Blood Warranty (Otherwise Untitled)
#127 of Short Stories
A lynx is held to an old bargain.
~ The mashed potatoes were rapidly running out of steam to rise, with what remained in the bowl. The family's dinner mostly dispensed out into their appropriate plates, with Kyle nodding along to the description of his daughter's school day. The gravy settled down into place, nestling happily into the bowl of potato his spoon had made.
~ "And it turns out that if you add one to both the numerator and the denominator...", cut short with the abrupt whunk of knocking at the front door.
~ The entire family froze in place, wondering if the sound had only been of the heavy downpour of the evening. Whunk, Whunk, Whunk.
~ Someone was knocking. Kyle looked to his wife, "Get the shotgun.", as he stood to stride out of the dining room.
~ The lynx cast a quick glance over, to make sure that his wife was out of sight in the hallway, before opening the door. Looming in the rain, like a painting the artist was trying to erase with gasoline onto the canvas, was a basilisk. As was their way, a puddle of someone's blood was forming about his feet from the rain drenched into and through his clothes and feathers.
~ With a voice that sounded like a wire recorder that had gone to rust, "How well did you know your great grandfather's grandfather?", the basilisk's tone a forced calm.
~ The mountain of bird was trying to sound friendly. The lynx had no reply, but to stare.
~ A dozen violins with broken bows volunteered, "He was an honest businessman; I paid for the warranty."
~ The basilisk held out a hand, which seemed to extend out of the downpour to present a copper rod. Kyle accepted it, almost automatically.
~ The rod was unadorned, about half an inch thick and six inches long. No matter how many hands he held it with, or how he arranged his fingers, Kyle found it to weigh just barely shy of too heavy to hold onto.
~ The lynx found some words, "Wait, what do you want me to do with...?", before he was interrupted.
~ With the friendly tone of thunder heard before lightning was seen, the basilisk explained, "I can't get it to calibrate. I'll be back for it in thirty-seven years.", turning to tower away into the rain.