Nursery Crimes

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic


Inspired by 'Goosey, Goosey, Gander'.

Chapter 17 (v.1) - Just Like A Bad Penny

Submitted: April 15, 2018

Reads: 187

Comments: 5

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 15, 2018

A A A

A A A

Goosey, goosey, gander,

Whither shall I wander?

Upstairs and downstairs,

And in my lady’s chamber.

 

There I met an old man

who would not say his prayers!

I took him by the left leg

And threw him down the stairs.

 

Just Like A Bad Penny.

My Mom used to say that a bad penny, one that was too damaged to spend would keep turning up. She told me that that was where the saying came from. I don’t agree. I think the bad penny is my ‘Uncle Frank’, the man who tried, and failed, to become my step-father.

My Mom saw through him, saw what a domineering, money-grabbing person he really was, and when he proposed to her, she not only turned him down but told him she never wanted to see him again. Boy, was I relieved to see the back of him.

Problem was, it didn’t quite work out that way. Every so often he’d be there when I got home, just like he sensed that if I’d opened the door it would have been closed in his face. She would let him in and he would wheedle his way into getting ‘something’; either money or some sort of gratification I was not even prepared to contemplate.

Just the sight of him made me feel sick, and being stuck in the same house was almost more than I could take. But saying that, if he was there, I’d make sure that I stayed until he left and then bolt the door loudly behind him.

Things carried on in much the same vein for a while until suddenly he stopped calling. Days turned in to weeks, weeks became months until more than a year had passed without a single sighting of him. We both began to relax and I guess that was our big mistake.

I let myself in and at first the house seemed too quiet. I walked in to the kitchen and there were two coffee cups on the side, waiting to be washed up. Mom must have gone round with June, our neighbour, for something or other.

That is what I had thought until I heard the thump from upstairs. And was that....sobbing? I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps Mom had dropped something. I’d go upstairs, see if she needed help; but some instinct made me do it sneakily, silently. I did not make one bit of noise until I was right outside her bedroom door.

There was something that felt so wrong about loitering there, listening. I began to feel a mixture of shame and embarrassment until I heard His voice. “Just get it! Why do you have to make things so hard.”

Gripping the door handle and shoving against the door with my shoulder simultaneously made the door spring open, catching them both unawares. Mom was by her dresser, fumbling with the key to the small drawer she always kept locked. This, I knew, was where she kept the small amount of jewellery that she owned. One the side of her face was a deep red mark, already turning to a deep purple shade.

I’d grown a lot over the last year while Frank had clearly let himself go. He didn’t stand a chance when I launched myself straight at him. I thumped and hit and when he hit the floor, I dragged him by his left leg and tossed him down the stairs.

Did I kill him? No, I shoved him outside the door with warnings that I would, should he ever return. That was a month ago and there has been no sign yet. This time I’ve learned my lesson; I won’t be letting down my guard again.



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