Random Story :
The Transcendent
Author: Alastair Millar The cold wind, persistent further down, had …
Tub Time
Author: Susan Anthony
From her white enameled tub, chipped on the rim, worn down by countless bottoms sliding across its base, a frosting of bubbles, Tanya heard knocking. Through the pane of glass separating her from winter there it was again; more scratch than tap.
She dismissed it as a tree branch, sliding below the water, bubbles clinging to the edges of her face.
Again.
It couldn’t be the children; both of them were out walking with their father.
This was her escape, a treat for outlasting her demon boss. He had insisted on extra shifts. Only when he himself had faded, reluctantly closing the store, the last cauldron sold, had she been allowed home. Hallowe’en was always busy, her boss’s greed never more evident.
The noise once more, louder somehow, as if coming from the tub itself. She pushed her ears above the water line. An icy breeze surprised her. She opened her eyes. The window was open, the room, freezing over, a tall black raven sat on the edge of the tub, scraping its beak.
“Hello,” whispered Tanya, surprised but not wishing to panic herself, or the bird. It tapped with one foot, hopping about the rim.
On the windowsill, two more shiny black ravens, smaller.
The bathroom wasn’t going to get any warmer. She started to rise from the water. The larger bird squawked urgently and loudly at the other two, who hopped into the room, immediately turning their backs to Tanya. She pulled on a robe, closed the window.
She wasn’t certain but it was falling into place.
“I’ll say things and you tell me if I’m getting warm,” she said to the largest bird. “One squawk for yes. Two for no.”
Squawk.
“Mrs. Archibald?”
Squawk. Squawk.
“Hardcastle?”
Squawk.
“Apples?”
Squawk. Squawk.
“Surely not the gooseberries?”
Squawk. Squawk.
“Oh, my goodness, the raspberries?” her voice rising in alarm.
Squawk.
“You took,” and she paused, controlling herself, “my children, into that old witch Hardcastle’s backyard, and filched her prize-winning raspberries?”
Squawk.
“After the last time?”
She pulled her wand out, waving it at the two small birds. Her children appeared.
“Go to bed now. I don’t want to know I even have children until tomorrow morning. Clear?”
They nodded, scampering away.
She turned to her husband, still on the tub’s edge. In one swift motion she batted him into the bath, waved her wand, and there he was sodden and covered in bubbles.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“One bath, just one sodding bath, that’s all I wanted. I hope you enjoy MY bath,” she spat out, as her wet feet flopped down the stairs to make herself a cup of tea and grab a chocolate McVitie’s biscuit from her secret stash in the cupboard above the refrigerator.
She heard the sloshing of water, his boots squelching on the floor and she bellowed, “And you had better leave that bathroom cleaner than you found it or you’re on the couch tonight.”
Moments later, he walked past her, naked except for a towel about his waist, reaching into the closet for a mop and bucket. Ten minutes passed. He appeared again with saturated clothes piled high in the bucket, his soggy boots on top, into the laundry room.
She followed, watching from the doorway. Loading the washer. Hanging his boots over the door handle, placing a towel underneath to catch the drips, the towel from around his waist.
“What?” he said, crisply, still pissed she had thrown him in the bath.
“Let’s go back to bed,” she said, watching his mood change in an instant.