Jo and the home invasion
Mist floated idly around Jo’s high heels, damping the normally sharp clack of steel tipped heels on stone. Jo’s mind was still on her workday, so she completely missed this ominous horror troupe. Barely paying attention, Jo fumbled through her overflowing handbag for the door keys.
Garry was a sexist egotistical prick with small man syndrome, the way he one upped her continuously boiled her blood. Having lived across multiple generations Jo was certain she had never met such a contemptuous person.
Her fingers finally wrapped around her keys. Pulling them out she absent mindedly thumbed the key into the lock.
As the pressure of the lock’s bolt resisted the key, she stopped and placed her head against the door. She couldn’t be bothered with this anymore, the constant bullshit of trying to prove herself to those that were inferior was all consuming. The fact that she had had to spend 3 extra hours at work this evening to cover up Garry’s shit… well that might well be the last straw. Slowly she removed the key from the door. She had made up her mind, she was going to run away.
What was that noise?
Jo looked around, the air was still and heavy, but Jo was sure she heard something. Her skin crawled, she could feel someone’s eyes watching her from the shadows.
Maintaining absolute vigilance Jo noiselessly eased the key back into the lock, gradually she increased the pressure on it until she felt the distinct click of the latch coming free. As she pushed on the door she knew the hinges needed oiling and she knew she kept forgetting to oil them. She knew she only remembered that the hinges needed oiling as she left the house each morning, making it too late to do anything about it. She cursed herself for all this knowledge and prayed to everything and anything that could prevent the hinges from singing out as she judiciously inched the door open. Eventually she managed to slip through the narrowest of gaps. Once through she swiftly swung the door shut, slid the deadbolt across and locked the door.
Jo exhaled into the unnatural silence of a still house.
Wait, the heating was on, she could smell it. That was weird, someone must be in here. Who had a key? No one, right? Wait did the sound come from inside the house or outside? Like the mist outside, doubt now swirled around Jo.
Slipping out of her heels she pulled on her trainers, she knew she was no Bryce Dallas Howard, if she had to run she would run. She kept one heel in her hand, brandishing the steel tip as a weapon. In her other hand she placed her keys between her fingers, making an impromptu knuckleduster.
Cautiously she moved into the hallway, all the doors apart from the lounge were closed.
The air felt heavy, laden with ill intent. A paralysis creeped over Jo. She wanted to escape, to run away but could she be sure that the danger was inside or outside the house? No get a grip, this is your home, no one messes with you in your home. Think of all the things you have done in all of your lives, the dangers you have faced, the menaces you have defeated. You can fuck up a home intruder.
Edging into the lounge Jo moved through the shadows scanning as she went. She reached the floor length curtain of the front window. There was the slightest of movements. Jo froze, straining her ears she heard the slightest of wheezes.
There was someone behind the curtain.
Jo attacked viciously with a one two shot, aiming low she slashed a hole through the delicate curtain with the keys, which returned to her covered in blood. The intruder slumped forward and Jo unleashed a powerfully uppercut with the heel digging into something soft, a whelp emerged from behind the curtain.
Suddenly the lights came on.
“Happy Birthday!!!” came the cry from behind her.
Jo spun around and saw through the rain of streamers all of her work colleagues standing there, with balloons, party hats and cake. Their jubilant cheers transforming into screams of horror.
Garry slumped out from behind the blood soaked torn curtain, with one hand he was trying to stem the flow of blood pouring from his eye socket, the other hand fumbled across the floor desperately trying to get a firm hold of his eye, which was leisurely floating away in the ever expanding, enticingly dark, puddle of a spilled Gloriously Gooseberry and Lemon Alcohol free Merlo.
As Jo watched Garry mewling on the floor and despite knowing he was in terrible agonising pain a tiny little part of her mind, right at the back in the darkest recess, was gloriously happy that she had witnessed this moment. She couldn’t wait to see his glass eye.
An eye for an eye, although not an eye more like an eye for an unbelievable amount of sexist bullshit.
