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It Is Not Funny · 1 November 2014


Something had to give. She hated practical jokes. He loved them. Fortunately, she loved him.


“Honey, would you turn out the living room lights and close the drapes?” It had just gotten dark so she playfully added, “You know how I hate the thought of the boogie man peeking in.”


There was no answer.


“Honey?”


The only sound was laughter coming from the TV.


“Did you hear me?”


She turned off the TV and listened. She heard the upstairs TV. Sports of some sort. She grumbled. “It figures. He goes upstairs and leaves me to do all the jobs before bed.” She looked at her watch. It was almost 11:00. But it was Friday night. She sighed. “I guess it is time for bed.”


She went past the stairs to the front room. Her husband usually did the close up jobs. He locked the front door. He closed the drapes. He was not supposed to go upstairs until she was ready. She sighed again as she reached up high to grab and pull the drapes closed. She closed the left side. Just as she was reaching to close the right side, she saw a hideous face in the window. She screamed. Then, she fell to the floor.


The hideous face on the front porch was turned up in laughter. Then, it turned down again to see that her body had not moved. The man in the mask turned toward the front door and hurried in. He pulled off the mask and kneeled down next to her. Panic filled his eyes.


He shook her and shouted like they taught in CPR class. “Honey. Honey. Are you okay?” She did not answer. She did not move. In his panic, he forgot to check for a pulse or breathing.


He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. He started to speak, “My wife…”


She started to laugh and opened her eyes. “I got you. I can’t believe that I got you.”


“…was apparently playing a practical joke on me. Sorry.” He hung up.


“You never fall for any jokes.”


“That’s because you never play any on me.”


“That’s right,” she scolded. “You only play them on me. That’s why it’s so sweet that you fell for this one.”


“You got me. You got me good.” He smiled, sat on the floor next to her, and exhaled loudly. “I’m just so relieved.”


She sat up next to him and gave him a hug. “It’s okay dear. Even though I hate practical jokes. I still love you.” She kissed him on the cheek and stood. “I’m going to bed. Wanna come with me.”


His eyes lit up and he smiled broadly. “Would I?” He started to stand, but his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell.


She just looked at his fallen body in disgust. “I can’t believe you can’t take the fact that I got you. You don’t need to one up me.” She turned and walked up the stairs. His body still lay there on the floor when she went up the stairs to bed.


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A few days later, she was gathered with all their friends and family. Even during the memorial service, she had hoped it was all a joke; that he would get up from the coffin yelling, “Gotcha!”


The paramedics had said that it was too bad she thought him lying there was just another practical joke because he probably would have been okay with those few minutes when she had brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas before checking on him.


She had always hated practical jokes, but now, the only person she tolerated them from was gone. She hated practical jokes even more than she did before.


#TwitterFiction (on Twitter from 10/13/2014 – 10/17/2014)

© 2014 Michael T. Miyoshi

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