Short Story #27

I really do have to organise my time better. Getting this writing done at midnight is not what I had planned when I started this, but I refuse to miss a day. I am a master procrastinator – a talent that I will gladly become less proficient at in lieu of getting my writing done and completing a few projects, including a book. That will be one of my goals for next year.
 
Have you started making your new year’s resolutions or goals for next year? Do you do such things? Or have you decided that this year taught you not to bother planning at all because it’s a waste of time? Maybe not a waste of time, but you need to be extremely flexible and adaptable. I don’t really make resolutions, but I believe you can’t reach a destination if you haven’t got an idea of what it is. I need some direction. I hope you enjoy today’s story – another stepping stone to where I want to go – and have a fabulous day.


A Tangled Web
 
The last black dried up petal of what was once a dozen red roses drifted in the air onto the floor. Like shed tears their bits and pieces lay strewn on a carpet of dust.
 
The adage of “be careful what you wish for” was coming to me at that moment. I had wanted some peace and quiet, but I hadn’t expected this. People kept disturbing me with their feather dusters and the vacuum cleaner. I only wanted to be left alone a bit, not abandoned completely, but they had learned that it is a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. But it hadn’t been their first time, just their last.
 
Don’t be alarmed, but I’ve already eaten all my house guests, and with no crumbs to lure more, I’m afraid that I might die of starvation. I don’t want to move, but their prison stay could be long, and I might be left with no choice. You should never try and defraud people or the tax man, because you’ll get caught out in the end, and he isn’t a sympathetic victim.
 
I heard the men who came and attached their belongings to recover some of what was stolen and owed, that they were each given four years – the husband and wife. Now here stands an empty house with no furniture. They’d have sold the house as well if the detectives hadn’t figured out that it had been fraudulently obtained. So far their efforts haven’t turned up the legal owner.
 
I could help them with that. You see it was before I moved into the house, when I still lived in the garden. Mr and Mrs buried the real owner behind the lavender bush with the biggest silk trap I’ve ever spun in it. If the police find that out, then they’re never coming back.
 
Before I go and find a new home, I think I’ll leave the next visitor a few invisible threads to walk into. Oh how I’d love to be here to hear them shrieking, wondering if it is just my web sticking to them or if my hairy legs are about to crawl on their goosebumps.

by Debbie Gravett © 2020.12.21

Image by Couleur from Pixabay

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