Witching Hour: Eye of the Mind (A Short Story): Witching Hour

By Wilson E. Clark

Seeing a big, red handlebar mustache every now and then isn't unusual, but three in one day, especially when one belongs to a woman? Now something strange is going on! Couple that with a hoard of rats invading your apartment and you've got a real problem on your hands. To add insult to injury, finding out that you are the root cause of all this could really ruin your day!

 

From alien encounters to otherworldly excursions, Witching Hour is a series of stories about the weirdness lurking just beneath the surface of everyday life.

 

This story is also available in the novella Witching Hour: Volume 2.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Griffington House
• Release date: Sep 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215765784

Wilson E. Clark

Wilson E. Clark lives in the Pacific Northwest and enjoys writing fiction and collecting vintage movie posters. If you finish one of his stories with a smile on your face, then he has done his job.

Book preview

1

Where the heck is the jelly? I shouted, pulling open the refrigerator door and glancing around at the shelves, wondering why objects always disappeared when one was in a hurry.  After several scans, I clenched my fists and growled before doing one last search.  There you are, sucker, I said in triumph as the bottle materialized between a jar of relish and a tub of margarine.

Grabbing the bottle, I hurried over to the kitchen counter and finished making the half-built sandwich.  After a few seconds I stole a glance at the microwave clock.  Crap!  8:04 A.M. and I was supposed to be at work in less than twenty minutes.

Morning, my girlfriend, Melissa, muttered upon entering the kitchen in a white bathrobe embroidered with stitched patterns down the sides.

Hey, I replied, stuffing the sandwich into a plastic bag.  I’m running late.  Can you clean up after me?

Sure, Melissa said, opening the refrigerator to grab a bottle of orange juice.  Oh, by the way, your mom called again, wondering when we were planning to visit.  She sounds pretty insistent.

Mom usually does, I said, hurrying out of the kitchen.  I'll call her back later this week and we'll figure something out.  On my way to the front hallway, I glanced over at the glass patio door in the living room and stopped to stare.

You don’t have time for this garbage, I thought, but a nagging thought tugged at the back of my mind, and I knew I wouldn’t feel right for the rest of the day unless I checked the door.  Hurrying over, I pulled open the curtains, grabbed the handle and pushed hard against the latch once, twice, three times, four times, five...

It’s locked, Gavin, Melissa said, putting her hands on my shoulders from behind.  Trust me, it’s locked.  The rat won’t get in, I guarantee you.

I know, I said, continuing to push the door several more times until the creaking frame warned me to stop, "but the rat I saw wandering through the yard the other day freaks me out.