The music swells, airy violins and cheery piano, as the scene opens on a well-kept suburban home. Sunlight filters through the leaves of a large oak tree and dapples across a manicured lawn where a bicycle is overturned by the front steps. Credits scroll as a dark sedan pulls into the driveway and a middle-aged man exits dressed in a crisp suit that is probably dark blue – it’s impossible to tell when everything is in black and white. The man retrieves his briefcase from the back seat and strolls up the walkway. He grins and shakes his head as he sets the bicycle on its wheels and lowers the kickstand.
When he opens the front door, the music fades and we zoom in on the man as he calls out, “Bobby, how many times do I have to tell you to take care of your bike?”
Cut to the stairs and a boy of about ten bounds down them. “Gosh, dad, at least another twenty. “
Laughter is heard as the shot widens to include dad and son. “Put it in the garage after dinner, please.” He sets his briefcase on the floor of the entryway and unbuttons his suit jacket. “Speaking of dinner, where’s your mother?”
Bobby examines the toes of his sneakers. “Uh, in the family room.”
The low whirr of a vacuum cleaner can be heard in the background. The man checks his watch. “A bit late for her to be doing housework, isn’t it?”
His son only shrugs. “Mom’s been actin’ kinda funny today.”
The man folds his jacket over his arm and walks toward the sound of the vacuum, his face set in an expression that could reflect either concern or annoyance. The shot follows him into the adjoining room and in a tight close-up we see his reaction to what he finds – a mixture of shock and confusion. A cut to the interior of the family room reveals what he sees and a collective gasp is heard.
In the middle of the room is a woman, the handle of a vacuum cleaner in one hand and a rolling pin in the other. She is standing still and slightly hunched over, watching the vacuum relentlessly churn against the same section of carpet. Her makeup and hair are perfectly set, but her polka-dot dress is torn and bloody. A close-up of the rolling pin shows blood running down the wooden barrel and dripping off the end onto the carpet.
Cut to the man who raises an eyebrow and loosens his tie. “Bad day, sweetheart?”
Laughter swells as the shot cuts back to the woman. She turns her head toward the man and growls, her lip curling into a sneer. She releases the vacuum handle and drops the rolling pin to the floor before taking a lurching step toward him.
Again cut to the man who quickly backs out of the room and returns to the entryway where the boy still stands. “Well, son, how about we give your mom a break tonight and go to the drive-in for dinner?”
The boy’s eyes widen with excitement. “Swell, dad!”
The man throws an arm around the boy and they exit through the front door accompanied by the sound of music and applause.
I don’t even know anymore. These stories are getting weirder and weirder as the year progresses. I fear for December.
And, yes, this is a couple days late. I tried to feel bad about it, but in the end couldn’t be bothered. I figured that I made the rules to this little challenge, I can change them at will. I won’t let the power go to my head.
To see my progression into madness, visit my Zombie-A-Month page.
