(NEW) Short Story: Sleep Walking

Last time I wrote, I was in the final stages of editing my first short story, Laodicea Street. Now that I am done editing it, I submitted my short story to two literary magazines: Ruminate and Rock and Sling. Both are small venues, but I have to start somewhere. The overall selection process (when I find out if I am going to be published or not) takes about 2-4 months. In the meantime, I will continue to write other projects.

As a matter of fact, I have just finished a rough draft of my second short story, entitled Sleep Walking. Before sending it out, attempting to get published, I will go into editing mode. But for my fans, here is a sneak peak of my new short story. Enjoy!

Sleep Walking

Mrs. Peggy Sommes sat up in bed, listening very carefully, and looking down the hallway out of her bedroom as if she was expecting someone. The hallway was dark and narrow, but because of the window at the of the end hall, the moon provided enough light to highlight silhouettes. Along the walls, the moonlight projected swaying shadows of trees that looked like people walking with their heads down. Mrs. Sommes looked away from the hall, down to her right next to her, at Dale Sommes, her husband lying down, and whispered his name.

            He didn’t budge, and still resting peacefully, he rolled over on his side with his back facing Mrs. Sommes. She turned away from him to check the hallway, she didn’t see anything, but a moment later, the sounds of creaking wooden floor boards lingered through the air vents.

            “Dale, wake up,” she said, turning back to him again. “Dale,” she grasped his doughy shoulder with a boney hand and gently shook him.

            “Whatta ya wan,” he murmured back, still resting on his side.

            “Wake up.”

            “Jus a few more mi—” he said, dozing off into sleep again.

            “This isn’t a joke. I think someone’s in the house,” she continued to shake him with a little more force. Her face rotated back-and-forth, between the hall and her slumbering husband, as if she was watching a tennis match. The wooden floor boards creaked again, this time much louder. “Get up, now!”

            “Okay, okay, I’m up,” he said, lifting his body off the bed. Dale stood up rolling out his neck and stretching his back. He was a fat man with grey sweatpants and a t-shirt draped over a beach-ball-belly that overshadowed his waist. He squinted across the bed at a slender woman with indented cheeks, wearing athletic clothing. “All right, what’s your problem?”

            “I think someone is downstairs, shhhhhhh.” She held up an index finger to her lips, then pointed a finger over her shoulder down the hallway. Dale let out a sigh, biting his lower lip and nodding, while reaching for his nightstand. He opened the drawer, revealing a metallic compact .357 magnum. “Dale, no.” Mrs. Sommes’ voice strained.