THE HOLE • by Virginia Marion

At first she thought it was a spot to be wiped off the sparkling countertop. The tiniest of specks, hardly bigger than the head of a pin but if she left it Danny would notice… oh yes he would. The bruises still hadn’t faded from the last time Danny had noticed something awry in the meticulously clean house.

Vera wiped at the speck but it didn’t disappear. She wiped harder. Instead of the spot coming off, a small piece of the countertop chipped off. Vera peered closer. She scratched at the edges of the spot with a broken fingernail. To her amazement, more peeled away.

It wasn’t a spot at all. It was a hole. A deep hole that revealed pitch black from which arose whispers of music and, was that laughter? As she concentrated on those sounds and the unbroken blackness she could swear she caught the scents of cotton candy, hotdogs, and sawdust.

Letting curiosity take over, Vera scraped another piece of the counter away, ignoring the frantic voice of fear in her head. She had almost the whole counter gone before she thought about what she was doing. Danny would be livid. Bruises were nothing compared to what she’d get when he saw this gaping hole in his perfect home.

Vera heard the garage door opening. He was home.

His car door slammed. Vera looked at the hole.

Danny’s key ring clinked in the lock. Vera touched the edge of the hole.

“Oh what the hell.” Vera climbed up on the counter and dropped her feet over the edge. “Can’t be any worse than this place.”

Walking into the kitchen, Danny immediately noticed a black speck on the countertop.

“Damn that lazy woman!” he muttered.

He grabbed a dishtowel and wiped up the spot.

Virginia Marion writes out of Texas, USA.

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