Most Satisfying | Short Story

Every good story has a satisfying end.

And this had started out looking as though it would be a very good story.

A chimney sweep?

Stuck up a flue?

Only hours before a dinner party for which the hoi polloi of London society would be arriving?

The situation appeared as though it would provide anecdote material that my neighbours and rivals could only dream of and I, Mrs Honoria St. Clair, fully intended for the boy – Michael? Martin? – to serve as the amuse bouche of the gossip feast set before my guests.

Such imaginings had been based on the premise, of course, that Michael? Martin? (let us call him Michtin for ease) would eventually manage to extricate himself from what is, after all, one of the more generous chimneys in west London. Michtin was, however, lodged rather firmly, prompting me to politely ask him, after an hour of unpleasant grunting and panting issuing from mid-wall, whether he was really of an age to be chimney sweeping any longer.

Alas, any amount of generous encouragement by my housekeeper seemed insufficient to convince the boy to allow gravity to affect its pull, and I was forced to take matters into my own hands.

I remain convinced that my actions were necessary and judicious, despite unsolicited and at times hysterical commentary from the staff, the boy’s parents, and the local constable. After all, I could hardly entertain in another room after so much preparation, could I?

Really, such a denouement was hardly the worst that Michtin could expect. Rickets, scurvy, a flashing blade at some grubby coaching inn – all markedly worse fates than the one that befell him. As it was, the coroner assured me that by the time the heat was likely to have caused the boy discomfort he was in all probability benumbed by the various gases produced by the flames. A few muffled cries, and all was peace and decorum in the dining room once more.

And, unlooked-for, was a wonderful enhancement of my little soiree. For what better scent to greet the olfactory glands of hungry guests than that of broiled meat?

Most satisfying.

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Matthew J. Richardson’s fiction has appeared in publications including Golddust Magazine, Flashback Fiction, Close to the Bone, Shooter, and Idle Ink. His work often explores psychological tension, place, and the quiet edges of human behaviour. He lives in Scotland and holds a Professional Doctorate in Education.