One paragraph story... August 13 edition

Three nights in a row Shamus had awoken to find his big toe sopping wet. Originally he had been sleeping he originally thought he had kicked the blankets off and one of his feet hung over the edge of the bed and someone, or something thing was wetting down his toe. On the first day he thought it must have been a leak and Shamus had climbed to the roof looking for a hole, even went through the attic looking for any animals that might have roosted in there. But he found nothing. His wife Rene had told him he was being paranoid, which he then laid out the facts being the night before he had a dry toe, and today he had a wet toe and no manner of paranoia could change the black and whiteness of the matter. She had laughed off his word play, and when he pointed out the glisten of wet on his toe on Day two she did not laugh again. They both had then gone over the roof, and then both climbed through the attic, and then both looked under the bed and in the closet, just in case. The second night Shamus had tucked all the blankets in as tight as they could go, and slipped in the duvet burrito. With barely enough space to take in a full breath he had slept, only to wake to the blankets off, and the big toe of his right foot wet, yet again. That time they called a priest, and had him perform an exorcism of the bed and the room. The holy water soaked the the bed, and the floor; rosaries were placed on the wall by the door, and a cross above their bed. And that night Shamus and Rene prayed, then double checked the window was locked. They had locked the bedroom door, and leaned a chair against the closet. Shamus wore two socks, and Rene was under the sheets, and then also inside a sleeping bag zipped all the way to her chin. That last morning the closet door was broken, particle board was laying on the floor and even on the bed, but Shamus’ toe was dry as a bone. After they changed from their bed clothes to day clothes Shamus grabbed a flashlight and shone it inside the closet. All their clean clothes were torn up, there was blood on Rene’s shoes, and on the back wall was a hole as big as a great dane. Shamus leaned on the edge of the hole and poked the flashlight through the darkness, and just as fast pulled his head back, took his wife by the hand, and walked to their Fiat with a steady, and deliberate pace. Rene inquiring the whole of the way as to what Shamus might have seen. He would not speak until they reached a Real Estate agent where he put the home up for sale, handed the keys to the woman, and drove them both back to Winnipeg where they planned to live out the rest of their lives.

James C.