Beth soaks in the tub up to her neck in hot water, her eyes exploring the new marble tiles lining the walls. Spidery, gray veins weave across them like free-flowing sketches on square sheets of paper—a touch of Picasso here, a smidgen of Chagall there. She is drawn into their organic images, searching for people and things that deserve to be found.
Three tiles jar her: the one with the lamb drinking from a teapot, the one with the woman’s sorrowful face, the one with the roaring lioness.
A chill sinks her deeper into the water.
Her gaze skitters upward and lands on the tiles bordering the ceiling. From high in the corner, a pair of stony eyes look down on her.
Beth jerks upright, sending waves of water sloshing to the floor. She grabs a towel and covers herself. She steps smartly out of the tub, her legs shaking so hard she has to hold onto the sink.
Richard will tell her this is all in her head.
Heart clamoring, she peeks back at the clownish eyes, the marble’s gray veins pumping life into them. She leans to the left, and the eyes seem to follow. She leans to the right, they blink. When she attempts a bold stare, they darken and roll.
She rushes to her bedroom closet and yanks a nightgown over her damp body. She combs her hair, pulls on a robe, and shuts down thoughts of madness.
In the kitchen, she blindly boils water and brews her late night pot of tea. Alone on the living room couch, pouring grief into her teacup, she waits.
He never answers his phone on the nights he disappears; yet Beth religiously dials his number.
“Hi! This is Richard. Please leave your name and—”
She throws down the handset.
This morning when he left the house, she caught him smirking like a villainous Jack-in-the-box set free by a lifted lid. Eventually, he will waltz back through the door, flushed and triumphant, prepared to stonewall his way through her questions. Like always.
To help calm the clatter in her brain, Beth closes her eyes and seeks out a change of subject. Two of her new bathroom tiles float into view, their gray veins outlining in wavy detail the tea-drinking lamb and the sorrowful woman.
She hears herself whisper, “What happened to the lioness?”
Her grandfather clock marks time in the hallway, its solemn tick-tocks an ominous drumbeat. Beth stands straight-backed and rigid at the kitchen sink, weighing the closeness of walls and the lowness of ceilings: the measures of her narrowed life.
With a trembling heart, she pours out her cup of tea turned cold and watches it circle the drain before disappearing altogether. Stony eyes beckon. On silent feet, she steals toward Richard’s workshop. Then, she roars into the bathroom wielding a hammer and chisel.
What happens next?
I need to know. Well done cuz.
well written, and certainly left me wanting more.
nice one Christine.
An homage to The Yellow Wallpaper?
I thought of “The Yellow Wallpaper” as well!
intense imagery, the clown eyes and the jack in the box, it feels to me something happened in the house. why does Richard disappear at nights? or is he not alive at all, it’s a thinker, great flash.
Love it! Reminded me of a brief passage in A Christmas Carol when Scrooge sees the artwork come to life around the tiles of his fireplace—right before visited my the ghost of Jacob Marley. Well done.
Love it. Sharing on Twitter.
I also shared it on Twitter as a standout!
Yes, yes, an unsettling story of how we seek meaning in our lives when all is seemingly coming down around our ears. What an uncomfortable mission here. Well told!
you have me on pins and needles.
Don’t leave me hanging like this! Where is the rest of the story ?
From a restful soak in the tub, the mood turns quickly to the questioning insecurity of strange images in the tiles. Is Richard trying to drive her insane. I wait with baited breath to find out. 👍👍
I am ready for the hammer to drop! I want to know more…
What great imagery….loved every moment–all too brief
I read Stonewalled and it made me aware and appreciative of flash fiction. I found part of the pleasure in the reading was the focus and bevity of this story. It was enough to know that Beth had gathered the strength and purpose to free herself.
How……is up to you.
Wow. Love the symbolism and imagery in this story. Impressed with the way Beth transforms herself from the tea-drinking lamb to the lioness. Great stuff!
Yep, I loved this.
I love this. This writer understands so well the value of sharp, active verbs — and adjectives. Adroitly written.
Intriguing but not finished….?
I love Christine’s books. She is a wizard at building up suspense and premonitions. You can not stop once you’ve started reading her books and short stories. She is one of the great wriets of our times. Will this be published or has it aalread been published. I’d love to contue reading it. Congratulations Christine. Its a pleasure knowing you and your talent is boundless.
I love your mehod of writing. Once started I cannot stop reading it. It is a privilege to know such a talented writer of our. times. Congratulations. Dorothy. Xxxxxx
Beautifully written as usual. Every story I’ve read by Christine Todd pulls me in immediately and I relish her vivid turn of a phrase as much as I love the twists and turns of her unexpected character’s foibles and triumphs. Beth is a woman haunted by more than the tiles staring her down in the ‘flash’ snapshot of her life. We see her faced with a partner’s gaslighting that chips at her sanity but in the short span of the story we see her turn the corner and take her life back. Like all my favorite novels, this story was satisfying and left to my imagination what she does next.
Bravo!!!!!
I am cliff hanging wanting more…..
Beth is a tormented soul…
This was emotionally powered by beautiful writing.
I love this writer!
Christine, you’ve captured the unsettling moment when it all changes, the moment when a rock tipping over an edge finally falls. But is it relief or doom? Powerful. Keep us guessing.
This was so very powerful that I had vivid nightmares the night that I read it. I found it very complete in its ambiguity — so I, unlike other people commenting, would not touch it by adding more to “tie it all up.” Wouldn’t change or add anything at all.
I, too, thought the tension of alluding to Richard’s gas- lighting and the Poe-ish vocab was fantastic!
Bravo, Christine. Well done.
Forgot to mention that the title was brilliant. Great play on words!!!!
Christine can write anything and write it exceedingly well! I love her novel Pins, and her short stories. This flash fiction proves she can do anything. I bow before you, oh, great writer!