What Lingers
written by: Peter Rehn
The air was thick with mist as Jim forced his dog, Nap, out for a walk. Despite keeping up a brisk pace, Jim was shivering as the mist seeped through his clothes. He cursed not dressing properly for the weather, but there was no point heading back to change now. He’d have a hot bath when he got back home.
As the path descended into the village, a sickly sweet scent he hadn’t known in years drifted through the mist. Familiar, unsettling. His mind fumbled for it. It was only when Jim walked around the corner and onto the street of his home that it dawned on him.
That sweet scent. All those years ago. He had got away with it for so long.
The police cordon fluttered in the wind as Jim approached the cottage of Mr. Jones. A strong smell of burnt sugar filled the air, but underneath it, Jim’s nostrils detected something else.
Police officers were busy keeping nosy people away while people in white paper suits carried equipment inside, face masked up, heads covered by hoods.
He hurried past, pulse quickening. Not now. Not after all these years. Spending time in a confined cell for the rest of his years was not in his plans.
With a mug of hot, sweet tea, he retreated to the sitting room, trying to get his mind to relax. Memories flashed in front of him as soon as he closed his eyes. The night when everything had gone wrong came rushing back: sticky sweetness clinging to his hands, muffled screams, the air thick with burnt sugar and fear.
As he took the last sip of his tea, there was a sharp knock on the door. Jim jerked, and he spat out the tea. The knock came again, and he went to open the door. Outside stood two police men.
“Can we come in?” One of them asked. “It’s a bit wet and we wanted to ask a couple of questions.”
His stomach tightened. Not already.
“Sure,” he muttered, stepping back, allowing the officers inside.
“We’ll be quick,” the officer said. “It’s about Mr. Jones from down the street. Have you seen anything suspicious over the past few weeks?”
“No,” Jim stammered nervously, “nothing at all.”
The officers looked at each other, raising their eyebrows before casting a questioning look at Jim again.
“No,” Jim said again, still nervous. “I did wonder what the smell was. Is he dead?”
“We’re still investigating, but yes, it’s serious,” the officer said.
“I figured as much, seeing all the police when I walked past with the dog. Listen, I need to get ready for work. Is there anything else?”
“That’ll be all for now, but we might be back if we have more questions.”
Jim slammed the door shut as soon as the officers were outside and stumbled to the bathroom. The bowl filled with the contents of his stomach.
The smell of burnt sugar clung to his nostrils as he retched again and again.
Then another knock echoed through the house, sharper than before, as if carried on the sickly-sweet scent of burnt sugar.
NOTE:
Based on the Prompt – The Taste of Memory
- What Lingers - October 13, 2025
- The Listener - September 17, 2025
- Whispers in the Downpour - July 21, 2025
