Domestic Horror Stories #125 – Laundry

“You’d think with all the secret doors in this house, there would be a laundry chute to the basement,” she said as she lugged a load of dirty clothes through the kitchen.

“Are you sure there’s not?” he asked taking the basket of clothes from her.

“Not that I’ve been able to find.”

“Hum lets go have a look.”

Down in the basement he set the basket next the washing machine.  Then he walked around looking at the nearby ceiling while she loaded the clothes.

“There,” he said finally, “I bet that’s a laundry chute.”


“A large piece of duct work that doesn’t connect to anything and looks like it ends near the laundry hook ups.  I bet that’s it.”

“Okay.  Now how to find the other end.”


Domestic Horror Stories #124 – The First Project

“Darling, that is not red,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“The front door.  It’s not red.”

“I know.”

“I thought you were going to paint it red.”

“The man at the store said red would fade.”

“Okay.  So…”

“So, I hate green, and purple was too much, and yellow looked like an Easter egg and so did pink, and black was just foreboding, and gray was depressing.  So I painted it blue.”

“Bright science fiction blue.”

“I know.  Cool isn’t it?”

“It stands out.”

Domestic Horror Stories #122 – The Box

“What’s in the box?” he asked.

“Don’t know.  It’s addressed to you,” she said.

He looked at the box.  “It’s from Aunt Sadie.”

“I know.”

She went and poured herself a glass of water.  She heard is groan from the kitchen.  “How many?” she called.

“Five!  Five of her lucky garden gnomes.”

“Did she name them?”

“She sent card with their biographies.”

Domestic Horror Stories #121 – Dinner

She met him at the door.   “I thought we’d go to dinner tonight.  Do you mind?’

“No.  I thought you were all excited to try some new thing tonight,” he said.

“I was.  But if I serve you what I ended up with you’ll ask for a divorce.”

“Oh come one it can’t be that bad.”

“It is an unnatural shade of orange.”

“And pizza it is…”

Domestic Horror Stories #120 – Books

“How many do we have?” she asked.

“A lot,” he said.

“No I mean, didn’t you catalogue them?”

“Yeah, but that isn’t up to date.”

“Okay.  But still…”?

“At the time we had 3,217.”

“And that’s been?”

“A year or so.”

“Do we want them in the living room, or up in the attic room?”

“It’s going to be both.  But let’s start down in the living.”

Domestic Horror Stories #119 – Historic

He was late getting home.  He found her sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open and a half drunk glass of wine at her elbow.

“Sorry I’m so late,” he said before kissing her forehead.

“It’s good to see you.  How was work.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.  What are you up to.”

“Playing with paint colors.”

“For the house?”

“Why not?”

“The pink is hideous.”

“It’s historic.  And that is not pink.  It’s Cabbage Rose.”

“It sounds hideous too.”

“And historic.”

Only then did he catch her smile.  “So what else have you been up to this evening?”

“I unpacked all the clothes.  We should be able to get dressed in the morning.”

“Let me pour you some more wine,” he said.