The look on your face

The look on your face

“I still can't believe you fell for it. The look on your face-” He looked up at me. Eyebrow raised, I glared down at him. A clear indication that I had enough. The slight twitch on the left side of his mouth, however, was a clear indication that he was far from done. The twitch became worse. A mental count began in my head; three, two, one. Right on cue he gasped and then laughter. Uncontrollable and utterly evil laughter at my expense. It wasn't even that funny. Actually his April Fool's prank was just bad. The end.

The sound of the door slamming shut was pretty satisfactory. Screw him. Screw his lame jokes and screw his childish recounting of the 'look on my face', 'the way I screamed' or 'the way I almost painted my pants brown'. Just screw it all.

Of course I wasn't angry over what had happened yesterday. Perhaps a tiny bit annoyed, but that was it. Really. The door slamming, the quiet raging and the stomping down the stairs; it was all part of the plan. Of my revenge.

Sweet, sweet revenge.

~*~

Oops. Perhaps I went too far. She looked pretty angry just now. And normally she was quite gentle with the doors. Maybe I should have followed her. That idea instantly vaporized when I noted her loud descend down the stairs. Was she trying to break through the wood?

Her rampage didn't stop with the stairs. The noises, that filtered through the cracks in the floor of the bedroom, were proof of that. The clamor she was producing was disturbingly similar to what I always imagined an elephant locked in a room would sound like.
Something clashed with the stone floor. Fatally. With crossed fingers I hoped that it hadn't been the television. Another 'something' fell victim to her fit. It was then, at the exact same moment that her scream filled all the corners of the house, that I put one and one together; she wasn't alone.

Instantly I was out of the bed and took stock of the room. I needed a weapon. Quick. My eye fell on the pile of books on the desk. Stupid brain. An actual weapon. A book wouldn't hurt anyone, at least not physically. And I needed something that did exactly that; cause physical harm. Another heart-stopping scream later, I had a chair in my hands and smashed it against the floor. It broke in various useless parts, except for one piece that looked like it might cause some damage if used correctly.

Never before had my laziness been a profitable habit. Until today. Today the squeaky, always complaining, third step of the stairs warned me that someone was coming. When the step made its telltale squeal, I immediately armed myself with the improvised weapon and wielded it.

The door to the bedroom opened almost reluctantly. As if it was hesitant to allow the intruder access to this private space. Or perhaps that had simply been my imagination, because the door swung open with such force that it nearly closed again after it hit the wall.
The only reason that hadn't happened was the large red shoe, planted between the door and the door frame. Having learned his lesson, the invader, coaxed the door open with his foot. Successfully this time.

My eyes traveled the length of his body, taking in every single horrifying detail. From the black and white motley costume, the gigantic shoes to the painted face and red nose. The clown laughed. And with every booming exhalation, my heartbeat raised to new heights. Until, finally, my attention was drawn to and locked onto the object he held in his hand; a bloody knife. My heart stuttered, before shifting into its highest gear yet. With a roar I brought down the piece of chair I still held. Once, twice, until I lost count and the laughter finally stopped.

For a few seconds it was blissfully quiet inside the house. Until it wasn't, anymore.

Her gasp made me look up. It surprised me that I had to look up. I had been on my feet when the clown made his entrance, hadn't I? It didn't matter - standing or kneeling. The only thing that mattered at this moment was that she was here, alive and well.

And holding a camera. The red light told me that it was recording. Though what, I had no idea and judging by the look on her face, she no longer knew either.

Her chin quivered slightly. An indication she was at the point of breaking down. The quiver became worse. A mental count began in my head; three, two, one...