A place for horror or darker stories, mostly written for 'Screams!!!'
| Addicted To Anxiety.
"I swear you're addicted," Greg said, staring at Carla and defying her to deny it.
"Addicted to what?" Carla's indignation was clear from the tone of her voice. "I don't drink or do drugs. I don't gamble and I don't binge eat n chocolate."
Greg held up his hands. "I know you don't. But you worry, constantly. It's like you can never relax and enjoy the moment because you are always fretting about what might happen."
"I do not!"
"Yep, you do. Just this morning you were worrying about Heather and how she was doing at camp."
"She's our daughter. I'm supposed to worry about her." Carla knew Greg had a point, but so did she.
"This is our time alone. The first weekend in fourteen years," Greg reached for his wife and pulled him close.
"Stop it, Greg. What if the neighbors see?"
"There you go again. Worry... worry... worry. Fine, but tonight we're going to have ourselves a romantic dinner for two, followed by..."
But Carla was already heading off to the kitchen. "I'm sure I forgot to turn the oven off."
Greg rolled his eyes, wondering why Carla always had to worry.
That evening they dined by candle-light. Greg ordered in the food but if he thought that that would stop Carla from worrying, he was mistaken. Four times she returned to the table to check that the candles were properly extinguished and he was beginning to lose patience.
At last she climbed into bed and Greg wrapped his arms around his wife. Just as his lips were about to find hers, she turned her head. "Did you lock the door, Greg?"
He nuzzled her neck as he mumbled a reply.
"It's just that I'm sure I heard a noise downstairs and we are both up here..."
"Carla, there's a time and a place for worrying and this is not it. Now will you just relax for a while."
Carla tried to block out the worries, but she was sure she heard footsteps making their way up the stairs. "Greg, listen!" she said.
Reluctantly he rolled himself away from his wife, and sat on the side of the bed. "I can't hear a thing," Greg insisted. "Please, Carla, don't let your anxieties steal our together time."
"I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe I did imagine it, after all. Carla held out her arms to her husband.
Neither Carla nor Greg heard the door creak open, and when Carla caught sight of the shadowy figure she gasped in shock.
"Not now," Greg gasped.
Greg turned his head and saw the figure that was aiming a gun towards the pair of them. "What... ? Who...?"
The only answer was the sharp bang of the gun.