Flash Fiction, Man of Mystery.

Here is the flash fiction. It’s a piece I wrote for a competition a while ago, it features in my short story collection, inspiringly called Flash Fiction, which has just received this review,

The challenge for this piece was to write an introduction to a mystery, in less than 1000 words. I can’t remember where the competition was from but this was my attempt. It wasn’t short-listed, which was a shame. But it means I can use it when I can’t think of what else to post.

Man of Mystery.

The plastic bag lay on the bed where it had fallen from the package. This was it; the final piece of the plan had arrived. I was ready to begin.
I looked around the bedroom; it was a wreck, the doors had been ripped off the wardrobe and hung by the bottom hinges, the drawers were all tipped on the floor, contents strewn. The bed was unmade; quilt heaped. The heavy curtains were making the room dark; the window faced east and the room was normally filled with morning light. Not today.
It had taken me a while to achieve the look of a robbery and I had enjoyed every minute of it. I felt like I was starting to get my power back, that I was no longer at the bottom, a victim of events.

I picked up the bag; it was cool to the touch, a faint sweat on it from the ice-filled poly-box it had arrived in, the box now in the back of my car.

Red Blood Cells, it proclaimed in large letters; O Rh Positive, with a barcode. The contents felt thick and glutinous as they moved around under my fingers. It was my blood in there, taken a week ago at a special session. That was important. There were two tubes leading from the bag, one with a small tap arrangement. Taking a last look at the bedroom I opened it and squirted about half of the blood onto the bed, making a large irregular stain.

It’s true what they say, a little blood makes a lot of mess, the dark red liquid pooled on the bedding and sank into the mattress. Moving backwards I let the blood drip from the tube in a rough line toward the door. Moving quickly I dripped and splashed blood all the way down the stairs and to the front door.

As I passed each room along the stone hallway I saw that they had all been ransacked, I grinned, that had been more enjoyment, a primaeval feeling of exultation in destruction, part of all of us. Even though it was my stuff; my memories, I had really let myself go. There were no neighbours to hear and I had made a lot of noise.

By the time I had backed out of the porch and onto the gravel, there was a little liquid left in the bag. I squeezed the last of it out and took the bag to my car, putting it into the poly-box in the trunk.

Now I just had to finish up setting the scene.

I went back upstairs and into the bedroom. I grabbed a towel from the en-suite bathroom and making sure I stood in the blood splashes I roughly wiped the blood on the floor. Now it looked like a body had been dragged from the bed and bumped down the stairs. There was even the odd bloody footprint and I made sure that some smears made it onto the walls. It took a few minutes and the blood was starting to congeal by the time I had made it to the front door.

Back outside I pulled off my shoes, the ones with the distinctive tread and bagged them next to the poly-box. There were a pair of trainers on the back seat and I hopped around while I put them on, gravel stuck to one sock and made me wince when I put weight on the foot, I sorted that out and took a last look around.

My home for the past year looked serene in the early morning light, the door was ajar and the trail of red led inside. I glimpsed my face in the mirror as I settled into the driving seat, I was smiling, part one had been completed; I was dead and horribly so. Now I just had to dispose of a few things and part two could begin. I started the engine and drove away.

© richarddee 2016


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