Who's doing the dishes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Friday the 13th, what a perfect day to come back from the dead.

Submitted: May 13, 2016

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Submitted: May 13, 2016



Cathy put down the shopping and groaned.


She'd asked her son to do the washing up and he'd gone out without even making a dent in the pile of greasy plates and cups of half drunk coffee and juice.


After she had loaded the freezer with his favourite pizzas and fries she then got on with the task, after all, there was no one else there to do it.

Drew's dad had walked out a long time ago and she, in her wisdom had put all her energy into bringing up her 'little prince'.


Only now he was a six foot metal head who played guitar in a grunge band and brought his friends home, along with a few females who, as nice as they were, she never saw again.

'I'd love him to settle down with a respectable girl and get a 'proper' job' she'd said often enough to her work colleagues. With enough emphasis on the word proper to tell anyone within earshot that she didn't like the group he hung out with and hoped that his fascination with this type of music would fade.


But first things first.


The hunt for the missing crockery.


Cups, plates, any number of dishes were scattered around the house. They never used cutlery, that was always left in the drawer like some disease ridden instrument. No, when that gang arrived it was all hands and maybe a guitar plectrum to fish out the guacamole at the bottom of the bowl.


It wasn't that he was a bad son, he just had no direction, he needed a father figure and she blamed herself for his dad leaving and the fact that she'd never brought anyone else into their relationship.


'Maybe if I'd dated and introduced him to other men he would have had a good role model, someone to look up to' she thought as she filled a bowl with hot soapy water. The dishwasher had broken many months ago and although Drew had promised to fix it, his friend Ben had even offered but when Drew found out he chased him thinking he was hitting on his mother.

She chuckled to herself over that, they'd grown up together and she knew his mum, that would be something for the neighbours to talk about.


Cups first then the cutlery, which there wasn't much of, and then the plates and dishes.


Cathy stared out of the window as she got on with the job, she remembered the times Drew had played in the garden and he and Ben had camped out overnight. The local cats had kept them awake half the night and they went straight to their beds when morning came. It's funny how now he stays up all night with his band, yes those cats were to blame.


A sudden breeze swept past as she turned to pick up a tea towel.


'Drew, are you there?' she shouted, 'you are in big trouble young man'


Putting her head around the lounge door she looked for his leather jacket but it wasn't there, she had frowned over that jacket so much she blamed him for the lines on her forehead. Apparently it had belonged to a biker who'd died in a shoot out, so said the man in the thrift shop but she knew they always had to embellish goods for a sale and yes it did look quite scary especially the skull on the back with the dagger through it. Grandma did not approve.


Putting away the last of the crockery she knew she'd be doing this again very soon and her heart sank, but she also smiled, she liked the company even though she berated the boys for putting their feet on her coffee table and dropping popcorn down the back of the sofa.


Sitting down at the kitchen table she felt light headed, dizziness took over and she slumped onto the wooden work surface. She must have been out for quite a while because when she opened her eyes there were plates in the sink and cups on the worktops, how had she slept through this? Pizza boxes piled high on the table in front of her and there it was, his jacket slung across the chair.


Cathy got up to walk into the lounge to give them a piece of her mind but then she stopped

And remembered.


Holding the jacket close to her chest she thought about that night the police had brought it home to her, empty.

She put her fingers on the pizza box and smiled.


'You still keep me busy don't you my little prince,even when your dead'


© Copyright 2018 Charlie J Gibbs. All rights reserved.

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