Acapulco Trickster
By Liz Haigh
Consider the impact knowing the exact hour of your death would have on your life.
Sitting at a street side café, Mark Prestwick was considering this as he drank his strong coffee and fiddled with a breakfast burrito that he had no appetite to actually eat. So far, his wild weekend away in Acapulco had not gone at all like he had planned. The gorgeous girls with the raven hair whom he had been chatting with in the bar last night had disappeared as quickly as his wallet had, and he had no idea what was in those Devil’s Potion cocktails, but his head this morning buzzed like a room full of angry bees.
Drinking coffee in an attempt to clear his head, he remembered last night’s dream. Was it a dream? It seemed so real. It must have been the drink. It can’t have been real. The Mr Lucky clown with that silly yellow hat was a life-sized photo on the sign outside his hotel, not a real person. And yet in the middle of the night, Mr Lucky Clown, complete with his silly yellow hat, walked into Mark’s bedroom and announced:
“Good evening Mr. Prestwick. Luck is not on your side I see. I could change that for you. I could tell you the exact hour of your death.”
“Just go away” blurted Mark.
“Now just think about it Mr Prestwick. Think about how useful knowing that information will be.”
“Am I going to die now?” grunted Mark.
“No, of course not. It’s most likely you are not going to die for many years. But just think how useful it would be to know. Especially for a man in your business, you sell life insurance for a living don’t you?”
“What is the catch?”
“No catch at all. I am not the devil. I will return tomorrow night; and if you want to know the exact time of your death I will tell you. If not, I will just go away.” With that he had left. Mark rolled over and fell back asleep.
Drinking his coffee in the daylight, Mark dismissed his encounter with Mr Lucky Clown as a weird dream brought on by drink. But seeing as he lost most his money last night and didn’t have many options of what to do that day, he decided to consider the clown’s offer.
Knowing the exact time of your death would affect how you lived, your actions, your risks, your finances. Pension planning would be less of a gamble.
Mark decided that if this strange clown did visit him again and offer to tell him the hour of the death, he would take him up on the offer. Mark paid his bill and left the café. He was still thinking about the clown, so deep in thought he did not see the bus coming.
He stepped right out in front of it and was killed instantly.
Across the street a short figure in a silly yellow hat laughed and walked away.
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Most of her published work thus far has been in Red, Prima, Woman and Home and regularly in Women’s Weekly (UK print editions). She has had some flash fiction appear, or about to appear in, Bewildering Stories, The Legendary, Story Garden 8, Foundling Review, Blink and Delivered.
By Liz Haigh
Consider the impact knowing the exact hour of your death would have on your life.
Sitting at a street side café, Mark Prestwick was considering this as he drank his strong coffee and fiddled with a breakfast burrito that he had no appetite to actually eat. So far, his wild weekend away in Acapulco had not gone at all like he had planned. The gorgeous girls with the raven hair whom he had been chatting with in the bar last night had disappeared as quickly as his wallet had, and he had no idea what was in those Devil’s Potion cocktails, but his head this morning buzzed like a room full of angry bees.
Drinking coffee in an attempt to clear his head, he remembered last night’s dream. Was it a dream? It seemed so real. It must have been the drink. It can’t have been real. The Mr Lucky clown with that silly yellow hat was a life-sized photo on the sign outside his hotel, not a real person. And yet in the middle of the night, Mr Lucky Clown, complete with his silly yellow hat, walked into Mark’s bedroom and announced:
“Good evening Mr. Prestwick. Luck is not on your side I see. I could change that for you. I could tell you the exact hour of your death.”
“Just go away” blurted Mark.
“Now just think about it Mr Prestwick. Think about how useful knowing that information will be.”
“Am I going to die now?” grunted Mark.
“No, of course not. It’s most likely you are not going to die for many years. But just think how useful it would be to know. Especially for a man in your business, you sell life insurance for a living don’t you?”
“What is the catch?”
“No catch at all. I am not the devil. I will return tomorrow night; and if you want to know the exact time of your death I will tell you. If not, I will just go away.” With that he had left. Mark rolled over and fell back asleep.
Drinking his coffee in the daylight, Mark dismissed his encounter with Mr Lucky Clown as a weird dream brought on by drink. But seeing as he lost most his money last night and didn’t have many options of what to do that day, he decided to consider the clown’s offer.
Knowing the exact time of your death would affect how you lived, your actions, your risks, your finances. Pension planning would be less of a gamble.
Mark decided that if this strange clown did visit him again and offer to tell him the hour of the death, he would take him up on the offer. Mark paid his bill and left the café. He was still thinking about the clown, so deep in thought he did not see the bus coming.
He stepped right out in front of it and was killed instantly.
Across the street a short figure in a silly yellow hat laughed and walked away.
- - -
Liz Haigh lives in Cheshire in the UK. She works at a university library which is her dream job because she loves books. Most of her published work thus far has been in Red, Prima, Woman and Home and regularly in Women’s Weekly (UK print editions). She has had some flash fiction appear, or about to appear in, Bewildering Stories, The Legendary, Story Garden 8, Foundling Review, Blink and Delivered.
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