Just A Job. Short Story.

I’m sick at the moment, I also don’t have proper internet, so perfect time to get sick! I’ve to tether my phone to the computer and use the phone internet thing. I don’t quite know how it works, just that it does! If it didn’t I wouldn’t have any internet at all.

In terms of me being sick, my theories are that either my lungs are filling with fluid or my lungs are trying to pull off some kind of sweet slo-mo escape move that isn’t working very well for them.

I’m going to the doctors in like half an hour anyway so I should know then, I’m hoping it is something that will be quick to treat, I don’t really enjoy being sick, and what with the internet being out and all there is very little I can do at the moment in terms of work that I wanted to get done. Oh well.

On with the show!


Just A Job.

He was alone, for now. The house was empty, but it wouldn’t be for too much longer. He had been waiting all day, all damn day. They would be here soon though. The wait wasn’t too bad. It gave him time to prepare everything, make sure it was perfect. While he waited, he cleaned his tools, then laid them out in preparation. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was the job he was hired to do. He liked it to be clean, slow, methodical, his employer thought otherwise. Quick and brutal was what they wanted this time. He could make it look like that though. That wasn’t too difficult. He was paid a lot of money for his services and he made sure his employers were happy, it gave them a greater incentive to keep him around. He knew what they could do when they were unhappy, hell, he’d done most of the work for them. He was the best and he knew it. They would decide that they needed to get rid of him eventually, he knew that too, he also knew that when the day came he would be long gone, disappeared with his money. They might chase him, they might not. Either way he would be prepared. He had stuff on them, but they had much more on him. Neither could take out the other without repercussions.

He looked at his tools, making sure everything was perfect, then he heard a click and the high beep of the alarm. They were home.

After, he looked at his work. It was exquisite if he said so himself. He had taken his time and enjoyed it. Things looked good, it looked violent, brutal, sudden. All the things they wanted. Police would assume it was a brutal slaying, before he would leave he would go through the drawers, scatter clothes around, take some jewellery and dump it somewhere. It would look like a robbery gone wrong. It wouldn’t look professional, it wouldn’t look planned. It was perfect.

He left the house the way he came in, careful not to leave any trace of himself. He took his time leaving, confident, strolling. No one would notice him and if they did, they wouldn’t remember. In twenty minutes he was well on his way, far, far away from the house, from the bodies. Everything had gone perfectly. If things went normally, they would be found by their cleaning woman, Andrea, in the morning.

He entered his building as usual, scanning around himself for any signs of danger or disturbance. When he reached his door his slid his key in the lock, everything was normal, smooth. He entered his apartment and quickly looked around the room. There was nothing wrong. He knew that when his time came there would be nothing out of the ordinary, no sign or warning, but it comforted him to check. He stripped out of his jacket and hung it up, then he undressed and went to the bathroom. He enjoyed the showers after working. They were so soothing, so pleasant. The gentle drum of water was a far cry from the harsh screams he had heard earlier. It wasn’t the life he imagined for himself as a child, but it was a good life none the less.


About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
This entry was posted in Horror, Short Stories and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Just A Job. Short Story.

  1. Loved this line in particular: “He knew that when his time came there would be nothing out of the ordinary, no sign or warning, but it comforted him to check.”

    It really helps to situate a relatively short piece of writing in a much longer time-frame and it adds to the feeling of loneliness and transience in the protagonist’s life. Really enjoyed this piece – great style and great story 🙂

  2. Sorry, also, get well soon!

    *brain still in work mode*


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