by Joshua Robinson
After putting Ruth down, I took a nap, exhausted from tedious housework. My mind drifted from consciousness and suddenly I stood in the queue for the drop tower at a seaside funfair. Salt and candy floss filled my nose as crowds of people strolled between red and white tents. Amazing! Just like when I was a girl. But as my turn came to ride, the dream ended, far too soon.
The next morning after breakfast, I napped again, taking two of Mark’s sleeping pills beforehand.
As I’d hoped, I had the same dream, only much longer, and this time rode everything, from the twister to the carousel—I even won a goldfish at the ring toss. And though I appreciated my husband and the acceptable life he’d provided, I had to admit, this was the most fun I’d had in years.
But something bothered me.
A sporadic screeching in the background, almost like a dying cat. Faint, but clearly present, even through the merry whistling of the fairground organ.
I woke to Mark shaking me, back from the office—and a few drinks, by the smell of him.
“Hey, hon,” I slurred. “What time is it?”
“Eleven,” he told me. “At night.”
Oh, God.
I ran to check on the baby.
JOSHUA ROBINSON is a horror writer living in London, England. His short fiction has been published in Coffin Bell Journal, Night Picnic Journal and Tales to Terrify Podcast, among others.
You can find him on Instagram @joshua_robinson_author.
