Outside, the wind howled and hail stones pounded the rooftops. Flashes lit up the sky and explosions rocked the mansion to its foundation. Mrs. Farnsworth’s voice, as shrill as the chirping of the smoke detector, rose above it all.

“Geoffrey! My socks are wrinkled. Did you iron them?”

After slamming the dining room window shut and yanking the curtains closed, Geoffrey shouted, “Not yet, Madam!”

“What are you waiting for? You know I don’t like wrinkled socks!”

As her voice grew louder, Geoffrey knew she was coming downstairs. He braced his shoulder against the monolithic armoire and shoved. The fixture budged several inches and then stopped. Geoffrey took a deep breath and shoved again. The armoire hopped over the carpet lip and slid across the hardwood floor. He nudged it until it blocked the window. Leaning against the cabinet, he swiped his sleeve across his forehead and forced himself to draw in deep breaths.

“Geoffrey!” Her voice was closer, now in the foyer. “The Renoir is crooked. I need you to fix it.”

Another explosion caused Geoffrey to jump. “In a minute, Madam!” Geoffrey sprinted across the room to the kitchen, where he began tossing canned goods and unopened boxes of crackers into a cloth sack. He peered into a jar of peanut butter, wrinkled his nose, and set it aside.
“Geoffrey!” Her voice grated like a rusted door latch as she moved into the sitting room. “Why is my father’s hunting pistol sitting out? It belongs in the display case!”

“I’ll take care of it, Madam!” His neck muscles tensed. He tossed an extra can of olives into the sack. Hefting it over his shoulder, he ran into the living room, where he dropped the sack next to the suitcases. He glanced around the room. The windows were sealed. Doors barricaded. Bags ready.

“Geoffrey!” Mrs. Farnsworth padded into the room, dressed in a lavender nightgown and slippers. Her hair fell around her shoulders like a silver mane. Her gaze rested on the pink nylon suitcase in the center of the room. “What are you doing with my Radley? You’ve overstuffed it!”

Geoffrey threw the food sack over his shoulder. “Madam, please get down to the cellar. We must hurry.”

She glanced around the room. Her eyes narrowed. “Geoffrey! There are stains on the carpet. Did you let the dog in here again?”

Another crash outside, this one closer than the others.

Forcing a shred of composure into his voice, Geoffrey said, “The dog is dead, Madam. Please, we can’t tarry any longer.”

She continued to stare at the carpet. “Geoffrey, I want you to clean this up right this instant. You know I hate spots on my carpet.”

“But, Madam –” Geoffrey began.

“Now, Geoffrey!”

The mansion shook as something crashed in the front yard. A flash lit the sky outside.

Geoffrey opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. His cheeks burned. Throwing the sack to the floor, he shouted, “That is enough!”

Mrs. Farnsworth stared at him.

“I have been a faithful servant to you for over twenty years,” Geoffrey said as he clenched his fists by his sides and locked his gaze with hers. “For over twenty years you have done nothing but complain and complain and complain. It’s always Geoffrey do this and Geoffrey do that and do you ever thank me? Not once! You show your gratitude by complaining about something else. Well, I have had enough!” He pointed outside. “Do you have any idea what is going on out there? The world is coming to an end! That howling noise? That’s not the wind – those are people! The crashing and booming noises? Monsters!”

He paused to take a breath. His head was light, as if his newly developed backbone drew upon all his strength. She continued to stare, saying nothing.

“That’s right,” he continued. “Monsters! They’re coming for us. Our only hope is to gather whatever supplies we can and hide in the cellar and hope that tomorrow will be a new day. And you’re worried about stains on the carpet?”

“Geoffrey,” she said in a low voice. “Down.”

“I will not back down,” he said, puffing out his chest. “Don’t talk to me like the dog You can turn a blind eye to what’s going on in the rest of the world but you are not taking me down with you. I am in charge now.”

“Geoffrey –”

“Don’t interrupt me! You never let me have my say.” He bent down and hefted a suitcase with each hand. “I’m going to the cellar, with or without you. I’m no longer following your orders, do you understand?”

She held his gaze for another moment. “Fine,” she said. “Have it your way.” She raised her arm and pointed her father’s revolver at his head.

His eyes widened and the suitcases slipped from his grasp. “Madam! Don’t –”

The pistol fired three times, the bullets whizzing past his ear. He heard them thud into something behind him, followed by a gurgling wail. He whipped around to see a creature the size of a bear with the face of a wolf flailing its shaggy arms. Blood streamed from its chest. For a moment it teetered, its yellow eyes gleaming as it stared down at Geoffrey. Then one more pistol crack and a red spot appeared in the center of its forehead. The creature crashed to the floor, lifeless.

Geoffrey stared at the beast, his heart racing. Slowly, he turned to look at Mrs. Farnsworth.

“Now, Geoffrey,” she said as she emptied the spent shells and reloaded. “I want you to take care of the ironing, reposition the Renoir, and get rid of the carpet stains.” She jerked her chin toward the beast. “And then after you cover up that horrid creature, find the door that you obviously forgot to barricade and make sure we have no more visitors.” Locking her gaze with his, she cocked the gun and said, “Am I understood?”

It took several attempts for Geoffrey to get his larynx to produce any sound. When he finally found his voice, he could only stammer and say, “Yes – Yes, Madam.”

A smile slowly spread across her face. “Thank you, Geoffrey.”

THE END

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...