Dinner Will Be Ready Soon
Thomas climbed out of his car and headed for the front door of his house. It had been a long day at work.
“Hey, honey,” he said to his wife.
No response. She must be busy.
He went into the kitchen and found her preparing dinner in the dark. In fact, all the lights in the house were off for some reason. He walked up behind her and kissed her on the cheek. Still no reaction. She just stared straight ahead, smiling faintly, cutting the celery in slow, deliberate strokes.
“How are the kids?”
Nothing.
Thomas headed into the living room. The kids were sitting on the couch watching TV. The screen played constant static.
“Hey, guys, what’s up?” he said in a cheerful tone.
Silence.
He went up to his son and put a hand on his shoulder. It sank in like quicksand. Thomas yanked his hand away, staring at the sticky residue coating it.
Wax.
“Hey, buddy… are you feeling okay?” he asked, shock creeping into his voice.
He touched his daughter’s cheek. It slid off into his hand. He shuddered and fell back in horror—then suddenly burst into a fit of wild laughter.
“You kids sure are something else!” he said, half-laughing, half-gasping.
Thomas wandered back into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Is dinner about done, honey?” he asked.
Still no response.
“Well, I’ll just read the paper until it is.”
He snapped open the newspaper, crossed his legs, and began reading. With every page he flipped, he left behind a greasy smear of wax.
Gabriel Bates is a writer living in Pittsburg, Kansas. His work has appeared in several publications, online and in print. Keep up with him at facebook.com/gabrieljbates
