Good morning, House of Madness thrifters:
Often times, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Add some pent up anger you buried deep within yourself, and the results can be utterly chaotic. Hope you enjoy this one!
The Chair
It was just a regular Sunday for Jim Winters as he was perusing the local garage sales; the day started off like every other Sunday - Get up, make too much coffee, head to the doughnut shop for a honey cruller, and finish up with some good old fashioned haggling before NFL Sunday started at one o'clock. This Sunday was particularly beautiful, as the sun wasn't just shining, but seemed to be gleaming, giving everything its rays kissed an almost delectable coating of goodness; and then he saw it. The chair. Not just any chair, but the most comfortable looking leather recliner Jim had ever seen, and he had already been to three furniture stores kicking tires with no luck whatsoever. "How much?" Jim said to the proprietor of said chair. "For you, five dollars - I like your face." the man said. "Come on!" Jim said flabergasted, "It has to be worth two hundred times that!" he screamed. "You trying to rob your own pockets? Seems kind of counter-productive to me when you're at a garage sale wearing sweat pants with a hole in them" the man chuckled. "No, but I'd feel like an ass if I only paid you five dollars for such a beautiful chair." Jim said. "No need to bring feelings into this, Mr. Sweatpants, but in order for a transaction to take place, there must be a trade, and that is the trade I'm proposing. There is a catch, however." the man said evenly. "I knew it!" Jim shouted, "Let me guess, it has bed bugs!" he half joked. "I assure you there's nothing faulty with the merchandise, but I have two stipulations. Firstly, you must take it today. Secondly, there are absolutely zero returns. If I so much as glimpse this chair again, you will be sorry." the man said with a straight face. "Deal!" Jim shouted as he reached out to shake the man's hand, and to his surprise, the man shook it quickly, almost too quickly, he thought.
As Jim and his neighbour Frank unloaded the chair from Frank's pickup, Jim still couldn't quite shake the odd sensation he felt when he shook the man's hand at the garage sale. "You're losing it, Jimbo", he said to himself. "What?" Frank replied. "Nothing, just talking to myself. Thanks for the help Franky! Stop by later to watch the Raiders lose if you like!" Jim replied, but Frank just gave him the finger and got back in his truck. "I'd be pissed all the time if I cheered for the Raiders too", Jim thought to himself. In no time, Jim had his new acquisition placed perfectly in front of the TV, pretzels on his left, and six Coors Light on ice to his right. Today was shaping up to be a great day, if only the goddamn Cardinals had a fucking defense, that was.
After the Cards went down three touchdowns, Jim allowed himself to nod off to sleep, hoping he'd be surprised by the final score when he awoke. As he fell deep into slumber, he found himself dreaming through the eyes of another, almost as if he were seeing the world through their perspective, and not his own. He was in a strange house, one he'd never seen before, and for some reason he (or the person he was experiencing this through) was sneaking through the rooms and corridors, as if he were in some form of stealth mode. When he came around the next corner, he saw a woman folding laundry with her back to him as she watched television and sipped brandy. Before Jim could make out what she was watching, he brandished a knife and began violently stabbing the woman in the back and face as she turned around until she was a bloody mess, unrecognizable from the neck down. "HOLY HELL!" Jim said with a start, as he sat up in his chair, spilling pretzels everywhere. "Just a nightmare." Jim sighed to himself, as he looked at the clock and realized it was time for the six o'clock news.
Of course the news started off with sports and the embarrassing shellacking the Cardinals had received earlier in the day, losing 45-13 to the lowly Broncos, but once Channel 7 finished up with the sports report, they jumped straight to a local tragedy, and Jim barely caught himself before he vomited all over his living room floor. "Catherine Pearson of Phoenix, Arizona was found stabbed to death moments ago, discovered by her husband who had stepped out for a game of golf. Details are pending, but as of right now, her husband is the primary suspect. More to come as we find out." the TV blurted as the camera panned slowly across the front of the house which was cordoned off by police tape. "That's the house! That's THE fucking house from my dream!" Jim yelled with horror as he turned off the television. What the fuck is going on!?" Jim said to nobody in particular as he downed a Coors Light in three gulps. "That's it, no more beers and naps for me." Jim said to himself, and before he could decide what was for dinner, he was fast asleep in his new chair once again.
This time when Jim realized he was dreaming, he was in a familiar house - it was the house he shared for twenty years with his ex-wife Judy, before she took him to the fucking cleaners as he always said to anyone who'd listen. This dream was also different in the regard that he wasn't sneaking around, and seemed to be walking through his old house with reckless abandon, not bothered by the sounds or movements he was making, yet he was searching for something…..or someone. And then there she was, where she always was, sitting at the kitchen table playing solitaire and sipping on her boxed wine. "Oh, you bitch!", Jim thought, as he hadn't seen Judy or even thought of her existence in what seemed like an eternity, and before he knew it, his hands were around her throat, and he could see the life leaving her body as he squeezed and squeezed until finally she was motionless, succumbing to the lack of oxygen stolen by what Jim recognized as his own hands. Jim was startled awake once more, but this time he didn't need to watch the news to find out if what he had done in his dream had really happened, for a voice came from the living room window whispering "No refunds", and Jim laughed maniacally, falling deep into madness in his new favourite chair.
NB.
