Word of the Day: Burn
“What is wrong with you?” Leslie shook her head at her husband and used her inner monologue to remind her why she was attracted to him the first place because he was acting like an idiot.
“What?” He threw his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying that’s the vibe I get.”
“All I want to do is buy a chair and refurbish it. We go through this at every antique store and flea market. I find something I like and you conjure some stupid horror story out of it.”
“It looks like a cursed object. That’s all I’m saying.”
Leslie sighed with resignation. Marty always walked around these stores going on and on about cursed objects. Cute at first, she admitted, but now it just got old.
“And why do I have to always end as the villain in these yarns you spin?”
“You’re not the villain, honey.” He rubbed her back gently. “The malevolent spirit is. You’re just the vessel.”
“Well, you’d get laid a lot more if you’d stop making a vessel for demons in your stories.”
Marty nodded in resignation, picked up the chair, and headed toward the front of the store. Leslie tagged along behind him, texting her parents that they’d be by to get Mason soon. She pointed at an old typewriter.
“Look, you could get that and write your little horror tales.”
“Are you kidding?” Marty said. “Probably possessed by a dead writer. The keys would burn my fingers.”