In Laymon's Terms

He stumbled back and fell over his legs. Simon crashed to the hard floor, knocking his head on the tiles with a dull thud. A sharp explosion shot through his skull and he saw flashes of bright light dance before his eyes.

Sherry came dashing in, wearing only her bra and panties. “Simon, what happened?”

She hurried over and helped Simon to his feet. Still dazed and clutching the back of his head, Simon gingerly pointed to the washbasin.

“Are you okay? Go on out to the lounge and sit down on the couch.”

But as soon as Sherry let go of Simon’s hand, his legs buckled and he fell on his behind. Sherry gasped and struggled to get him back on his feet. “I’m sorry, darling. I thought you could stand by yourself.”

She finally managed to get Simon to his feet. This time, with her right arm around his waist and her left hand holding on to Simon’s, she walked him into the lounge room and over to the leather couch. She carefully sat him down.

“How are you feeling?”

He moaned.

Sherry straightened up. Simon didn’t collapse into a heap on the floor—he stayed sitting up, his hand resting at the back of his head.

“It better have not been a damn spider,” Sherry mumbled, grinning slightly. Knowing Simon’s severe arachnophobia, she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to find a big, hairy spider perched inside the sink.

Leaving Simon, Sherry hurried into the laundry room and over to the basin. She was shivering and had goose bumps all over her tanned body. She stepped up to the sink and peered down. What she saw was a severed head. It was staring right up at Sherry, its eyes partially open. It had longish hair and its mouth was locked in a grotesque gape, as if about to speak.

Sherry backed out of the laundry, out of the bathroom. It was only when she was out in the hallway that she screamed. She turned and ran into the lounge. Simon was trying to stand up. “Simon! Oh my God, Simon! There’s a fucking head in our sink!”

Simon nodded slightly as he finally managed to stand upright all by himself.

“So I noticed,” he sighed. Simon shook his head and craned his neck. “Damn that hurt.”

“We have to call the police,” Sherry said quickly. She hurried over to the phone and stopped. Stuck on the handle was a small piece of paper. “Simon, there’s a note.”

Simon staggered over to Sherry. “Well, read it.”

She bent down and lifted the note off the phone. It was folded in half. She opened the note and read it out loud.

Like your present? Ha Ha. Oh, if you don’t know what I’m talking about, look in your laundry sink...Done it?

Now, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you, but I had other things to do. You understand.

I’ll make this short and sweet. Go into the kitchen and open the fridge. There you’ll find another present. One I think you’ll like more than the other one. And don’t think about calling the cops...I’ve cut the phone line and I know where you live, remember!!!

That’s all for now. See you in the kitchen.

Ciao.

P.S. don’t put any clothes on, darling. I like you just the way you are...

Sherry looked up at Simon, tears in her eyes. “Oh my God. How did he know I wasn’t going to be wearing any clothes?”

Simon was bewildered. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on. Think we should call the cops?”

Sherry shook her head. “No. I mean, he warned us not to. Besides, if he knows I’m not wearing any clothes...” Sherry threw down the note and picked up the phone receiver. She placed it to her ear and heard nothing. No static; just dead air. “He’s cut the phone.”

“Shit!” Simon spat. “What are we going to do?”

“Go into the kitchen,” Sherry shrugged.

They both hurried down the hall and entered the dark kitchen. Sherry turned on the lights and they both scanned the room. There was no sign of any intruders.

“How did he get in?” Simon whispered.

Sherry shook her head. She began walking towards the fridge.

“No, hey!” Simon called. “I’ll look.”

Sherry turned around. “And bang your head again? You stay there.” She approached the large fridge. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle.

“Be careful, darling,” Simon said, his voice quivering.

Grinding her teeth together, Sherry flung open the door; and saw, resting on the top shelf, a large, bloody machete.

“What is it?”

“It’s a machete,” Sherry said.

Simon hurried over and peered inside. He reached in and took the large machete out. The blade was grimy with both wet and dry blood, and there was another note attached to its handle.