Everything's Annoying

By JC Michael

From J.C. Michael, author of Pandemonium, comes Everything's Annoying, a collection of dark fiction and horror. Covering a variety of themes, Everything's Annoying provides an array of unsettling tales that will stay with you long after reading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cape Publishing
• Release date: Oct 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201589431

Book preview

Everything's Annoying:

A Collection of Dark Fiction & Horror

By

J.C. Michael

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 Red Cape Publishing & J.C. Michael

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Red Cape Graphic Design

Www.redcapepublishing.com/red-cape-graphic-design

Everything's Annoying, first published in Wishful Thinking (Fireside Press 2014)

There Was A Girl, first published in Madame Movara's Tales Of Terror (K.A. Hambly 2016)

Daddy, extended version published in Dark Faces, Evil Places (Mark Lumby 2018)

When Death Walks The Field Of Battle, first published in Savage Beasts (Grey Matter Press 2015)

Choices, first published in Crossroads In The Dark (Burning Willow Press 2015)

Away Wi' 'Em, first published in 50 Shades of Slay (Alucard Press 2015)

Nineham's Arrogance, first published in Tales From The Braided Pony (Alucard Press 2017)

The Nasty Old Troll, first published in Troll (Thirteen O'Clock Press 2016)

Scarab, first published in Unleashing The Voices Within (Stitched Smile Publications 2016)

Ascalon and The Fisherman are unpublished works copyright J. C. Michael 2020

For Ryan, when you're old enough

Everything's Annoying

There was barely a day go by when Terry Donaldson didn't wish every other member of the human race would just disappear.

His family annoyed him. His elderly mother, who spent her days in a nursing home which stank of bleach and piss, didn't even know who she was, let alone have any idea who he was. His father was long gone, heart attack at 50, as was his only sibling, a brother, car crash at 27. All that left was a cousin who thought the government owed him, his wife, and four kids, a living. As far as Terry was concerned anyone on benefits should be rail thin, they shouldn't have enough money to be fat. His cousin and associated brood were all obese. It pissed him off every time he bumped into them.

Work, that annoyed him too. The people above him were idiots, and the people below him doubly so. His job was largely pointless, writing reports that nobody read and projecting figures that were never accurate. Forecasting performance was little more than a best guess with far too many variables to make it anything more than a number to either get excited about, when beaten, or stressed about, when missed. Why not accept things for what they were? Either a good week, or bad. Where was the point in worrying about how that compared to a number he'd made up on a wet Thursday afternoon nine months previously? They may as well have hired a gypsy and asked her to look in her crystal ball. Job satisfaction on the other hand was far easier to predict. Quarter 1? That would be zero. Quarter 2? How about nothing. Quarter 3? Zilch. And Quarter 4? Bugger all. Variance on previous year? Sweet. Fuck. All.

Then there was society at large. The bad drivers he encountered each morning. Annoying. The poor service received at the staff canteen each day. Annoying. The crowds of people milling around the streets whenever he ventured outside the relative sanctity of his workplace. Annoying. Those amongst such crowds who walked particularly slowly or came to a complete standstill for no discernible reason in the middle of the pavement, as though they were machines whose batteries were running down or stopped. Doubly annoying. Kids swearing. Annoying. Litter. Annoying. Lying politicians. Annoying. Reality TV full of people with no real talent becoming famous and rich while he slaved away 9-5, five days a week, forty-eight weeks a year. Extremely fucking annoying. The list went on and on in his head. Annoyances. Petty irritations. Long held grudges. Prejudices. Slights perceived and real. They all swirled around in his head and taunted his impotence to do anything substantial about it. He didn't hate the world. He liked the sun on his back. Enjoyed a stroll in the rain. The colours of autumn. Storm clouds over a rolling sea. The way snow made everything look clean. Nature was full of wonder to him. It was people that were the constantly twisting poison tipped thorns in his side.

He wished everyone, without exception, would simply disappear. But when they did, it still came as a shock.

***

He pulled on to his drive on Friday evening already in a foul mood. The supermarket had been crammed with people who thought it was somewhere to idly gossip and block up the aisles, rather than actually shop. Once he'd fought his way through them he had to wait while the girl on the till, Tess according to her name badge, chatted inane niceties to the old woman in front of him as opposed to processing her shopping as quickly and efficiently as possible. Once he had finally been served he returned to the car, checked his receipt, and found that his three for two offer on cheese hadn't registered, so he had to go back in and get a refund. That was all before he hit the traffic undoubtedly caused by caravaners heading to the coast for the weekend.

Tiddlywinks, Tiddlywinks, where are you Mr. Winks? Come on Tiddly. Tiddlywinks.

The very sound of Mrs. Moore as he got out of his car changed his mood from dark to pitch black. It was about to get worse.

Oh Mr. Donaldson. Have you seen Tiddlywinks?

He wanted to answer; Yes, it's your stupid cat. I have seen him, but not recently as I have this very moment returned from work, as evidenced by the fact that you not thirty seconds ago saw me get out of my car. Further to that I hope that your cat is under my front wheel. Now fuck off.

Instead he said No.

I wonder where he could have got to. He's such a little scamp.

The old woman's voice grated on him, as did the sound of hammering from the house directly opposite his, D.I.Y Dick starting the weekend as he would undoubtedly go on.

By the way Mr. Donaldson, she continued, has your lawn mower broken? I see your grass has grown up quite a bit.

Here we go, he thought, No, I've been busy at work and it's rained the past few weekends. He wanted to add I don't stay at home every day like you, you interfering bitch. But he didn't.

Ah, I see. I've also got a good hedge trimmer you'd be welcome to borrow if you haven't got one. It would be nice to get your hedge down to a reasonable height.

I've got one, he said. I'd like to use it to cut through your throat, he thought. I've got freezer stuff so better get the car unloaded.

That was it. No formal end to the conversation, just a statement. She looked at him in the condescending way old people reserve for when they find the ways of those younger than them to be ignorant and then continued her search of the garden for the elusive Tiddlywinks who was probably hidden away somewhere disembowelling some poor songbird. He hated cats. They made him sneeze and behaved as if they ruled the fucking world.

She was gone by the time he came outside for his second load of groceries, as had the hammering, but only to be replaced by the sound of a power drill. Shouty and Screamy, the two brats who lived the other side of him, had also come out to play.

Give me that.

No.

I had it first.

You're a poo face.

Bedwetter.

I'm not.

Yes you are. You pissed the bed and then slept in it.

I'm telling Mum.

What? That you pissed the bed and then slept in it.

No. That you said I did.

You did.

Didn't.

Did too.

Give me that.

No.

It was always the same. Bickering over a toy when the garden had more plastic in it than plants. They had a trampoline, ride on vehicles, sand pit, water table, balls of all shapes and sizes, more stuff than bloody Toys R Us, yet they always wanted whatever the other was playing with. Terry hurriedly grabbed his shopping and scurried inside, into his sanctuary and away from the world. His breathing was heavy by the time he'd locked the door and closed out the noisy annoyances that were his neighbours. He despised them all.

The next morning he stayed in bed until 10:00. He'd woken as usual at 6:30, which had been a bit annoying, but sleep had soon fallen over him again. He'd been up late the night before, working on a drawing of a piece of wood he'd picked up on the beach the previous weekend. It was a warm day outside so he dressed and went out to the garden. It didn't take long to find the present Tiddlywinks had left him, a fresh turd was sat right outside the door to the garden shed. The cat, the audacity it displayed by crapping in his garden, and the crap itself, were all annoying. Once, he'd put out a present of his own in return for all the turds and dead birds; a saucer of anti-freeze. After forty-five minutes he'd brought it inside and poured it down the sink. The thought of killing the cat didn't bother him. The thought of having the police knock on his door for cat killing bothered him. So he left the cat alone. It did seem odd that he didn't hear Mrs. Moore calling for the feline which was friend to her but fiend to him. The old loon seemed to do it every time he was outside. Sometimes he imagined her sitting the other side of the fence with the cat by her side like an old witch shouting purely for the purpose of annoying him and then quietly cackling while the cat licked its paws. Today though she was nowhere to be heard, and part of him hoped she'd passed away in her sleep, or fallen in that dangerous way old folks with brittle bones fall.

Shouty and Screamy weren't out either, and nor was D.I.Y Dick banging and hammering. No doubt the kids' parents, Slutty and Shifty, had taken them out to buy even more toys. Neither of them worked but they always seemed to spend plenty of money. A lot of visitors came to the house, and Terry had his suspicions as to how they made their living. As for Dick, he'd be out buying tools, or decking, or something. Wherever everyone was, Terry was glad they were there, and not disturbing his peace. He revelled in the silence. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he felt quite content as he pottered around doing a bit of weeding here, a touch of cutting back there. Nothing was annoying.

It was gone one by the time he nipped inside to get some lunch and it was so serene outside that he ate it sat on the back step. A cold beer followed and then he pottered some more. Still, nothing was annoying. By five he'd had the calmest day he could recall for a long time, and he was about to head inside to decide on something for tea when it suddenly hit him that he hadn't seen a single person all day. Seen, or heard. He stopped and listened. He could hear the slight wind. He could hear birds. He could hear damn Tiddlywinks, which was such an annoying name, meowing at the other side of the fence. The list of what he couldn't hear on the other hand was longer. No Mrs. Moore calling for her stupid cat. No Shouty or Screamy shouting or screaming. No car doors banging as Slutty and Shifty welcomed the usual parade of Saturday night visitors, many of whom only stayed a few minutes. There was no D.I.Y Dick hammering or sawing. No traffic. No planes. No random banging or clattering. In fact, there were no sounds of human origin at all. He liked the quiet, but he didn't like being puzzled. Being puzzled annoyed him.

***

By the end of the following week Terry was convinced that his wish had come true. Everyone was gone. There was no more Shifty family, no more D.I.Y Dick, and no more Mrs. Moore. The world's animal life, wild and domestic, seemed unaffected by whatever had made everybody disappear, so it didn't appear too great a loss to the planet if there was also no more Mr. Tiddlywinks. Plan A, the anti-freeze, didn't work. Plan B, running him over, didn't work either as the bastard wouldn't stay still. Plan C, get a gun, was easier said than done. Then, just as the situation was becoming in danger of turning into a Wile E. Coyote cartoon, Terry hit upon Plan D. He broke into Mrs. Moore's, put out some cat food, and beat the furball to death with a cricket bat when it started to eat. The mess it made on the bat was a little annoying. Crushing the little fucker's skull was extremely satisfying.

His work colleagues were gone. Happy Oaks Nursing Home still stank