It was too quiet in the house. Alarm jagged at Ted and he sprang out of bed faster than he’d done in a long time, was down the stairs in big leaps and into the kitchen, staring round at the emptiness. No wife, no dog. He made coffee, stood with his back to the cooker sipping it, his mind a-whirl.
As he drained his cup, a high-pitched sound made him look up. She was on the highest shelf. His wife Sheila. Miniaturised. Waving her tiny arms, but the sounds coming out of her miniscule mouth were indecipherable. Ted stared at her for a moment, then called the dog. Mincer bounded out of nowhere.
‘Fetch!’ Ted commanded.
The dog sprang but mini-Sheila had flown.
Cath Barton has four published novellas and a pamphlet of short stories out from Atomic Bohemian this Spring. She is determined to get at least one full-length novel published too.
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