change your life’. Something red. Red. The bus? Not prepared to take any chances, she got off at the next stop and walked the rest of the way to work.

 Now that she was late she decided to take the lift up to her floor. Even though she worked on the seventh floor she never took the lift, not after seeing that film where all those people get trapped and…hold on, why had the lift suddenly stopped? She looked at the buttons. The number seven was no longer lit. She pushed it again. Nothing. Number 6. Nothing. Any button, any floor, just to get it moving. Nothing. There was only one button left to try.  She was about to push it but a sudden thought froze her finger mid-air. The emergency button was red. Images from the film flashed through her mind - the caged-in people, a sudden almighty jolt, a flash of white light, then the lift hurtling downwards into darkness.

But why on earth didn't you push the emergency button? Her boss had been furious, couldn't understand why she had stayed in the lift all morning without raising the alarm. Time-wasting, deliberate skiving, that’s what he’d called it. She’d felt too much of a fool to explain. Anyway it wouldn’t have mattered, it was just the excuse he’d needed. Someone had to go, the Credit Crunch had spoken.  How could she have been so stupid? She wished she’d never read her bloody stars. Read her stars. Of course, that was it, her stars…something read.