New Year’s Resolution

Barry decides to get fit.

Word count 1408


The Biggins family sat around the dining table, a log fire blazed in the hearth. The gentle sounds of Bing Crosby crooning ‘I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,’ played softly in the background.
         Barry Biggins pushed himself away from the table and let out a loud belch. “That was the best Christmas dinner I’ve had since…” he raised his eyes to the ceiling, “the time we went on the cruise, love. Do you remember? So much food, it was amazing.”
         Pauline, his wife of more than thirty years, gestured to his rounded belly. “Yeah, but you were much slimmer back then, love.”
         Barry patted his stomach, “Well, you’ll miss this cuddly body when I start my New Year’s resolution next week.”
         Pauline’s eyebrows almost disappeared under her hairline. “You? A New Year’s resolution?” she shook her head in disbelief.
         “Yeah, I’m inspired now, thanks to my new Fitbit smart watch.” He looked fondly at the Christmas present his adult kids have given him.
         “You’re going to love it Dad,” his daughter, Sophie said, “it shows your heart rate and how much sleep you’re getting. I think you’ll be surprised how many times you wake up each night,” she looked at her father with concern, “Mum says you snore a lot, maybe you’ve got sleep apnea and you don’t realise it?”
         “I don’t snore that badly,” he frowned.
         Pauline cast a look in his direction which meant she knew otherwise, after all she had moved into the spare bedroom just to get some sleep.
         “Okay,” he declared, “hear ye, hear ye, I declare I shall start walking at least 10,000 steps a day from the first of January.”
         Barry’s gaze went around the table, at the too small party hats, perched haphazardly on his family’s heads—at the gaggle of teenage grandkids with their noses on their screens, ignoring all the adult chatter and said,. “I suppose it is time I looked after myself a bit but on my reckoning there’s still another week before then, so is there anymore of the plum pudding and custard left, love?

Barry’s job as manager of the local supermarket meant he spent most of his days seated behind a desk, this had contributed to his spreading girth over the years. More recently though, since the first day of the new year, he’d deserted his desk and walked the store aisles as much as he could, in the knowledge each aisle was a hundred yards long and added to his desired daily total.
         His lunch breaks were taken pounding the pavement. People would call out, “Keep it up Barry, whatever it is you’re doing.”

Barry’s snoring improved as his weight dropped and Pauline decided it was safe to return to the marital bed. His lovemaking of late had taken on a new urgency. Pauline felt young and desired again, although at night, when the smart watch sent urgent notifications she would see Barry surreptitiously glance at the screen.
         One morning, she lay in bed, satisfied after morning sex and watched him dress for work. As he pulled on his pants she noticed him fasten the belt on the last hole.
         “You’re going to need some new clothes soon, love,” she told him.
         She realised her love for the man she had been married to for so long had grown, especially lately since Barry had regained some sexual prowess.
         “You’re looking younger Barry. How are you feeling?”
         He checked his smart watch, as if he needed it to confirm the information was correct before he spoke, “I had seven hours of good sleep last night, love, that’s probably why I have more energy and I’m increasing the number of daily steps—I should have done this years ago.”
         He lingered on his reflection in the dressing table mirror— his once bloated gut was now a thing of the past—there was no need to suck it in anymore.

“For goodness sake, please sit down love. Watch the movie with me,” Pauline pleaded. She had become irritated by his restlessness, “You can’t seem to stay in one place for five minutes. It’s as if you’ve got ants in your veins.”
         “I think I’ll go for a little walk around the block,” Barry bent to put the trainers he had recently removed back on his feet.
         “You’ve only just got back from a walk. You’re overdoing it, Barry, getting obsessed with all this step counting.”
         “I won’t be long; you finish the movie; I’ll be back soon,” he ignored the concern in her voice and before Pauline could say another word, the front door slammed shut.

Easter arrived, three months after Barry began his step counting, and with it came the warmer weather, but he complained of always feeling cold.
         “It’s freezing in here,” he shivered as he climbed into bed, even though he was still wearing his dressing gown over winter pyjamas, plus thick bed socks.
         “It’s because you’ve no fat on your body. Look at that skinny arse.” Pauline playfully smacked his pyjama-clad bottom, “you are nothing but skin and bone.”
         She tried to hide her concerns but couldn’t help but notice how his thighs no longer touched, his calves, despite all the walking, were thin, wasting, scrawny. She didn’t mention the bruising on his skin and how it appeared so thin and belong to a much older person. She knew he was proud of his new appearance and would constantly check his smart watch and even stop his pacing to admire himself in shop windows. All attempts to encourage him to eat failed, it was as if food was an irritating disruption to him eventually arriving at an unknown destination. He felt assured the watch would inform him of the time and place.

Spring turned into summer, the scent of the hedgerows and roses scented the air, yet Barry could glean no pleasure from the warm days as he continued to walk around the streets, he wore gloves over skeletal fingers and a woollen beanie which covered his balding head. No one called out encouragement but they did speak in whispers as he passed by. Unrecognisable from the jovial, overweight, supermarket manager he had been now a shadow of the man, with a face which seemed unfinished, as all the fat which makes expression readable was gone, leaving a gaunt skull barely covered by yellowed skin.
         “You need to see a doctor, Barry. This can’t go on, you’re killing yourself,” Pauline begged him, time and again.
         Yet her husband couldn’t see that what he was doing could be anything other than healthy. They fought, Pauline cried, she called in the children to make their father see sense but even when they locked the door to keep him from leaving the house, his legs moved constantly.
         “You’re not going anywhere, Dad,” their son, Rick, held him captive in the house for a whole week but Barry still walked incessantly up and down the stairs and around the small house, wearing a track in the carpet.
         “The watch will let me know when it’s enough. I haven’t deserved to rest yet. Don’t you understand? Walking is the only time I meet the expectations!”
         “Throw these away, Mum,” Rick held out the bathroom scales, “he’s weighing himself all the time.”
         “You’re going to die, Barry, if you continue like this,” Pauline sobbed, “don’t you care what this is doing to me?”
         Rick ripped the smart watch from his father’s bony wrist and the cry of Barry’s anguish tore through his family’s hearts.
         “No!! Not the watch!” he screamed.
         Pauline took the smart watch from her son, her heart breaking as she heard Barry’s sobs and pleas for its return. Sitting on the floor next to the corpse-like figure he had been reduced to, her fingers gently stroked the skin stretched thin over his wasted body. Her eyes widened with horror when beneath her hand his chest fluttered shallowly. Barry’s feet scraped weakly against the carpet leaving smears of blood on the track he had carved through the house. He tried to rise, legs trembling, toes raw and split, as if stillness were a crime he could not afford. In Pauline’s hand the watch vibrated softly — a small, satisfied pulse — and the screen lit up with a gentle green glow. GOAL MET. Barry sagged back against her, impossibly light, his body finally empty of whatever it had been burning, while the watch fell silent, its expectations at last fulfilled.

Written for

FORUM

Horror Writing Contest  (13+) A contest involving writing a horror story. Simple, really. #2273172 by S🤦‍♂️