A Deadly Welcome

• Lucas Zheng, Grade 9, North Sydney Boys High School -
• Short Story
• 2022

Excellence Award in the 'Summertime Fun ONLINE' competition

The footsteps stopped in the shifting shadows of the doorway. It was a great relief; it was a temporary relief. A solitary tear trickled down from my eye, meandered down the side of my nose to hang at the edge of my mouth. It tasted bitter as it stuck in my throat with the insidiously sour smell from my breath. In an ominous shuffling of rhythm and purpose, the footsteps started again. Doom lurked in the dark - like the angel of death - in a drowsy fog of sleeping bodies, hazy nightmares and fear. Waiting, shuffling, waiting, shuffling, closer and closer still... from the mist, the shape materialised, carrying a silver tray laden with a shiny array of sharp, precision instruments.


“Welcome,” she had smiled in a cosy, grandmotherly sort of manner. I was at her house selling chocolate bars for the school fundraiser. An aromatic whiff of freshly baked pastry sauntered through the air, stimulating my curiosity and beckoning me to stay for longer. Comfortingly, her tabby cat snoozed on the windowsill, coiled in a bask of sunshine. She was a kindly, old lady. Her eyes sparkled over her ripe peach cheeks and the corners of her mouth curled up as she spoke. I had no hesitation in going in for a refreshing glass of lemonade.
It was dark inside. Dark and gloomy. Gloomy and musty. The homemade lemonade tasted strange - acidy perhaps? Gradually, my eyes got used to the dim light. I took another sip of lemonade as I waited for her to come back with the cakes. Her dog slept in front of the cold fireplace - sip - her parrot slept in its cage - sip - and I was beginning to feel a little sleepy too! Through my blurry, heavy eyes, I noticed something slightly odd about her pets. Were those stitches under the parrot’s feathers? And was the dog actually breathing? It was all becoming a little fuzzy… like a fist clenched in determination, realisation hit me - just as the footsteps returned.



…


Tenderly, lovingly, gently, the taxidermist carried the body upstairs and laid him down on the bed next to her dead husband. “Wake up George, and meet our new son”. In a low, sleepy, make-believe, man’s voice, she drawled, “Welcome”.