In The Back Of The Fridge

When Thun had texted him his house address months ago, Cronus had saved it without thinking even though his strange classmate had said he didn't entertain visitors. Cronus had smirked at that. What teenage boy didn't want his friends or classmates coming over?

So when he stood at the gate at 2 a.m. bleeding from a split lip and his left eye swollen shut, he almost didn't recognise the place. It was a small detached bungalow, dark and fenced off in the middle of a vast expanse of land.

He trembled as Thun opened the gate before he could press the bell. “You shouldn't be here,” Thun said, eyeing him from head to toe. He wore a faded sweater and the same calm face he wore in school, the one that made teachers avoid his gaze.

“You gotta help me, guy,” Cronus rambled, his chest heaving. “They are not far behind me.”

“Who?” The eighteen-year-olds both looked down the quiet road.

Cronus gulped, his throat dry. “Uh, there are about four of them…I took some of their stash…I messed up. It was supposed to be a prank but somehow I lost the stash. I try to explain but they beat me up. I had to run down here.” He gripped Thun’s bicep. “You gotta help me, guy.”

Thun’s gaze dropped at the hand on his forearm. Cronus removed it quickly. “Sorry.”

The roar of an approaching car and the screech of its tires broke the silence. Cronus’ one good eye widened in shock. “Come in,” Thun said, stepping aside.

The house was strangely quiet, no TV, no clock ticking except for small wall sconces that dimly lit the hallway. He led Cronus down the hallway lined with closed doors. The place smelled faintly of cold air and something sweet underneath.

“Guy,” Cronus whispered, "Your parents around?”

“Away.”

He took him to an empty kitchen that looked like it had not been used for months and pointed at a chair. “Sit and don't touch anything.”

Just then headlights lit up the kitchen windows as the car parked outside the gate and the thugs stepped out, their voice low and angry.

“Stay here,” Thun said. “Don’t come out and don't look.”

“Guy, they've got weapons. You can't just—”

“Cronus.” Thun smiled, the kind he gave when someone got a question wrong. “Sit down.”

He sat down and watched Thun walk out, closing the door quietly behind him. His legs shook badly so he stood and started to pace the kitchen. His gaze darted to the fridge close to the dusty oven. He crossed to it and opened the door. The light spilled out over shelves that were almost bare except for a half bottle of sparkling water and a small carton of eggs.

Then he saw something in the back of the fridge that caught his eye. Wrapped in clear plastic, pale and curled, was a hand, the fingers slightly open as if waiting to be held.

For one long second, his brain refused to acknowledge what he had just seen. Then it did and he slammed the door shut and doubled over the dusty sink, gagging, his whole body heaving.

He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt as he heard muffled voices in a struggle followed by silence, longer than it should have been. Then something that wasn't a shout or a scream but a sound like a held breath finally released.

When Thun returned to the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he frowned at Cronus who sat frozen at the table, staring at the fridge.

“So, they won't bother you again,” he said calmly. “Water?”

Cronus opened his mouth, closed it and for the first time in his careless, easy life, had nothing to say.

I hope you enjoyed reading this short piece. It's inspired by the Freewrite #dailyprompt phrase "in the back of the fridge”.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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