The Greenest Eyes - A Short Story - Dangerously Genocidal


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Thursday, 8 January 2015

The Greenest Eyes - A Short Story

I was challenged to another word sprint, with this story as the result. The prompt was to choose something on your desk and write about it - and my cat chose that exact moment to plop down on my keyboard. I'm really happy with the result, and might expand it into a full short story later. Either way, please let me know what you think in the comments below!

The Greenest Eyes

The night was darker than usual – it was full moon but dark clouds covered the sky. As if everyone could sense that this was not a good night to be outside, the streets were completely devoid of people. A strong breeze drifted through the small town, causing a lone flyer to flit about restlessly, and occasionally causing the door of the old abandoned shop on the far end of the main road swing creakily. The scratchy noise was interrupted by the occasional rap-rap as it hit the door frame.

An old man looked at the journalist, and nursed his drink in the near empty bar as he continued his story.

“Crowley has always been a small community. When a town consist of a main road with everything important, and a few blocks of houses, everyone knows everyone – and it makes for a ripe breeding ground for rumours.

The town is usually a lively place, you might have noticed during the day? The people here are very kind, friendly people. But they're also very traditional, and anything that does not fit in with their view is quickly shunned and disposed of. We are happy with our existence, and would've been happier if we could have separated Crowley from the outside world completely.

But life's rarely so simple, isn' it?

Life has always been good here, until two years ago. A young woman moved to town and things quickly went down the dung hole.

She was a beautiful young woman, I don’t mind saying. Quite a few boys lapping at her feet. Long black hair, like the finest silk. Had the greenest eyes you’d ever seen. An' her smile could light up the darkest night.

No one minded having a new resident - we're not too fond of strangers anymore, you might have noticed, but things were different then. In fact, we all welcomed her into the community. We supported her starting a small business in town, and we all wondered what it was that she did, excited and a little apprehensive of the mystery that surrounded her. I was too, to be honest. She had this air about her… But we were kind, friendly people. We decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

The day the store opened, chaos ensued. It was an 'es-o-teric store' – you know, the kind that sold scented candles and crystals, talismans and weird little packets of ‘healing herbs’. 

Kind the people may have been, but not when it came to someone who was different. I, myself, was quite up in arms about it. Some of us tried to warn her off. Argued with her mostly, but no one really did anything about her. She was as stubborn as she was beautiful.

I remember the grocers kids painted all over the front windows. Can’t quite remember what it was, but they called her a witch and devil woman. What was amazing is how she never reacted to the insults. Always calm, always smiling. Unsettled me some, don't mind saying.

That was until a night, two years ago, today. We still don’t know who it was that did it. Always suspected the Wilson boy myself, but you don’t go accusing the sheriff’s son without evidence. Anyway, found her body the next day. When we got to the store the girl was all battered and beaten. Raped too, I recall.

Even in death, she was smiling.

Next day, the cat showed up. You might have noticed him today. No? Black as night, always just seems to appear out of nowhere. Yes, that’s the one.

Things happen on this night. Noticed the lack of kids out today?

The first anniversary of her death, the Wilson kid committed suicide. The cat was there. Last year the Corley kids drowned when they went for a late night swim. Blasted cat was watching them too.

We tried to catch it, but no one ever has. It only comes tonight. It will leave tomorrow night. So we all wait inside. We wait and tomorrow we’ll find out what happened. Something will have happened - I don’t doubt that missy. And that blasted cat, it will be there. And tomorrow night – it will be gone.

I think the cat is her spirit. She’s angry with us now. She never showed it, but she was. I can tell you know. And she’s not going to stop.

You watch yourself tomorrow missy. And stay away from the cat.”

The journalist later left the pub, sorely disappointed. Just another ghost story. She always got the crappy jobs. With a sigh she put away her tape recorder and looked over the empty street, ready to head back to the guesthouse where she was staying. 

Across the street she noticed a flicker of movement. A shadow separated itself from the rest of the darkness, and a cat walked out of a small alleyway, sitting down across the street. It stared at her, it's fur almost as black as the night. And its eyes… they were the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.

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