Weekly Prompt Story: Storm

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Stormy Weather

By Christopher Munroe

“There’s a storm a’brewin!” Grandpa always used to say.

But, like, always.

He’d say it every single day, regardless of the weather. He went out of his way to wrap every conversation around to the subject of storms, brewings, or the like, just so he could say it.

Grandpa was a little off toward the end, I have to admit.

To make matters worse, whenever there actually WAS a storm, he would claimed that he knew it, that he’d tried to warn us, if we’d only listened to him.

And, technically, it was true, so none of us could disagree…

Grandpappy

Times was tough all around, what with the economy. But especially for Grandpappy.

The harvest hadn’t come in proper, and we’d been missing payment on the mortgage. We’d get to it when we could, but for the moment....

So I guess it ought not to’ve surprised us when the fella from the bank came by.

He told Grandpappy that, unless he came up with the money, the bank’d take his farm, all legal-like, nothing to do about it.

So Grandpappy shot him.

It didn’t help, but every time we visited him in prison Grandpappy’d tell us how satisfying it felt…

At the Nursing Home

The nursing home lobby was completely empty.

No nurses scuttled around, no seniors played chess, there wasn’t even a secretary behind the huge, entrance facing desk. No soul to be seen.

The effect was eerie, it wasn’t late enough to justify the place being so abandoned. I admit, I was tempted to go, but I’d come to visit Grandpa.

Visit him I would.

As I wandered deeper into the complex, I heard the front door swinging shut behind me, the deadbolt falling.

Well played, Grandpa. Well played.

Clutching my axe closer to my chest, swallowing my fear, I pushed forward.