Domestic Horror Stories #184 – Orange Things

When Ray and his dinner party came streaming up the drive way, Mr. Benson was in his garage under his truck hood.

Twelve pumpkins left.

“What is going on over here?” Ray demanded.

Mr. Benson looked up.   “Just fixing my truck.”

“I don’t care about your truck.  Where are your children?”

“Back yard, I think.”

“What are they doing?  They’re making a disaster in my back yard.”

Mr. Benson looked confused.  “They’re in our back yard.”

“But things are flying into my back yard.”

“Things?”

“Orange things,” said Ray, now almost incoherent with rage.

Nine pumpkins left.

“Orange?”

“Yes, all over the back yard!”

Domestic Horror Stories #182 – Fired Upon

The evening was going swimmingly at Ray’s.   There were drinks and tapas.  There was light classical music humming warmly in the background.   Ray was unusually expansive in a way that implied he’d fortified himself well for the night.  Nobody had said anything awkward or aggressive for at least half an hour.  Everyone’s spirits were on the rise.  Adult conversation flowed through the clean well manicured house.

“Come into the dining room everybody.  Dinner is about to be served,” said Ray as he moved through the front rooms at a glide.

As they all found their place cards and started to sit down, there was a strange bellow from somewhere nearby.    As the posteriors hit the seats, a strange streak of movement crossed the French doors looking out on the back yard.   A strange thud was heard in the back yard.  Sort of a thud smash.

Then in the distance there was yelping and screaming.

Ray looked at his guests.  The guests looked at Ray.

Then everyone got up and looked out the French doors at the back yard.   There was sort of a crushed pile of orange goo in the yard.

Again, the bellow in the distance sounded.  Another streak.   Another thud.

“Bensons!” said Ray.

Domestic Horror Stories #181 – Punctual

They stood on the sidewalk in front of Ray’s.  She was holding a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“We should go in,” he said.

“We’re at least seven minutes early,” she said.

Edna Blackwell joined them.  She had a bottle of wine in each hand.  “How are you folks tonight?”

“Good.  How are you?” he asked.

“Fortified,” said Edna as she raised her bottles in the air.

Mr. and Mrs. Hardcourt crossed the street and joined the little group at the bottom of Ray’s front walk.  Mrs. Hardcourt was carrying a plate of brownies.

“Evening all,” said Mr. Hardcourt.

Just behind them, Mr. and Mrs. Fischer stepped onto the sidewalk.  Mr. Fischer had a bottle of Scotch with him.

“Two kinds of chocolate, and two kinds of booze.  I think we are as ready as we’re going to get,” she said.

“Yes, but we still have four minutes,” said Edna.

“Do you really think Ray would care if we ring his doorbell four minutes early?” said Mr. Fischer.

“Does anyone really want to find out?” he asked.

“Maybe if we just walk really slowly toward the door,” said Mrs. Hardcourt.

Ray opened his front door.  They all jumped.

“Hi folks come on in” Ray called genially.

“Looks like someone is even more fortified than me,” said Edna.