Kerry was having the time of his life sneaking around the next-door neighbour’s house.
The fifteen-year-old had stolen the key from his mum who was feeding the cat while they were on a ‘holiday of a lifetime’ in the Far East.
Mum was at work so Kerry had all the time he needed. He helped himself to a cold beer and although he hated the taste he sipped it while surfing channels on the huge television in the lounge.
It was exciting invading another person’s home. He didn’t like the Shuttleworths, they had more money than his family and the woman was a snob, always complaining about Kerry playing his drums at night.
He searched through cupboards. In his fertile imagination he expected to find one stuffed with sex toys and pornography, but all he found was ladies’ underwear: when he sniffed them they smelled of laundry detergent.
There were four bedrooms, one was used as an office – Mr Shuttleworth worked from home – and another was a storage room. Kerry saw wooden tea chests and an old-fashioned leather travelling trunk, the kind you would find in Agatha Christie movies.
The room was musky and choking with dust but Kerry dared not open a window in case neighbours became suspicious.
He went back to the room several times. He opened the tea chests but only found china plates wrapped in newspaper twenty years old. He was too bored to open the trunk, so the mummified body of a baby remained undetected.
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 