Sun Spots (short story collection)

Happy Death Day

Marilyn drifted silently along the gallery, a small grey shape weaving between her feet. She smiled to herself, dear Puss, always so faithful. She stopped halfway to look over the edge of the railing, down into the sitting room below.

There was Donald, seated in his favourite armchair, pouring himself a glass of his favourite single malt. He had their wedding photo propped up on the cabinet. She was smiling in the photo, as beautiful and radiant as any bride, marrying the man she loved. Ten years ago today—it seemed a lifetime.

Donald raised his glass, smiling, toasting the photo. "To Marilyn. Happy Anniversary, dear." He drank deeply.

At her feet, Puss meowed. Marilyn could see her mouth opening and closing but no sound came out. Despite the fire burning in the grate, Donald shivered and topped up his drink.

"Donald?" Marilyn called softly.

Puss meowed again. Marilyn waited, her hands resting just above the gallery railing.

Donald looked around, annoyance clear on his handsome face. "If that damn cleaner has left a window open, I'll..."

He stood up and went to check the sitting room windows. All were tightly shut. Impatiently, he climbed the stairs and went into their bedroom first then came along the gallery to the guest room. Marilyn shrunk back into the shadows and he walked right past her.

Donald came out of the guest room, slamming the door behind him. "Must be a draft somewhere," he muttered.

Just as he started down the stairs, a small grey shape ran between his feet.

For a split second, Donald though he saw... something.

"What the—" he shouted, jumping back. His foot slipped on the edge of the top stair and the next second he was falling. Head over heels, crashing down the staircase, until he lay still and silent in a twisted heap at the bottom.

Marilyn smiled as Puss came trotting back to her side. "Revenge is sweet, isn't it Puss?"

Puss meowed, silently, rubbing her sides against Marilyn's calves. Marilyn could have sworn she could feel the soft fur on her bare skin, as she had done so many times before, before that day a year ago.

"Happy Death Day, dear," murmured Marilyn, but there was no-one living to hear her.

(Author's Note - written for @ParanormalCommunity 's Happy Death Day challenge - 380 words)