SNAPPED

[Leslie]

SNAPPED

Sunday mornings were always spent in bed; not necessarily for purposes of recovery from the night before, just a sort of protest against the regular risings demanded by the working week. This Sunday was no different, though Eddie Flanger was not relaxed as he lay there in his dishevelled bed; like the bed, his mind was much disturbed remembering last night’s encounter with two blazing eyes.
He didn’t have a hang-over, he was too seasoned for that, but his head certainly did not feel comfortable. The big problem was – had he really faced the fiery-eyed character by the photo-booth or was the memory a left-over drunken aberration?
If he had in fact met a solid, corporeal being, was that being no more than some joker fooling about, scaring people with his trick eyes?
Believing in demons or devils or something of the sort did not come easily in the daylight that slid around the ill-fitting curtains and illuminated the realities of the room. Eddie mulled over the fors and agins and came down in favour of some joker fooling about. The supernatural would have salved his pride more, providing reasonable excuse for running away; human tomfoolery only gave cause for anger. Almost convinced that he had been made to seem stupid, even a wimp, Eddie snorted with annoyance, kicked aside the covers and launched his tall chunkiness toward the bathroom of his flat, switching on an electric kettle as he passed.
Returning much relieved, he settled with a cup of coffee, a cigarette and the Sunday paper. Apart from a deep-seated feeling of annoyance, life was back to normal.

Monday began the ritual grind: back to the building site, bricklaying and ribaldry, teabreaks and cigarettes, football and sex. Same pattern for the rest of the week, basically the only thing that altered was the size of the wall they were building. In none of the chatter or discussions did Eddie mention his encounter of the previous Saturday; if he suggested something spooky the other brickies would certainly have a good laugh at his expense; on the other hand, if he said that it was probably some human prankster, how was he going to admit that he had run away? No, he took care not to say anything about it, but it crept into his thoughts all too often.
Come the weekend, he followed his usual routine; it was all matter of habit, regular, should have been everything as normal. The trouble was that the doubt nagged away in the back recesses of his mind, the question of last Saturday, demanding satisfaction.
Entering the companionship of his drinking buddies in the evening was like plunging headlong into tropical waters; immersed completely in the warmth of it, he forgot the chilly niggles that he had carried all week. The loud talking and laughter followed on from where it had broken off at the building site. Eddie joined in unrestrained for most of the night, but the later the hour the quieter he became. His drinks lasted longer; he checked the time more frequently. About ten minutes to midnight someone asked what was wrong with him.
“I’m not feeling too good,” Eddie told them. Which wasn’t entirely a lie. He left and started on the route home at a purposeful pace. In the shopping precinct that pace faltered. He hadn’t meant to slow down; the intention had been to march straight into the shop entrance like a god of vengeance bringing retribution, but the quibble of fear reached from deep inside. He cussed his reluctant limbs, saying aloud, “Come on. You don’t even know if anybody’s going to be there.”
He didn’t sweep in like a god; from the precinct’s paving Eddie stared into the store entrance. Various window lights illuminated some parts, cast shadows in others. He could see the photo-booth; there was no-one standing by it. As far as he could see there was no-one in the entrance at all. Eddie stepped in. The curtains of the photo-booth moved and a figure emerged, wearing a long black coat and a broad-brimmed hat. Facing Eddie, the figure looked up, the eyes blazed red; the figure spoke, “I knew you would come tonight. I’ve been waiting for you.” The voice was smooth and mocking.
A long icicle seemed to drop from the entrance roof and spear Eddie from head to feet. It didn’t fasten him to the floor; step by slow step he moved toward the dark figure, eyes fixed upon eyes, like a rabbit caught in a poacher’s light-beam. Two paces away, he stopped, still staring directly into the eyes of fire.
After some seconds the mouth below the eyes enquired silkily, “Is your question answered?”
Eddie said, “No,” stepped forward and his brick-hardened fist swung round in a huge right hook that whacked his adversary on the head, knocked his hat off and sent him reeling sideways back through the curtains. Immediately there was an explosion and flames totally engulfed the booth. The heat was fierce. Eddie had no time to move; instinctively he put his hands up to protect his face, but eyebrows, front of hair and back of hands were scorched.
A large window near the fire cracked with noise like a gunshot; glass flew and made music; alarms began to scream inside and outside of the building. Eddie retreated a safe distance. Suddenly there were two policemen keeping him company. Very quickly, the Fire Service arrived.
The policemen took Eddie to their car where they tested his breath for alcohol level. The friendly policemen took Eddie to the Police Station where they asked him to empty his pockets. All the policemen showed interest in his cigarette lighter.
They put Eddie in a cell while everybody had a think about things. Later, in the Interview Room, when a Sergeant explained how bad the evidence was against him – the scorched hair and hands that meant he had been very near to the fire, his high alcohol level, the convenient cigarette lighter, the fact that no-one else was there – Eddie denied the charges of arson, criminal damage and whatever else they might think up.
“What about the other bloke?” he asked.
“What other bloke?” the sergeant countered.
“The bloke in the photo-booth,” said the accused.
“There was nobody in the booth,” the sergeant snorted.
“He’d have been burnt,” Eddie stated the obvious.
“There was nobody. No bones, no teeth, no trace, you were on your own. You lit the fire,” the sergeant stated with conviction.
“It must have been an electrical fault. I had nothing to do with it,” Eddied yelped in desperation.
They took him back to his cell.
Just before the door closed the sergeant looked in and threw a singed object in Eddie’s direction. “
"Thought you might like what's left of your hat," he said.

[Rena Hands]

The first positive, the title is very catching.

The first negative, the only negative is the spacing between the paragraphs. You need space between each paragraph.

What a very intriguing story. The action was well developed and expressed the conclusion was most surprising. I enjoyed it very much.