The Jacket

Flash fiction using the words: sign, nail, jacket

I looked up as the door opened. A sense of foreboding tingled my being. That door had never opened all these years.

There was no one. Hands trembling, I slowly got up from the bed. My legs almost gave way. This was the purest fear I had experienced. I sat back on the uncomfortable cot that served as my sleeping companion.

The waiting was the worst. Anything coming through that door would have been better. But, there was no sign of any activity.

A second attempt at separation from the furniture proved successful. A stealthy stumble towards the door.

I peered into the other room not knowing what to expect. Moonbeams streaked in through window rails casting neat geometric shadows on the floor.

Gaining a semblance of confidence, I walked in further.

On my right hung a large leather jacket on a rusty nail coming out of the wall. The door closed behind me.

I realized the whimper came from me. The black jacket seemed to move ever so slightly. An overwhelming need to wear the jacket overcame me.

Turning away, I reached out. The touch of fabric warmed me and replaced the icy chill that had taken hold. The jacket was now off the nail and in my hands. It felt familiar.

I put it on. It was too small for me. Then it hit me.

He was wearing this jacket when I killed him.

A bright light flashed. He was standing before me with a hideous smile.

A sinister voice emanated from somewhere within him. “It’s time.”