Under The Rug

• Mathias Gebauer, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2009

In a small suburban town, lived a man. Neither old nor young. No one knew much about him, just that he lived alone. Some said he used to have a wife, but then one day she disappeared.
At the store he met a strange man with an overgrown beard who wore old dirty clothes and reeked of alcohol. He tried to ignore him, but he kept following, chanting loudly. He sped up his walking pace racing home hoping the hobo would stop to catch his breath. Finally the hobo stopped, coughing up all the cigarette smoke from his lungs.
Soon hunger came to his stomach, and he got up to go to the refrigerator. There in front of him was a big lump in the rug; someone or something was underneath the rug. It was wriggling like a slowly dying fish on dry land. Dropping his tea he ran to the locked metal cabinet. He loaded two rounds into the barrel of his shotgun. Not stopping to shut the cabinet he squatted in the corner, listening to the pulse of his heart and his heavy breath. The sound that was coming from the living room was slowly getting louder. Then suddenly nothing, everything had gone quiet. The room went dark, all the lights went out. As the night went on he slowly dosed off to sleep.
Waking with a jolt, the sun poured in through the windows. Edging around the corners aiming the shotgun at the ground he made his way towards the living room. Prepared for what ever could happen, he was amazed to see that the lump had gone.
Quickly he left to find the hobo but he was nowhere in sight. He resumed his everyday activities being very cautious in case the thing might come back. Two weeks had passed when he came across the hobo again.
“I WARNED YOU!” said the hobo, pointing at him staring him in the eye. “I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen.
“What am I supposed to do? What was that thing? ” he said.
“That will all be revealed tonight, be cautious, it’s not safe!” The hobo started chanting some strange words and making funny gestures and symbols. Suddenly there was a loud rumble of thunder. He looked up at the big dark heavy rain clouds and looked back at the hobo, but he had gone.
When he got home he grabbed his shotgun, piled the rest of the ammunition into another bag and barricaded the door with his bed. There he kneeled, waiting for the thing to appear, and when it did he would be ready.
When it got dark, a slight glow was coming from the living room. The noise was horrible; it was like an alligator chewing on a live puppy whimpering for help. He moved the bed a little so he could get a better view. His body was tremulous. Slowly walking forwards he aimed his shotgun, in preparation for it to explode. As he lifted the rug a foul smelling stench come up and hit him right in the face. There was the body of his dead wife. All covered in bacteria and fungus, her body so wrinkly she looked like a dried up old sea sponge. “I’ve been waiting!”