Disgusting weather

About the author and series.

This book is part of a series, written by IP Spall, consisting of 22 short stories in total. To find out more about this book series or any of IP Spall’s other publications, head to https://linktr.ee/ipspallbooks

Many of these short stories are free, and if you enjoy reading this book, you can even buy a total collection of all the short stories for a low price! Follow the link above to find out more.

This story can be found on Amazon at: https://amzn.to/3eE46tm

An uncomfortable foreword

It has been said that a series of short stories must emanate unexpectedness and a sense of chilling surprise. Such a collection of stories would require a character framework that is present throughout the whole book; from tale to tale, offering the reader a chance to relate to the individual characters — their pain, their horror, their paranoia. Such a collation would also contain an underlying subplot, so all of the stories connect and relate to one another, in a weblike manner, allowing each entry to follow on from the last with some continuity, while still retaining individuality.

I gave this some thought and decided to do the complete opposite. For me, each story should be read as an individual tale of terror, and certainly not as a collective.

Each of my short stories should evoke thought, emotion, and hopefully, leaves the reader wondering what the hell happens next. Let’s face it; not everyone looks for a happy ending in the stories they read. With this in mind, let your imaginations run wild, and enjoy the unpredictability; often an uncomfortable ride.

Disgusting weather 

The weather for this week had been forecasted to be rubbish. So when Chris woke up, it was no surprise that it was raining outside. The alarm radio rang out far too early for his liking, blaring part of Royal Blood’s ‘Little Monster‘. His first reaction was to hit down hard on the alarm, killing its outburst, but an extra second of song managed to get in there before he removed his arm from the covers, so unconventionally, he let it play it. Typically, radio playing early in the mornings wasn’t a thing, but today was different for some reason. A few songs passed a couple he recognised, so he took longer than normal actually to get it. When he finally managed to sit on the side of the bed, he felt quite good in himself; so, at that point, it was a positive outlook to the day, and he felt good.

The weather, however, wasn’t so good. It was grey and gloomy, but Chris was determined not to let that affect him. He had a lot on at work, so he knew that having a positive outlook was a good thing.

For a couple of minutes, he sat there in the darkness of winter. He scuffed his hair, rubbed his eyes, and farted a few times before he generated enough energy to get up.

Everything then changed. As Chris stood up, he went to stretch and suddenly realised that he had a strange headache materialise; the sort of pain that lingered just behind his eyes and around the front of his forehead. He rubbed his temples, and then around his eye sockets, gently but firmly before he moved onto the sides of his head. The thought of work that made him sigh, the realisation of his workload and going out in the cold, wet weather, wasn’t a great prospect. If getting up in the dark was terrible, it was also a Sunday, which naturally made everything a whole lot worse, so his entire positive attitude just dissipated away, leaving somewhat depressed.

He slowly shuffled off towards the toilet, looking towards the partial glow of daylight that emerged from the small window at the top of the stairs. In the orange glow of the street lights, he could see a nearby tree swaying about all over the place, and everything was very wet. A wet and wild day and working on a Sunday, and now with the added benefit of a headache just made him grumbled. He pulled the light switch and shut the door.

On the way back, he didn’t bother looking out of any windows; what was the point? Instead, he just walked straight over to his wardrobe and pulled out a crisp, ironed suite, ready for the day ahead. Chris didn’t hang about; a glance at the clock just emphasised that those few extra minutes in bed had put him behind a little. He got dressed, washed and back in the land of the living. Downstairs, the first port of call was coffee and a strong one at that. He threw in a few paracetamols, knowing it was the right thing to do, especially with a full day’s work ahead of him. Two slices of toast followed, but as he sat there eating his breakfast, he was drawn to the rain now pounding against the kitchen window. The rain was coming down fast, really quite heavily. It was a proper miserable old day, the sort of day that was there to stay, so it was probably going to be that way until the evening. Just then, the rain pelted it down, grabbing his attention, as it battered the window.

“Urgh,” he said, clutching his mug. He sat there looking depressed, knowing that in literally in the next few minutes, he’d have to go out in it.

He placed his mug and the empty plate in the sink, grabbed his big winter coat, pulling the zip up as far as it would go. He then pulled the hood over his head, grabbed his briefcase, which he held close to his chest. He grabbed his keys and opened the door; for a moment, he stood there looking appalled, but work was work, so he stepped out into the storm. Chris decided to go for it, so he ran as fast as he could to his car, about twenty to thirty feet away, where his car was parked. As he got in, it soon became apparent that in those few minutes of running, everything was drenched. Chris put his case on the seat before he removed his hood. ‘God, what a disgusting day’ he said to himself, looking out the car window at the immense downpour outside. He then lent over slightly and looked down at the ground through his side window; he saw a sizeable free-flowing stream of water running past his car. He looked ahead to see that the land had disappeared, replaced by a single layer of liquid which spread out in all directions.

With a headache, and now a feeling of disgust from the terrible weather, he started the car up and got going. As he drives off, he suddenly got the feeling that his feet were wet through; pet hate of his, knowing that he’d now have to spend the rest of the day with his feet encased in warm, wet socks and shoes. He grumbled to himself before his journey began. Not only did the wind swirl around the city blocks in great torrents of blasts and gushes, but it also forced the rain to pound down with incredible force. The journey took a lot longer that day, as there was an obstacle after obstacle, as well as the localised flooding. The benefit he could see was that it was Sunday, so at least the volume of traffic was good. In fact, he hardly saw anybody; it seemed that the public all had the right idea, staying at home in the warmth and dry.

With a slow journey, taking almost double the usual time, he finally pulled up to his company’s car park, where he sat and waited for the barrier to lift. Just under the barrier, before it lifted up, off in the distance on the other side of the car park, he sees a plastic office chair rolling across the open space at speed. The strong gusts of wind looked like I was playing with it, moving from one side to another, in a joyful, playful manner.

The barrier raised, and he had no choice but to head straight towards it, but as he drove, the chair seemed to come towards him suddenly. As it tumbled about, being thrown back and forth, as Chris was about to turn into the parking area, a huge gush of wind picked it up and threw it right at him. Just in front of his car, the chair came spinning across the car park, it fell and hit the curb, which, powered by the strong wind, launched it up into the air. Chris quickly ducked down onto the passenger seat, as the second before, the chair looked like it was coming right at him. The rampant piece of furniture hit his car, aiming directly for him.

Chris slammed on the brakes and leaned to one side as quickly as he could, as the black metal leg of the chair, struck his windscreen, piercing a hole right in front of where his face would have been.

“What the hell” he shouted, turning to look up at the protrusion that had pushed its way through the glass. For a moment, he just looked at it, before he got up and drove it back out. Chris pushed the chair leg onto the bonnet of the car. The wind then carried it off across the car park. Shocked and slightly shaking, Chris looked at the smashed glass, not knowing what to do next.

No one was about to see the incident.

The wind and rain were still pouring it down. Chris punched a hole through the windscreen, huffing and sighing at the accident. With a larger hole in the glass, he reluctantly drove the car across the car park and parked up. Angry and upset, his shaking subsided and turned into anger. Ignoring the hole and all the damage, once he’d turned the car off, he grabbed his case, put his hood up and opened the door.

As he got out, the wind tried to take him, grabbing him with a huge unseen hand, pulling and yanking at him. The wind was powerful, probably stronger than he realised. With the rain coming down so hard, in a seemingly unnatural way, he continued, annoyed and, upset. He just wanted to get into work now. The damage to his car was just an annoyance, and although he didn’t want to acknowledge it, deep down he realised that the rain would fill it up, especially by the end of the day. Everything was rubbish now; he didn’t want to be there, and everything about the weather was getting on his nerves. Below his hood, he looked ahead, towards the entrance of the building; he had about ten metres to go, so he just went for it. Windswept, wet, cold, and annoyed, a day at work was just like a final punishment.

He ran straight towards the doors that led to the foyer of his workplace. With his head down and his hood pulled over as much as he could, he took the most direct route, which led him straight through the centre of a pile of rubbish, which was flying about all over the place. As he ran, the sky darkened, and he was sure that instead of thunder, he heard a deep, unsettling growl come from somewhere above him. A crack of lightning followed right after, making him jump at the noise. He continued, battling the wind and rain regardless. The whirl-wind of rubbish approached, as Chris made his way across the car park. It was when Chris was upon the rubbish tornado, that he realised that it was right in front of him. Chris continued with determination, just dismissing it. It all seemed a little trivial compared to the attack on his car; he could’ve died, he thought to himself.

Amongst the rubbish that was now on course to clash with him, Chris didn’t see the sizeable piece of clear plastic sheeting that was chaotic swirling around, above him. All of a sudden, as the wind violently thrashed all the rubbish about in a strange sort of whirl-wind, a sheet of plastic that was flying about descended down onto his head, where it wrapped itself around his head. With his spare hand, Chris instinctively tried to pull it off, but as he did, the plastic just seemed to tighten, almost as if it was trying to attack him. The next few footsteps ground to a halt. It was strangely amusing, to begin with, but now, he was struggling to breathe. He grabbed the plastic in the centre of his face and pulled, but with every yank, the plastic that encased his head seemed to tighten even more. The plastic barrier that enclosed his scalp seemed to be in a secure and unbreakable hold. Chris stopped; dropping his briefcase, as the panic suddenly spread throughout his body. He reached up with both hands, frantically struggling to breathe; knowing that he’d already missed a breath, as he started to feel the uncomfortable shortness of breath. Chris cried out, in a muffled yet panicking tone, his body then lent over, frantically yanking on the plastic, desperate to free himself. His fear drove his strength, as he tugged harder and harder, but to no avail, he decided to change tactic and frantically tried to make a hole in the plastic that now covered his mouth. Chris tried to push his finger into his mouth, pressing hard against the sheet, the plastic material stretched and bent, but it refused to break the surface; this cost him valuable seconds. He continued pulling and yanking, refusing to believe what the hell was happening to him. He couldn’t do it; he couldn’t get it off. The see-through material had stolen the last few seconds of his life. With everything he had, using as much strength as he could muster, but ultimately, he failed. He fell to his knees. His body began to turn limp. His face went red, his eyes bulged, and his mouth became dry. Chris eventually dropped his arms to his side. His body went limp, as he fell like a tree, down onto his side, motionless and still, left with an eternal disturbing look on his face.

The plastic sheeting unravelling itself and let go, flying quickly up into the air, dancing about playfully, as it did before. With the next gust of wind, it floated off, up and over the building, with little ease. The shadows gathered amongst the pelting rain, as the body sank into the surrounding layer of cold water. The horrendous weather continued all day, as he had predicted.

About the author and series.

This book is part of a series, written by IP Spall, consisting of 22 short stories in total. To find out more about this book series or any of IP Spall’s other publications, head to https://linktr.ee/ipspallbooks

Many of these short stories are free, and if you enjoy reading this book, you can even buy a total collection of all the short stories for a low price! Follow the link above to find out more.

This story can be found on Amazon at: https://amzn.to/3eE46tm