The Milk Chute

I shuddered every time I opened the milk chute. I imagined a big black hand reaching out to grab me. At eleven years old, I could look brave and cocky, but I had lots of hidden fears.

Fortunately, I only found the bottles of milk we ordered twice weekly. Until one day.

I snapped open the inside door to the tunnel that should contain milk bottles. This time it happened. The black hand jumped out at me exactly as I had always feared. I froze. The chill started at my toes and ran up my back and certainly made my hair shoot straight up as it hit my head. The room went cold. My eyes blurred and my voice failed as I tried to scream.

The black hand fell to the floor just as it appeared to grab at me.

I saw my gloves on the floor at my feet held together with a paper clip. I felt dumb.

I pieced together the events leading up to my nightmare.

The previous day was cool as I played in the back yard wearing my jacket and a pair of black leather gloves. Mom brought me a doughnut for a snack, so I took off my gloves to eat it. I didn't want to risk losing my precious new gloves by leaving them on the grass, so I clamped them together with a paper clip I found on the ground and shoved them into the milk chute using the outside door. I knew I wouldn't forget them in there because I would see them when I retrieved the milk. When the milkman delivered our bottles, he had to shove the gloves toward the inside door in order to fit the bottles. The stage was set for my nightmare to become reality.

(300 words)