Short horrors

The cabbie

I waited patiently on the side of the grubby pavement, covered in, well, you name it. Everything.

Steering my mind swiftly away from the gum and bird poo I was currently standing upon, my mind wandered to the weekend about to be spend in a luxury hotel, with my beautiful fiancee.

Hanna, my future wife, had booked a large room, just for her and me, and I was very looking forward to this evening. I sighed with happiness as I thought more about it, when suddenly I heard the honking of a car horn.

I jumped in fright, before chuckling, amused at the fact that it was only the cab I had ordered.

The cabbie, had a chubby face, with plum coloured cheeks, dotted with freckles. He looked in his late thirties, and had a large, infectious smile plastered to his porky face.

He had only a few wisps of ginger hair on his moon-like head, but it didn't make me dislike him any less.

'Jump in sonny!' He boomed, his voice thick with a north accent.

I smiled to myself.

The journey was apparently 3 hours long. At least I would have someone to talk to.

*

'His name is Marvin Deep, he's from Jordan, and the best rugby player I have ever known! How could you possibly of not heard of him?!'

After about 2 and a half hours in the cab, our long conversation had suddenly steered to sports, rugby, rugby players.

'I'm sorry, I've never heard of a Marvin Deep...' I said apologetically.

'He's incredible! Best player I've ever seen! I practically idolise this guy!'

I chuckled at his child-like comment, and continued to listen about the matches Deep had done exceptionally well in.

Finally, I reached the vast outside of the hotel, and payed the cabbie generously.

'Um, here you gave quite a lo...'

'Nope' I smirked pushing away the money he was handing back to me.

'You deserve this' I said patting the cash in his palm, and he gave me a warm smile.

'Here'

He passed me a small piece of paper, labelled on the front:

'Address and Telegram details.'

I smiled, but it suddenly faded and was wiped off my face. Telegram? No one uses telegram anymore, it's very old-fashioned.

I turned my head forward to correct or confront him, but in my dismay, he had already zoomed off into the distance.

*

The next morning, I got up early and randomly decided to discover who this 'Marvin Deep' was.

I switched onto the hotel computer, mildly able to hear Hanna's muffled snoring from next door.

I logged on as 'guest user' and searched 'Marvin Deep'.

I gasped. Marvin Deep was a rugby player that lived 70 years ago.

The cabbie, again, looked in his late thirties, so why did he like this guy so much? Was he even aware he was dead!?

I leaned back of the soft, black leather of the desk-chair, and wondered.

I yanked the slip of paper with the address and telegram..? details and looked at the address. I checked the location of the hotel, and realised he lived only a few blocks away!

Leaving a note for Hanna for when she awoke, I ordered another cab, to take me too his house.

I rang nervously on the doorbell, hoping I had got to the right one.

After about 15 seconds, the creaky door heaved open to uncover an old lady, at the age of about 70. She had pale, yellowing skin, overlapping with wrinkles. The fragments of wispy hair remaining on her head, were long and white and her eyes were mildly bloodshot.

'Um excuse me, can I talk to...'

The realisation that I had never caught his name, irritated me and so I had to think of something else.

'The master of the house?' I asked, not really knowing what else to say.

'I'm sorry dear, it's only me here now' She replied in a croaky, wheezy voice, full of age.

I knew it.

Wrong house. I assumed I would just have to apologize for wasting this strange lady's time and just...'

My eyes caught a picture of a man on the mantle in the hallway. He was much younger, but definitely the cabbie I knew.

'HIM!' I shouted suddenly.

The woman turned her crooked neck to the photo I was gesturing to.

She smiled weakly and said sadly,

'That's my husband. He died 20 years ago.'