Post by TheWalkinDude on Aug 11, 2009 11:54:44 GMT
Hi everyone.
This is a story that i finished reading recently, but I had a bit of trouble with the ending. If you get a chance to read it could you please comment on it to let me know what, if anything, i could do better with the ending?
cheers
----------------------------------------
Spit Shine
By Ian Latham
The knocking at the door was loud and clear, and John Anderson looked up from his laptop with a puzzled look. He wasn’t expecting anyone and he was damn sure that it wasn’t the TV licensing people; he had paid up in full for the year. So he got up from his chair and walked across the living room of his flat and down the short hallway to the front door. The knocking came again and John wondered for a moment if it was his neighbour coming to complain that he had called the police last night, their music was blaring most of the night and he had to be up early to work on his programme for the company.
When he reached the door he took hold of the twist lock and turned it, the bolt slid back with a small squeal of protest and john made a mental note to oil it when he got a chance, but the chances were that he would probably forget.
Standing at his door was a small middle-aged man. He had black hair and dark eyes and was wearing a boiler suit. In one small hand he held a clipboard. With a smile he checked the clipboard, running one dirty finger down the page.
“John Anderson?” he said without looking up.
“That’s me.”
The man looked up from his clipboard and his smile didn’t leave his face as he held out a hand.
“I’m Michael Emerson,” he said, “from Spit Shine Windows and Glass, were a new window washing service and we were wondering if you would like our services.”
John regarded the proffered hand with surprise for a moment before shaking it; he was slightly taken aback by the directness of Emerson’s approach and he noticed the man’s hand was cold and slightly sticky.
“Oh,” he said, “the building manager already has a cleaning contract, I usually deal with them.”
“Yes the building manager did make that clear to us, they come once a month don’t they?”
John nodded his affirmation of this fact.
“But of course,” Emerson went on, “we did explain to the building manager that our service will be on a weekly basis, I myself have been given this building and the two others in this area as a jurisdiction of work, and the building manager has said that we can have whomever wishes to have their windows cleaned by us. And all the tenants I have spoken to have taken us up on our offer.”
John mulled this over for a moment before asking the most pertinent question.
“How much is your service costing?” he asked.
Emerson smiled, but John noticed that the smile didn’t touch the man’s eyes.
“Straight to the point,” he said, “our services are only costing ten pounds a month, and I am in the understanding you pay thirty to your building manager. Is that correct?”
That was correct. John had always begrudged paying that much, considering that the window cleaners only came once a month and didn’t even do a very good job. John reckoned it was mostly hazard pay because it was a high-rise block of flats. The idiots that came spent more time smoking than cleaning, and he could do with an extra twenty quid a month.
“Okay,” he said eventually, “where do I sign?”
Emerson’s grin widened as he held out the clipboard.
“Right on the dotted line.”
When John had signed his name he handed the clipboard back and enquired when Emerson would be starting.
“Oh, right away,” he said, “Waste not, want not. That’s what I always say.” Emerson laughed heartily at this. John only smiled. After his laughter dried up Emerson held out a hand again.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Anderson.” He said. John took the man’s hand again and smiled.
“The pleasure was all mine” he said, and closed the door.
Back in his living room his laptop had gone onto stand by, but John was finished with his work. He had lost his train of thought and it would take him to long to get it back. He decided to finish his programme tomorrow. As he was switching off the laptop he heard an odd sound. It sounded like the pitter-patter of rain, until he realised that it was coming from the walls and not the windows. But he dismissed it; he knew that Emerson would be out there cleaning the windows. So he decided to read for a bit before making his dinner. He took a paperback from the bookshelf and sat down on his couch, getting comfortable before finding his place and reading.
But it would seem that he was to be distracted yet again, the pitter-patter sound kept coming round. Then he would hear a thunk as something hit the windows hard enough to rattle the panes. John began to get annoyed and decided to tell Emerson to keep it down a bit. The noise was coming from the kitchen so he walked across the room and through the doorway.
He was just about to open his mouth when the sight of Emerson knocked the wind from his lungs with a high-pitched wheeze. Emerson was there all right, but he had no apparatus for holding him up while he worked. Instead he had sprouted two more arms and two more legs; each of the limbs was positioned in a way that the palms or the flats of the feet were pressed right against the walls. John noted that Emerson’s shoulders and hips seemed to have broadened to accommodate the extra limbs. He also noticed that Emerson had grown extra eyes, there were the two at the front of his head and two on the top, and John was willing to bet that he had two at the back as well.
Because Emerson looked just like a spider.
He was spitting some kind of clear liquid onto the windows and was wiping them with a great big wad of web that was bunched in his only free hand like a cloth. He was rubbing the window thoroughly until he noticed John standing there. they regarded each other for a few moments, Emerson with a blank expression and John with his mouth hanging open like a broken trapdoor and an expression of abject terror on his face. Then Emerson shook his head sadly, ate the webbing in his hand and, with complicated movements of all his limbs, scurried up the wall and disappeared from view. John wondered dumbly for a moment where Emerson had gone to when his mind seemed to unlock all at once.
Oh shit! He thought he’s probably coming to kill me!
John ran into his living room looking for something he could use as a weapon, anything that he could swing with enough force. But it was too late, there was a sharp knocking at his door and he froze. He didn’t event want to move even though it was obvious that Emerson knew he was here. The knocking came again and this time Emerson called through the door.
“John,” he called through the door, “Can I have a word please?”
John only stood where he was wondering what to do, he couldn’t hide in here forever, if the man could grow extra arms and climb walls he would most likely make short work of the front door. The only other option was to go and talk to the creature outside his front door. Emerson knocked again more forcibly.
“John! You might as well come and speak to me; I know you’re in there!”
John whimpered as he walked down the hall, the last thing he wanted was to be eaten. When he approached the door he slid the chain on, it was a futile gesture but he needed something to feel better about. He turned the twist lock and pulled the door open as much as the chain would allow. Emerson looked like he did when John first answered the door, two arms, two legs and two eyes. He was holding his clipboard again, tapping it off his hand and John noticed that there were a few gossamer strands of webbing still stuck to Emerson’s palm. Emerson took a look at Johns pallid face and then the door chain before he spoke.
“You know,” he said, “the door chain really isn’t necessary.” Emerson continued tapping the clipboard of his hand. John regarded him warily for a moment and then pushed the door closed, undid the chain and pulled the door all the way open. He tried to smile at Emerson but it was a ghastly attempt so he straightened his face again.
“Now,” Emerson said, “I don’t mean you any harm John, I just want to talk to you a minute. Okay?”
“Um…” John began shakily, “You had… you…”
“Yes, yes I know. But John everyone needs to make a living in this world. Even monsters.”
“A living. Right.”
“And there really is no need to be frightened,” Emerson continued, “Sure I have extra arms and legs. But I’m just like you and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. Plus my boss would be very, very unhappy if it all came out. So perhaps we could put this behind us. I’ll clean your windows and you pay the invoice. We don’t ever have to see each other again, what do you say?”
Emerson smiled jovially, tap, tap, tapping the clipboard off his hands. John smiled back.
“Well, I suppose—”
“Very good, now I have some work to do. Goodbye John.” Emerson turned on his heels and walked towards the stairwell.
“Um… Bye then.” John said and shut the door.
When he walked back into his living room all was quiet, Emerson must have finished with Johns windows and was off to start on the neighbours. John stood stock still for a moment.
And then screamed.
After a few minutes of this he felt better. Not great, but better, and better was at least something, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t concentrate on anything and that night in bed he had a troubled sleep. He dreamt of men with spider’s legs and mandibles all dancing around and cleaning his house. When he awoke early the next morning he had found that he’d wet the bed, but that was a small thing compared to Emerson, who would now be visiting his flat once a week. That was little more than John could deal with.
Seven days passed that way they usually do, sluggishly. Speeding up only at the weekend when you wanted them to last longer. John Anderson had spent the remainder of the week in a daze; he hardly slept and felt that his appetite had been ruined with his encounter with Emerson. Even when he met up with some of his friends for a pint or two in the pub the beer tasted rancid to him. No matter what he did he couldn’t rid himself of the visage of Emerson with all those extra limbs and eyes. His friends asked if he was okay, he told them he must be coming down with something.
On the day when Emerson was due to return to clean the windows, John was sitting in his living room staring at the wall. His nerves were shot to hell and he was shaking pretty badly. He hadn’t slept all night and had drunk so much coffee he was sure he was going to overdose on caffeine. So he sat there quivering and wondering what, exactly, he should do.
About half past three he heard the pitter-patter coming along his wall, followed by a loud thunk that announce Emerson was here. John sat ramrod straight listening to Emerson cleaning the windows, knowing that he would have all those limbs. Knowing that he was spitting that clear fluid on the windows, knowing that he would be wiping them with a big handful of webbing.
Knowing!
At some point Johns mind finally snapped, he stood up and walked into the kitchen, his face a blank mask. Emerson was at the window, while John watch Emerson drew in a breath, hocked and spat a load of clear goo onto the window and began wiping it meticulously with the wad of web. He glanced through the goo and smiled, waving at John as if there was nothing amiss before continuing to wipe the window.
John, who still had that blank expression on his face, waved back. He approached the window and looked at the handles. They were in the position showing that it was unlocked. He never did lock them, being on the 14th floor of Stuart house.
Before he even knew what he was doing he grasped the handles and pushed. The window swung open with a screech of rusty hinges, catching Emerson a glancing blow in the chin. The window hit him so hard that wall of his limbs detached themselves from the wall and sent him flying away from the window. John watched all this in slow motion, watched Emerson continue to fly away from the wall, then his head came back forward and regarded John with a look of such malevolence that John nearly had a heart attack right where he stood. And then Emerson was falling and within a few seconds he had disappeared from view.
John stood holding the window for a few more moments, completely astonished at what he had just done. Eventually he peeled his fingers from the windows frame, and it slid shut. And then John was at a loss, he wasn’t sure what to do with him self. So he wandered into the living room, picked up the little phone that connected him to the building manager’s desk and requested his normal window cleaning service again.
“That other guy not very good then?” the building manager asked.
“Oh, he was ok. I would just prefer the normal service, if you get my meaning.” John doubted very much that the building manager did.
“Aye, I get you lad. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure the usual boys do your windie’s.”
John thanked the building manager, replaced the handset and went to bed and fell instantly asleep.
John would have slept the whole night, if he didn’t feel rough hands grabbing at him. He came instantly awake and tried to cry out, but a strong hand clamped over his mouth.
“Don’t bother screaming,” a gruff voice said, “it won’t do you any good.”
John felt other hands winding what felt like waxy rope around his wrists. Eventually the hand over his mouth let go and he squinted into the dark. He could make out a vague shape of someone standing over him.
“Who are you?” he asked in a small voice.
“Me?” the shape said, “I’m the boss. And you killed one of my employee’s. That was a very bad move, Mr Anderson, very bad indeed. And now its time to cash up.” The Boss chuckled sardonically. “You owe me for the cleaning of your windows and the business I’m gonna’ loose with Emerson dead.”
John tried to speak but terror had choked his vocabulary. All he could do was make a dry retching sound. The boss moved across the room and stood by the door.
“I’m afraid the price is high, Mr Anderson.” The Boss said, and snapped on the light.
Johns eyes widened in absolute fear as he beheld The Boss. He was like Emerson, except that he had only one extra arm and one extra leg, but his eyes were huge, black, multifaceted orbs that glared malevolently from his grinning face. Two black antennae jutted from the top of his skull, twitching madly. And out his back thrust a huge black and yellow wasp’s abdomen. And at the end of that was a monstrous stinger, venom dripped out the end and sizzled on the floor.
“Very high, indeed.” The Boss chuckled, and turned.
The End
This is a story that i finished reading recently, but I had a bit of trouble with the ending. If you get a chance to read it could you please comment on it to let me know what, if anything, i could do better with the ending?
cheers
----------------------------------------
Spit Shine
By Ian Latham
The knocking at the door was loud and clear, and John Anderson looked up from his laptop with a puzzled look. He wasn’t expecting anyone and he was damn sure that it wasn’t the TV licensing people; he had paid up in full for the year. So he got up from his chair and walked across the living room of his flat and down the short hallway to the front door. The knocking came again and John wondered for a moment if it was his neighbour coming to complain that he had called the police last night, their music was blaring most of the night and he had to be up early to work on his programme for the company.
When he reached the door he took hold of the twist lock and turned it, the bolt slid back with a small squeal of protest and john made a mental note to oil it when he got a chance, but the chances were that he would probably forget.
Standing at his door was a small middle-aged man. He had black hair and dark eyes and was wearing a boiler suit. In one small hand he held a clipboard. With a smile he checked the clipboard, running one dirty finger down the page.
“John Anderson?” he said without looking up.
“That’s me.”
The man looked up from his clipboard and his smile didn’t leave his face as he held out a hand.
“I’m Michael Emerson,” he said, “from Spit Shine Windows and Glass, were a new window washing service and we were wondering if you would like our services.”
John regarded the proffered hand with surprise for a moment before shaking it; he was slightly taken aback by the directness of Emerson’s approach and he noticed the man’s hand was cold and slightly sticky.
“Oh,” he said, “the building manager already has a cleaning contract, I usually deal with them.”
“Yes the building manager did make that clear to us, they come once a month don’t they?”
John nodded his affirmation of this fact.
“But of course,” Emerson went on, “we did explain to the building manager that our service will be on a weekly basis, I myself have been given this building and the two others in this area as a jurisdiction of work, and the building manager has said that we can have whomever wishes to have their windows cleaned by us. And all the tenants I have spoken to have taken us up on our offer.”
John mulled this over for a moment before asking the most pertinent question.
“How much is your service costing?” he asked.
Emerson smiled, but John noticed that the smile didn’t touch the man’s eyes.
“Straight to the point,” he said, “our services are only costing ten pounds a month, and I am in the understanding you pay thirty to your building manager. Is that correct?”
That was correct. John had always begrudged paying that much, considering that the window cleaners only came once a month and didn’t even do a very good job. John reckoned it was mostly hazard pay because it was a high-rise block of flats. The idiots that came spent more time smoking than cleaning, and he could do with an extra twenty quid a month.
“Okay,” he said eventually, “where do I sign?”
Emerson’s grin widened as he held out the clipboard.
“Right on the dotted line.”
When John had signed his name he handed the clipboard back and enquired when Emerson would be starting.
“Oh, right away,” he said, “Waste not, want not. That’s what I always say.” Emerson laughed heartily at this. John only smiled. After his laughter dried up Emerson held out a hand again.
“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr Anderson.” He said. John took the man’s hand again and smiled.
“The pleasure was all mine” he said, and closed the door.
Back in his living room his laptop had gone onto stand by, but John was finished with his work. He had lost his train of thought and it would take him to long to get it back. He decided to finish his programme tomorrow. As he was switching off the laptop he heard an odd sound. It sounded like the pitter-patter of rain, until he realised that it was coming from the walls and not the windows. But he dismissed it; he knew that Emerson would be out there cleaning the windows. So he decided to read for a bit before making his dinner. He took a paperback from the bookshelf and sat down on his couch, getting comfortable before finding his place and reading.
But it would seem that he was to be distracted yet again, the pitter-patter sound kept coming round. Then he would hear a thunk as something hit the windows hard enough to rattle the panes. John began to get annoyed and decided to tell Emerson to keep it down a bit. The noise was coming from the kitchen so he walked across the room and through the doorway.
He was just about to open his mouth when the sight of Emerson knocked the wind from his lungs with a high-pitched wheeze. Emerson was there all right, but he had no apparatus for holding him up while he worked. Instead he had sprouted two more arms and two more legs; each of the limbs was positioned in a way that the palms or the flats of the feet were pressed right against the walls. John noted that Emerson’s shoulders and hips seemed to have broadened to accommodate the extra limbs. He also noticed that Emerson had grown extra eyes, there were the two at the front of his head and two on the top, and John was willing to bet that he had two at the back as well.
Because Emerson looked just like a spider.
He was spitting some kind of clear liquid onto the windows and was wiping them with a great big wad of web that was bunched in his only free hand like a cloth. He was rubbing the window thoroughly until he noticed John standing there. they regarded each other for a few moments, Emerson with a blank expression and John with his mouth hanging open like a broken trapdoor and an expression of abject terror on his face. Then Emerson shook his head sadly, ate the webbing in his hand and, with complicated movements of all his limbs, scurried up the wall and disappeared from view. John wondered dumbly for a moment where Emerson had gone to when his mind seemed to unlock all at once.
Oh shit! He thought he’s probably coming to kill me!
John ran into his living room looking for something he could use as a weapon, anything that he could swing with enough force. But it was too late, there was a sharp knocking at his door and he froze. He didn’t event want to move even though it was obvious that Emerson knew he was here. The knocking came again and this time Emerson called through the door.
“John,” he called through the door, “Can I have a word please?”
John only stood where he was wondering what to do, he couldn’t hide in here forever, if the man could grow extra arms and climb walls he would most likely make short work of the front door. The only other option was to go and talk to the creature outside his front door. Emerson knocked again more forcibly.
“John! You might as well come and speak to me; I know you’re in there!”
John whimpered as he walked down the hall, the last thing he wanted was to be eaten. When he approached the door he slid the chain on, it was a futile gesture but he needed something to feel better about. He turned the twist lock and pulled the door open as much as the chain would allow. Emerson looked like he did when John first answered the door, two arms, two legs and two eyes. He was holding his clipboard again, tapping it off his hand and John noticed that there were a few gossamer strands of webbing still stuck to Emerson’s palm. Emerson took a look at Johns pallid face and then the door chain before he spoke.
“You know,” he said, “the door chain really isn’t necessary.” Emerson continued tapping the clipboard of his hand. John regarded him warily for a moment and then pushed the door closed, undid the chain and pulled the door all the way open. He tried to smile at Emerson but it was a ghastly attempt so he straightened his face again.
“Now,” Emerson said, “I don’t mean you any harm John, I just want to talk to you a minute. Okay?”
“Um…” John began shakily, “You had… you…”
“Yes, yes I know. But John everyone needs to make a living in this world. Even monsters.”
“A living. Right.”
“And there really is no need to be frightened,” Emerson continued, “Sure I have extra arms and legs. But I’m just like you and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about this. Plus my boss would be very, very unhappy if it all came out. So perhaps we could put this behind us. I’ll clean your windows and you pay the invoice. We don’t ever have to see each other again, what do you say?”
Emerson smiled jovially, tap, tap, tapping the clipboard off his hands. John smiled back.
“Well, I suppose—”
“Very good, now I have some work to do. Goodbye John.” Emerson turned on his heels and walked towards the stairwell.
“Um… Bye then.” John said and shut the door.
When he walked back into his living room all was quiet, Emerson must have finished with Johns windows and was off to start on the neighbours. John stood stock still for a moment.
And then screamed.
After a few minutes of this he felt better. Not great, but better, and better was at least something, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t concentrate on anything and that night in bed he had a troubled sleep. He dreamt of men with spider’s legs and mandibles all dancing around and cleaning his house. When he awoke early the next morning he had found that he’d wet the bed, but that was a small thing compared to Emerson, who would now be visiting his flat once a week. That was little more than John could deal with.
Seven days passed that way they usually do, sluggishly. Speeding up only at the weekend when you wanted them to last longer. John Anderson had spent the remainder of the week in a daze; he hardly slept and felt that his appetite had been ruined with his encounter with Emerson. Even when he met up with some of his friends for a pint or two in the pub the beer tasted rancid to him. No matter what he did he couldn’t rid himself of the visage of Emerson with all those extra limbs and eyes. His friends asked if he was okay, he told them he must be coming down with something.
On the day when Emerson was due to return to clean the windows, John was sitting in his living room staring at the wall. His nerves were shot to hell and he was shaking pretty badly. He hadn’t slept all night and had drunk so much coffee he was sure he was going to overdose on caffeine. So he sat there quivering and wondering what, exactly, he should do.
About half past three he heard the pitter-patter coming along his wall, followed by a loud thunk that announce Emerson was here. John sat ramrod straight listening to Emerson cleaning the windows, knowing that he would have all those limbs. Knowing that he was spitting that clear fluid on the windows, knowing that he would be wiping them with a big handful of webbing.
Knowing!
At some point Johns mind finally snapped, he stood up and walked into the kitchen, his face a blank mask. Emerson was at the window, while John watch Emerson drew in a breath, hocked and spat a load of clear goo onto the window and began wiping it meticulously with the wad of web. He glanced through the goo and smiled, waving at John as if there was nothing amiss before continuing to wipe the window.
John, who still had that blank expression on his face, waved back. He approached the window and looked at the handles. They were in the position showing that it was unlocked. He never did lock them, being on the 14th floor of Stuart house.
Before he even knew what he was doing he grasped the handles and pushed. The window swung open with a screech of rusty hinges, catching Emerson a glancing blow in the chin. The window hit him so hard that wall of his limbs detached themselves from the wall and sent him flying away from the window. John watched all this in slow motion, watched Emerson continue to fly away from the wall, then his head came back forward and regarded John with a look of such malevolence that John nearly had a heart attack right where he stood. And then Emerson was falling and within a few seconds he had disappeared from view.
John stood holding the window for a few more moments, completely astonished at what he had just done. Eventually he peeled his fingers from the windows frame, and it slid shut. And then John was at a loss, he wasn’t sure what to do with him self. So he wandered into the living room, picked up the little phone that connected him to the building manager’s desk and requested his normal window cleaning service again.
“That other guy not very good then?” the building manager asked.
“Oh, he was ok. I would just prefer the normal service, if you get my meaning.” John doubted very much that the building manager did.
“Aye, I get you lad. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure the usual boys do your windie’s.”
John thanked the building manager, replaced the handset and went to bed and fell instantly asleep.
John would have slept the whole night, if he didn’t feel rough hands grabbing at him. He came instantly awake and tried to cry out, but a strong hand clamped over his mouth.
“Don’t bother screaming,” a gruff voice said, “it won’t do you any good.”
John felt other hands winding what felt like waxy rope around his wrists. Eventually the hand over his mouth let go and he squinted into the dark. He could make out a vague shape of someone standing over him.
“Who are you?” he asked in a small voice.
“Me?” the shape said, “I’m the boss. And you killed one of my employee’s. That was a very bad move, Mr Anderson, very bad indeed. And now its time to cash up.” The Boss chuckled sardonically. “You owe me for the cleaning of your windows and the business I’m gonna’ loose with Emerson dead.”
John tried to speak but terror had choked his vocabulary. All he could do was make a dry retching sound. The boss moved across the room and stood by the door.
“I’m afraid the price is high, Mr Anderson.” The Boss said, and snapped on the light.
Johns eyes widened in absolute fear as he beheld The Boss. He was like Emerson, except that he had only one extra arm and one extra leg, but his eyes were huge, black, multifaceted orbs that glared malevolently from his grinning face. Two black antennae jutted from the top of his skull, twitching madly. And out his back thrust a huge black and yellow wasp’s abdomen. And at the end of that was a monstrous stinger, venom dripped out the end and sizzled on the floor.
“Very high, indeed.” The Boss chuckled, and turned.
The End