You Are A Death Risk, Part 2
In part one, Dremond thinks he sees a strange female suicide across from his worksite and gets accused of alcohol withdrawal. He subsequently finishes an exhausting work-shift, goes home to sleep it all off. During the effort, he unexpectedly faces being punched awake by his wife.
He yells at her, demanding an explanation for her actions…
“I couldn’t…” she paused before sobbing into her hands before running down the hall. The door slam put an end to the night’s activity.
“You spend too much time on that computer! Makes you jittery!”
Dremond growled a bit more, struggled to settle down and eventually resumed sleep after taking progressively deeper, slower breaths, allowing his eyes to droop and reprise REM movement.
He held his bloody lips tight, trusting them to scar over by morning.
He didn’t dream.
Dremond and Art hustled all day long without a word spoken. They resorted to hand signals for work-related tasks. This mutual discipline quickly became an intrinsic code between them, giving subtle non-verbal cues about their observations around the worksite, like a two-fingered pointing action to indicate an edgy foreman assistant or a complicated arm and hand movement hinting rising tension within a group of co-workers.
They both knew something was changing in real-time on the worksite and it felt as if an invisible tsunami would flood their lives with unavoidable misfortune at any moment. The intensity of this silent awareness was difficult for Dremond. To him, cutting to the quick of tasks was more important than hunger, tiredness or other bodily needs.
Just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it was now his mantra, even though thinking this way proved weary and made him think twice about his chosen profession. Unfortunately in this town, this profession was the best any man could do.
Dremond took ten-seconds to absorb the sun’s rays and closed his eyes for a few seconds while holding a SLOW sign. When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of the mysterious woman standing in her window in the opposite building on one of the higher floors. Someone was with her this time.
“There she is again. Who is that? What’s her deal?” He whispered to his suddenly over-active mind.
“Hey, shit-for-brain, turn that sign this way! No one’s driving slowly up yer ass!” The foreman of the day blasted.
He swore as he turned his attention back to his sign duty that the woman was slicing her woman friend friend’s face with crazy extended fingernails. The open mouth of the victim pleaded to be heard. Instead, the violent grumble of a 2 ½ ton truck backing up shook the ground beneath his feet, blaring its intermittent ear-piercing warnings.
His attention turned to the matter at hand, signalling the truck to make its move.
Something odd fell from the truck cabin.
It looked like a mask ~ a mask in the likeness of his own face!
It was covered in blood and underneath it, layered skin and torn capillaries spread out like cobwebs.
Why would someone prank him with a mask looking like it had been cut or ripped away from his own skull?
Dremond dropped the sign and ran off scared to death.
To Be Continued
BD Scott, Author, Producer of Bestshorthorrorstories.com & Founder of Friedrich Imagines, Ltd. a media production company