Creative Content in English
Welcome Guest
Not a member yet? Join us.
Login if you already have registered.
Writings > Short Story > Thriller

Tea For Two

Previous short story:
One Fine Evening
Next short story:
What If I'm Superman...


‘To SS, maliciously delicious.’

****

     The doorknob was turned this way and that. It was locked. He then proceeded to knock again. No reply. The old man sighed. Outside, he began fumbling with the keys, muttering to himself all the while. Holding up each key for close inspection, Encik Ahmad finally found the right one. He inserted the key in the lock and turned it. There was a distinctive click and Encik Ahmad opened the front door. He let himself in. “Assalamualaikum, Rahman. Anita? Anyone home?” Encik Ahmad stood in the corridor of the spacious five bedroom house. The dark grey marble floor had been polished to an immaculate shine. Encik Ahmad carefully removed his shoes and placed them neatly inside the shoe cupboard. He walked across to the kitchen, his footsteps making soft padded sounds on the smooth floor.


      The house had been bought by his son and Rahman had exceptionally good taste. Rahman was an engineer by trade but a designer at heart. The house had an open concept where the kitchen  overlooked the dining room. The island kitchen was clean and everything was in its place. Pots and pans hung over the counter for easy access. Rahman was very particular about how everything was organised and when he wanted to cook; he needed everything to be within arms reach. Encik Ahmad took the kettle and walked slowly over to the sink. He lifted the lid and turned the tap. Water  frothed and gushed forth filling the kettle quickly with water. Encik Ahmad turned the tap off and placed the lid back on. He placed it over the hob, turned on the gas and ignited the fire. There was a loud whoosh and the flames blazed merrily heating the steel kettle.


      Encik Ahmad decided it was time for him to make a quick trip to the bathroom. He made his way to the ground floor bathroom which was located close to the elegant staircase. This particular bathroom had no windows so he had to turn on the light to see. He switched on the light and a warm yellow glow spread all over the small but immaculate bathroom. Pristine and well-kept like the rest of the house. He eased himself quickly and proceeded to wash his hands. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His hairline was receding and though he was not exactly bald; his hair was indeed thinning. He remembered when he was a young man his Rubiah used to tell him she admired his wonderful body. Ahh, the good old days. At 63, Rubiah was now just a cherished memory and painful was now a better word for his physical state. Well, a consolation was that at least Rahman had inherited his height and looks. And yes, Anita and  Rahman did indeed make a handsome couple.


      Encik Ahmad snapped out of reminiscing as he heard the sharp whistling of the kettle. He switched off the light and made his way to the kitchen. The water was boiling and steam was piping fiercely out of the spout. Encik Ahmad turned off the heat. He held on to the handle and quickly let go. It was too hot. He proceeded to look for a dishcloth to use. He opened and closed the drawers in search of a dishcloth poking his way this way and that. Funny, one utensil was missing in the very organised drawers. Oh well, perhaps Anita was in a hurry today. He didn’t know how she managed it. Handling a full time job on top of his fussy son required both the mental and physical endurance of a very well adapted woman. His son was not only particular about punctuality, but also cleanliness. A woman needed to be both organised, entertaining, intelligent, beautiful and psychic. His son expected Anita to know exactly what he wanted without him telling her. He had indeed been witness to such an occasion. He sighed to himself. Ah yes, here was a dishcloth.


      He lifted the kettle and poured the water into a cup. It seeped into the tea bag, soaking and infusing the water to a light rust coloured liquid. Encik Ahmad liked his tea strong so he let it sit for a while. Hmm. Perhaps a bit of television. Encik Ahmad switched it on and looked at his watch. Anita should be home by now. She was usually back on time as she had to prepare dinner. Rahman disliked eating out and preferred to eat at home. Anita was an excellent cook. Ever since Rubiah had passed away two years ago, Encik Ahmad would occasionally join the two for dinner. This was one of the many occasions. Where was Anita? It was very unlike her to be this late. He looked at the wooden clock on the wall. 6.15pm. She was a whole hour late. Where was she? Encik Ahmad shook his head and made his way back to the kitchen.


      He took out the sugar and put in three full teaspoonfuls. This was not very good considering he was diabetic. A little bit of indulgent pleasure never did anyone any harm. He half smiled to himself, musing over past incidents all over again. The dull drone of the evening news could be heard but elsewhere outside, it was quiet. They lived in an upmarket, posh area of Kuala Lumpur and security was both tight amd strict. Even Encik Ahmad had to have his identity card checked every time even though he had come on numerous occasions. He continued to stir his tea, the steam rising from his hot tea. He had always liked coffee but was told cut down his caffeine intake. Tea was a less sinful alternative. His tea was almost ready. Now all he needed was milk.


      He liked his tea with fresh milk and they always had stock. He opened the fridge and reached for where the milk should have been except that it wasn’t there. Impossible, thought the old man. Well, it must be have been misplaced. He began pushing past jars of sauce and containers of stock. Right at the back of the fridge was a bag of meat. He reeled back in shock to see a pair of eyes staring back at him. “Astaghfirullah!” he cried. What was this? He felt his blood drain from his body and he steadied himself by holding on to the counter. What were eyeballs in a bag doing at the back of the fridge?? He must be imagining things! He braced himself and stared at the wide open door of the fridge. He slowly peered again. He took a sharp intake of breath. Yes. They were definitely there. He gulped visibly. Who did they belong to? What was he to do? What was happening?? What had happened?? A wave of fear and a barrage of questions swept through him. He made a quick decision. He decided the police should be involved. He reached for the phone when he heard a loud clink of metal. He turned to see her pick up the meat cleaver. She smiled warmly and calmly asked, “Looking for something, father?”

****

Previous short story:
One Fine Evening
Next short story:
What If I'm Superman...
Share!

(+) Create your entry!

Permalink | Top
HTML:
Rekomen!!rekomen!
Review rekomen!
Rate this post
Rate this post
Only registered members are allowed to rate.
4.3
9 Voters

about the writer

Sal Safie

Miss-Stress by day, Miss-ion (to write) by night. Fave writer Roald Dahl for his twisted style and poet Lord Byron for his poking sarcasm.Pretty pleased with this site cos' it gives me the opportunity to experiment, I guess. Hope Kapasitor goes all the way...:D
M155M00N | Add M155M00N as friend | Send message to M155M00N

About this entry
print PRINT
copyright
Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Malaysia
Explanation
email EMAIL
karya curang REPORT
rekomen! REKOMEN!!
rekomen! REVIEW

Other post from M155M00N
One Fine Evening | 3214 views
As Promised... | 2977 views
Home Ground | 2900 views
Karma | 3218 views
See all

Comments
Only registered members are allowed to give comments. Please login

advertise@karyamedia.net
advertise@karyamedia.net

Follow kapasitor


Kapasitor Bookstore

Granny Dan

When Granny Dan dies, all that remains is a box wrapped in brown paper, tied ...
Price: RM 5.00


Related short stories

From Kapasitor.net Archive

Archive
Best 100 stories