More by Janna Hill & Joe Hill

Author:Janna Hill & Joe Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: anthologies, short fiction, short movies, horror, mystery, afterlife
Publisher: J Hill Ink
Published: 2017-08-05T00:00:00+00:00

They Always Come on Sunday

There are seven days in a week, four weeks in a month and fifty two weeks in a year. Seven times fifty two equals three hundred sixty four. That doesn’t add up and there are five Mondays... and Tuesdays... and an extra Wednesday? I don’t understand – those are the most boring days available. Nonetheless I will scribble something; things have gotten so hectic I have taken to writing everything down.

I personally prefer Sundays. Fridays were never that exciting and Saturdays are just too busy. With the shopping and laundry and the endless play dates all I have to look forward to are Sundays. Some believe it is the last day of the week but according to my ledger it is the first.

I suppose I have always looked forward to Sundays, especially Sunday dinner. My grandmother was an excellent cook and she would rise early to prepare a lavish banquet fit for a wedding.

As I recall it was after a delicious meal of chicken casserole, fresh cut green beans and scalloped potatoes that Edward Fry asked me to marry him. Edward’s father owned half of Cherokee county along with the mill and the lumberyard. Grandmother was thrilled by the proposal and credited her Italian Cream cake as the irresistible bait. My memory fails me as to why we argued later and she refused to give me the recipe. Whatever it was it didn’t hamper my love of Sundays.

Friends and family would always stop by after church or after fishing. People honor the Sabbath in different ways; I reckon one is as restful as the other. They knew me and I knew everyone in the community.

That is not the case now. People visit but it's not the same. I hardly know these visitors. I have seen a few of them before but I haven’t a clue to what their names are and I am a bit suspicious of their intentions. They are just faces, acquaintances, people I presumably know though I do not recall precisely how we met.

A few of the faces gathering are not familiar at all. They smile and let on like they know me personally; like we've shared more than a cordial conversation or a hot cup of coffee. I find their behavior to be crass and much too assuming. They try too hard; with all of their grinning and nodding and batting their bloodshot eyes at me. It’s a ploy to seem sincere. They impose and pester me with niceties and the constant can I get you something as if this was the wake of a dead man and I was the widow.

Darrell (that's what he calls himself) sits down beside me and pats me on the leg. When he's not touching me he's cooing and awing like I'm a goddamn baby. I try not to speak to him because it only encourages his vulgar behavior. He must be a hundred years old. The flesh beneath his eyes hangs in folds of blue and purple.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.