Short Story: Fragility Part 1

It’s been a while since I’ve shared a story, and although my favorite things to write are psychological thrillers and horror stories, I don’t have a lot of those types of pieces that are short.

I have a short psychological thriller that I wrote 8 years ago. Although my writing has grown quite a bit from this point, this story has a special place in my heart because it’s the story that made me realize that my genres are psychological thrillers and horror. I always wanted to find a place for it, but have left it quietly in a folder for years, untouched.

Here’s a short psychological thriller I’ve broken into six parts to make it more manageable. I’ll post one section per day. I hope you enjoy the series.

A loud clap of thunder rumbled throughout the apartment. Wind whistled through the partially open window, letting in the night air and the light scent of the impending rainstorm. The sky finally broke. Huge drops pelted onto the rooftop, growing in intensity and drowning out the muffled cries from the next room.

A thud against the adjoining wall stirred Chris. He half opened his eyes and looked at the glow of the clock next to his bed–2:58 a.m. Water dripped on the floor below the window. Chris coaxed himself out of bed, lumbered over to the window, and pushed it closed. He grabbed his faded gray t-shirt–the same one he’d had since he’d graduated from college over five years ago–from atop the hamper and threw it on the floor to soak up the water. The shirt had seen better days, but this wasn’t the worst either.

As he headed back toward the bed, he thought he heard a noise like heavy furniture being dragged across the wooden floor. He froze, trying to hear over the roar of the storm. Nothing–as far as he could tell. His friend Pat was sleeping in the room next door. He couldn’t imagine that she would rearrange furniture at this time of night.

He’d first met Patricia when they were in college. He nicknamed her Pat that first day; it took a whole week before she finally told him how much she hated the name. By then, it was too late. Pat transferred to another college shortly after that, but they’d kept in touch and became close over the years. She’d moved in with Chris three months earlier, a potential disaster waiting to happen, since they hadn’t even lived in the same town as each other for the past nine years. Although in many ways they were opposites, the living arrangement had brought them closer together.

Chris made it back to bed, thinking he would never be able to get back to sleep with the thunderstorm, but the rhythm of the rain lulled him to sleep.

The next morning, Pat was already sitting at the kitchen table when Chris made it out of his room.

“Good morning,” Chris mumbled, dragging his feet across the floor. His medium length brown hair was plastered to the left side of his head and the rest stuck out in every direction.

Pat looked up from her paper and said, “Ah, man. You again?”

“What’d you make me for breakfast?” he asked, arching back and stretching.

“Oatmeal, scrambled eggs, and some wheat toast.”

Chris squeezed one eye shut, wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Lowering the paper, Pat grinned and said, “Not today.” Chris feigned a look of shock and dismay. “There’s that sugary cereal you love in the cupboard above the fridge.”

Chris made his way to the cupboard and pulled out a bowl and the cereal box. “Ah, this is why I keep you around.”

“Really? I thought it was for my good looks and the small fact that no one else can tolerate you.”

“Don’t you usually have someone else to bother this time of day?” Chris said, sitting across from her.

Pat was a psychiatrist, working for a clinic that helped transition clients from mental facilities back to their homes. Chris had noticed that the job seemed emotionally draining on Pat, but the hours were good and she never complained.

She looked at her watch. “You’re right, I do need to get going.” She neatly folded the paper, picked up her bowl and plate, and set them in the sink. Walking over to Chris, she attempted to smooth down his hair. “Don’t eat the whole box. You need to get some work done today.”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Yes, mom.” Pat rolled her eyes and left for work. Chris had a five o’clock deadline for a magazine article he’d been working on. Fortunately, he worked from home and had his research and quotes squared away; he just needed to write it.