Vintage White
Flash Fiction | Horrorish
Elwood liked watching paint dry. It was a solitary activity, fueled by patience and perseverance. Just a few days ago, this wall didn't even exist. He'd framed it, drywalled it, mudded it, sanded it, mudded it again, and kept doing that until the surface became smooth and unblemished.
Then - and only then - was he able to paint it.
A smile curved his lips as he looked at his new wall. White, just like everything else. The whole house matched in the perfect shade of warm white. Antique white, some places called it. When he'd discovered it, he'd purchased buckets of it. Those same buckets lived in his garage and his basement, just waiting for their moment to shine.
He hadn't meant to buy so much at first, but renovating a house meant a lot of work. Laying down floor, resealing the basement windows, fixing holes in the siding. When there are a thousand things to do, it's nice to know there's one less thing on the list. For instance, no more getting paint.
Besides, he never knew exactly when he'd need it.
Elwood leaned forward and inspected a smudge in his work. It was barely there - just a tiny blip of red on his white canvas - but he frowned. Without turning away, he reached for a paintbrush, dipped it in the bucket, and swiped another set of smooth lines across the blemish.
Ah - there. Much better.
Satisfied again, he sat back and grinned. It really hadn't been too much work in this space. Initially, he'd only planned to do the cosmetics: paint, new floor, scrape the ceiling. Then, due to some unforeseen circumstances, he'd decided that it really was too big to be one room. Maybe it would look better if he split it in two, and turned the bigger side into a bedroom or office or something.
It only took a few how-to videos and another trip to the hardware store for some two-by-fours to make it happen. Measuring and sawing took a half day, and stapling the new beams together with a nail gun took a few hours at most. Drywall went up fast, and the mud took a couple days, but once the painting began, that was really the best part.
Now it was nearly finished. Mostly painted. And he could watch it dry.
He hummed to himself as he watched the wall. Antique white. Everyone should have such a beautiful color. Shame that clerk kept making snide remarks about it. Not everybody saw the value in something plain, and he wasn't about to let some snot-nosed minimum-wage teenager talk him out of it. He'd even managed to ignore the meaningful sideways glance that implied he was more of an idiot than everyone else. Only when she trotted out the condescending do you need help carrying that, and the ever-popular have a nice day, did he start getting mad.
Luckily, he got out of there before he did something stupid. Mama always said, Stupid is as stupid does - just like that movie - and Elwood certainly wasn't stupid.
He wasn't stupid the second trip to the store, either, when he needed more trim for the kitchen. But on the third trip, when he ran out of nail gun ammo, his patience started to wane. Every attempt to ignore this dumb teenager fell flat, and when she snapped her gum while giving him change, he finally lost his temper.
Stupid is as stupid does.
He didn't do anything right then. If he wanted to do something, it'd have to be smart.
One tear of paint threatened to drip, and Elwood wiped it away with a splattered rag. He didn't want any kind of defect on the wall. It should blend in perfectly with the rest of the house. No one would know it wasn't part of the original design, or that this room was exactly sixteen square feet smaller than it should be. No one would try to look for a hidden door, or think that it might be hidden in the ceiling. And absolutely no one would discover what he was hiding in the other room.
Which was nothing. Nothing at all.
The cashier was a brunette, probably on summer break. Elwood had seen her around town, biking with friends or getting a ride in a shiny red car from a kid barely older than her. Her boyfriend, he supposed. Always roaring around in that gas-guzzling hotrod, pretending he was bigger than the town. Always speeding, always double-parked, always some dumb grin on her face, following that girl around like a puppy. He picked her up from work every day and they'd drive around a while. Probably getting into some trouble, Elwood assumed. He'd followed them a couple times and caught them necking in the woods one time. It gave him a thrill, being so close. They had no idea he followed them from place to place. All he had to do was wait for the right time.
It turned out to be a lot sooner than he'd anticipated.
After an evening rendezvous, they had a fight. He yelled, she screeched like a wildcat. He pulled over and dumped her off on the side of the road. She screamed, shaking her fist like a drama queen, but he hit the gas and his hotrod took off, disappearing into the sunset. Fuming, she kicked a few rocks, and a few minutes later, started walking towards town.
Elwood couldn't believe his luck. He'd been following them around - recon only, of course - and the open invitation made his heart pound. Carefully, he maneuvered his own rusty Chevy up to the road, then drove back towards her, pretending like he'd come from somewhere important. He eased up on the gas when she appeared, strolling along the side of the road like a woman of the night. He braked when she stepped up to the window, and even managed to sound disinterested when he asked if she needed a ride. Maybe she didn't recognize him. Maybe she didn't care. Either way, she said yes.
Two days later, someone realized she was gone. By that point, it was too late.
Standing to his feet, Elwood brushed his hands together and dusted off his pants. The paint looked good. It would take someone with a magnifying glass and a set of plans to know that the room had been messed with, and the built-in bookshelves he was planning would cover any mistakes. It was a shame to cover such a beautiful wall, but he supposed it was better this way. The more natural it looked, the better. And it needed a second coat, so there was still time to watch it dry.
Elwood hummed to himself as he poured more paint in his tray. Next time he went out, he'd need to pick up some air fresheners. Something in the new room smelled awful, and he really ought to do something about it. Ignoring it, well, would be stupid.
And he certainly wasn't stupid.
Hello, dear readers!
Here’s something a little bit different. It’s been bouncing around in my head for a while, inspired by painting a room, deciding that I hate watching paint dry, and wondering if there was ever a reason for anyone to enjoy it.
If there is, I believe this would do it.
What boring task do you hate doing, that somebody else with a nefarious purpose might actually enjoy?
Happy one-week-and-a-few-days until Christmas! May your holiday season be bright, and filled with laughter and good things.
<3 Olivia
(Photo by Colour Creation, Pexels)