Flames shot out of the toaster, Marlon grabbed the appliance with his bare hands, his eyes bulged out of his head, Larry chased him around the kitchen into the hallway into the dining room to the foyer up the stairs into the guest bedroom where Marlon jumped out the window and landed in an upside-down Corvette. His head rolled off to the side and landed in the poi pond.
Larry sat up in bed and gasped for air. He looked at the clock, 4:41. Jennifer lay beside him, sleeping on her side, strands of blonde hair winding around her head like Medusa, wrapping around her face and neck, her nose, her mouth. Larry’s heart pulsed in his head, and he felt his head ache.
Jennifer murmured as if to wake, but turned her head to the other side, as if thinking better of the matter. Larry slithered out of bed and tippy-toed over to the bathroom and sat on the john, waiting for the inevitable stream to begin. But it would not begin. He was still shaking from his nightmare, his heart still raced, and his stomach churned. With a seizure of the stomach, he knew that every second counted, and turned around and puked into the toilet. When he was done, he found liquid feces on the floor behind him.
“I’ve had enough,” he said, perhaps a little too loudly, he thought, fearing that Jennifer might’ve heard. I’m going to the office now, he thought to himself, getting away from this prison. Every day seemed to bring a new way that Jennifer retreated – and ran toward Marlon. Larry could fight any man – any living man – but not a ghost.
What had happened to the willowy widow he’d wedded? She’d depended on him, even confided Marlon’s serial infidelities to him, and he’d given her a cocoon. Now she ran away from his cocoon and back to Marlon – Marlon’s ghost.
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