Recently I wrote a story and submitted it to Scenic Writer Shack.  The rules were:
500 words max
story must focus on the delivery of a fridge
must include yo-yo and flummoxed (confused, perplexed, flustered)
choice of genres

The winner was announced today.  Since my story was not chosen, I’m sharing it:

Permanent Vacation

“Honey, where’s the Benadryl?” I yell.

“Should be in the cupboard. Why?,” Shar yells back.

I scratch at the pulsing red line on my calf; an abrasion I got while we were on our Ecuador vacation last week. I’m guessing it was from a thorn on a bush I brushed while we tramped through humus mist, dappled sunlight, and chittering animal calls. It doesn’t look infected, but it doesn’t look right. Maybe I’m having an allergic reaction?

“I’m itchy.”

Today I am moving the refrigerator out from the wall, hoping to tweak it to silence the annoying moans and groans of its aged compressor. I plan to follow the YouTube fix-it video steps – and do – but am flummoxed as to why the weird noises are continuing.

At least the grime is cleared away for the service tech who is coming to take a look at it tomorrow morning. I even found Jeremy’s old yo-yo back there. Jeremy, away at college, will get a chuckle out it. He’d sworn our terrier pup, Underdog, had buried it in the back yard. I snap a pic with my phone and hit send.

“If it’s kaput, I want a stainless steel finish on the new one,” says Shar, who is like a vulture hovering over Old Avocado’s textured faux-vinyl finished bulk. The rest of the kitchen has been renovated, but we couldn’t afford the extra money for a new fridge if the old one – no matter how it clashed — still worked.

Henry – so his name tag says – shows up at eight sharp and gets right to work. His body is soon lost in the cavern behind the fridge. We leave him to it and go to the living room to doom-scroll on our phones while waiting for the verdict.

“This beast is shot, folks. Look at the sale models on my tablet. I can have a new one delivered by tomorrow morning,” says Henry.

Every night it’s the same dream. I’m prowling through darkness, sniffing the air for prey. I’m on a leaf-littered path through thick vegetation that leads to a lake, where a full moon shines on its mirrored surface. Crouching to drink, I see my face, a shortened muzzle covered with fur, long canines, and eyes that glow yellow. Each time, I startle awake, my pillow covered with drool. My calf is pulsing, and I feel a howl rising in my throat.

I sip hot coffee as I watch the delivery men push Old Avocado onto their special dolly. Compulsively I inhale their scents of sweat and soap. My ears pick up their increasing pulses as they maneuver the old girl through the doorway. I feel the howl rising. “Hurry and get it done, guys, before it’s too late,” I think.

I’m clawing at my calf as I watch the appliance store truck drive away.

When Shar gets home from work, I tell her I’m going out with the boys tonight and not to wait up for me.

To read the winning story, go here.