☰ Footprints

[A Have Tools, Will Travel... Story]

This is a very short story told to me by a guy I used to work with at “Have Tools, Will Travel” named Bryan. Bryan was a really nice dude. He doesn’t work with us anymore, but not because of the supernatural. 

Bryan had been estranged from his father (who owned a big time construction company), for years. After a few months of working with us, he and his dad started talking again and he moved back to Virginia to join the family business. I hear he’s doing well these days. He got married, had a kid; you know, the usual.
Anyway, I’m getting off topic. 
Here’s the story: 

“I was painting a house in Corragebrook, you know one of those fancy ass spots where the woman of the house wears her high heels to bed…”

“Yeah.” I chuckled through a bite of my sandwich. 

“Well, I started late that day, so I just kept on working while the rest of the crew went to lunch. I was painting away with a long handled roller and realized I was about to be out of paint. So, I took the tray with me and went to re-fill it.”

Bryan sighed and his face went blank. This went on long enough for me to pop him on the shoulder from the suspense. 

“What? Spit it out man.”

His face went pale. 

“I was only gone long enough to stir the paint, add it to the pan and I was on my way back to the side of the house I’d been working on. When I went to start painting where I’d left off, there were these… black, human footprints going up the side of the house.”

“You're full of shit.” I laughed, but Bryan didn’t.

“I shit you not. They were there. All the way to the roof.”

“Where do you think they came from? I mean, you think someone was playing a joke on you?” I asked, my lunch now forgotten midway to my mouth.

He shook his head. 

“Who would do that, and how could they do it in under two minutes? I couldn’t have been gone for longer that two minutes.”

The tailgate that Bryan and I were sitting on shook as Sam got out of the front seat of the work truck and walked around to give us a serious look. 

“Occam’s Razor.” Sam said.


“Occam’s Razor. Means the simplest answer is usually the best one. Or the right one. I can’t rightly remember. Something about simple being better or more likely.”

I watched Sam’s comment fly over Bryan’s head until Sam added another penny to his two cents. 

“If it looked like somebody walked upside that house with dirty feet, then maybe, somebody did.”


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My novel, Trigram, is in the works, but in the meantime, I'll probably be working on short stories such as the ones on Wicked Shorts. (Wink)

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