VERY STRANGE BUT VERY SHORT STORIES #3

A Meeting On The Hallway

Hiya. This one isn’t as gruesome as the previous couple, but I think that’s good. It’s not just the fear of horrendous mutilation that scares me, sometimes there are more nuanced things, too. It’s called range, ok? I don’t know if this one will make you feel the same way I feel about it, as it might be slightly too personal to resonate, but as I wrote it I felt a real tightness in my chest. Enjoy!

A Meeting On The Hallway

Tash awoke at four am, and made her way onto the hallway to greet her dad Martin, and brother Ben. This was the third time this week they had all, at the exact same time, awoken dead on four in the morning. There was an ill-ease in the late night air, or was it more like early morning air? Tash wasn’t sure exactly, but she knew something wasn’t right with it. Ben made a joke about it happening again, but Tash couldn’t bring herself to feign laughter. She was frightened - and she hadn’t been frightened like this since she was a small child. 

Dad decided he was going to do something about it. Get to the bottom of why they were all waking up. He was going to set up a light on a motion sensor. A camera too, if he could fish it out of the loft. 

Tash had told the councilor at her University about the strange event, but Jill - a short, kind faced, bead-wearing woman in her late forties - had told her that sometimes families lock into sync when they’ve been through a traumatic event together. She said grief can really mess with your head. 

It had only been four days since Tash’s mother passed away - right there in the living room. It wasn’t a peaceful end, as such. There were more paramedics than she thought there’d be when the time came - pulling attempting to resuscitate and fussing over her. Tash hid on the stairs, unable to watch anymore, before eventually someone came and got her - asking if she’d like to say goodbye. Mum was already long gone by the time she got to say it - laying flat in her reclining chair. The paramedics had covered her with a blanket. 

That night, Tash and Ben watched as Dad set up his sensor activated light in the hallway. He explained that the bulb was red, so if it went off it’d be easier to notice. His camcorder, which he hadn’t used since their ill-fated attempt at one last family holiday two years ago, was set up on a tripod by the stairs. With it all in place, the three said their goodnights and went to bed. 

It took Tash longer than usual to drift off to sleep. She kept looking at the base of her door, waiting for the red light to turn on, but she never saw it happen. She fell asleep at about midnight - listening to an argument on talk radio about the economy. 

The family didn’t greet one another until about ten am the next morning - as for the first time in four nights they had all slept through without issue. As Tash entered the lounge with a bowl of Cheerios and a tea, Dad sat on the floor in front of the television - attempting to find the right AV channel for the camcorder. Ben sat on the sofa looking at his phone. To the side of the sofa was Mum’s chair. Empty, and unplugged. 

As Tash sat down next to Ben, the contents of the camcorder’s internal memory popped onto the television - displaying a zoomed out shot of the small hallway outside their rooms. It wasn’t the straightest angle, but it was good enough. Dad began fast forwarding the tape, as it was clear enough that nothing was happening - just a stationary shot of the hallway for hours and hours. Tash began eating her Cheerios and nudged Ben. He didn’t look up, and as Tash glanced down at his phone, expecting to see some sort of meme or video of a man falling off of a shed roof, instead she noticed him scrolling through photos of Mum. In the pictures she was sitting in her chair, smiling. Surrounded by her family. 

A flash of red caught Tash’s eye and her head sprang up to see the TV. Dad jumped up from the carpet and stopped fast forwarding. Tash put down her bowl. The family watched. 

On the tape, each time the red light triggered - the zoom on the camera either jerked in, or out. It only happened a handful of times over the period of an hour, but each time it did - it felt somehow intentional. Tash gripped the sofa. She wasn’t scared this time, she was enthralled. She was excited. This was something. Not grief. Not a shared delusion. 

Ben started to cry. Tash tried to comfort him, but he pulled away from her and ran into the kitchen. Tash thought about going after him, but she had to see what else was on the tape. She had to see what happened next. Dad was whispering something, but Tash couldn’t quite make it out. His voice was too shaky. 

And then - both of them - saw it. 

A mouse. A mouse poked its blurry head down in front of the lens. It had been sitting atop the camera, no doubt moving the zoom with its feet or nose. Tash exhaled. She felt stupid. Dad said they were bloody good sensors, them. 

Tash picked up her tea and made her way into the kitchen to see if Ben was alright. He was sitting on the floor - with his head between his hands, sobbing. Tash had never seen him so inconsolable. She rubbed his back and assured him it was alright. It was just a mouse. 

What are you talking about? He sobbed, almost hyperventilating. 

Tash explained what she and Dad had seen on the tape. Just a mouse - nothing more. Ben looked up at her, pale and sobbing. 

Not on the tape. The chair. It was sitting in Mum’s chair.