The Ceramic Frog and the Secret Smile

I’m standing here shaking because the air conditioning is blasting and I can’t seem to stop.

He was admiring that stupid ceramic frog, the one my dead aunt left me, the one he said was “hideous.” I saw him run his finger along its glazed back, and he smiled, actually smiled, and then he looked directly into my eyes. Like he *knew* I was watching from the hallway.

He knew I know, doesn’t he? The frog was supposed to be our sign, Aunt Carol’s secret, and he’s looking at it and at *me* like we’re in on some joke. The skin on the back of my neck feels prickly, like static electricity. The buzzing fluorescent light in the kitchen is making my teeth ache.

“What are you doing, David?” I managed to whisper, but I don’t think he heard me, he just kept staring, that weird smile plastered on his face. I can’t breathe. What am I supposed to do now?

Behind him, I saw my aunt’s will being shredded into pieces.

👇 Full story continued in the comments…
My legs felt like they were filled with lead, but I had to move. I pushed off the wall, the cool plaster offering little comfort against my trembling skin. Each step felt like an eternity, the fluorescent hum growing louder, morphing into a high-pitched whine that resonated in my skull.

“David?” I repeated, my voice barely a croak. He finally blinked, the smile softening but not disappearing. He looked at the frog, then back at me. He tilted his head, a gesture that used to make my heart melt, now twisted into something sinister.

“Just… admiring the craftsmanship,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. He didn’t turn away from the frog, but kept one hand near it.

“The… the will,” I managed, my throat suddenly closed. “What did you do?”

His smile widened, a flash of teeth that sent a shiver down my spine. “It was a… complicated document.” He turned, finally, and took a step toward me. The shredded remnants of the will lay scattered on the counter.

“Aunt Carol wanted us to have everything, didn’t she?” he murmured, his voice now barely audible. He was close, too close. His breath brushed my cheek, and I could smell the faint scent of lilies from the garden she loved.

Suddenly, the implications crashed over me. The frog. The will. It was a setup. Aunt Carol, knowing something, had left the clues, the frog, the will, for me. He’d known, and that smile was a mask of his true intent, the destruction of our sign.

My eyes landed on the frog’s wide, unblinking gaze. A wave of clarity washed over me. I lunged, grabbing the ceramic frog and swinging it with all my might. The glazed surface connected with his temple with a sickening thud.

He staggered, his eyes widening in shock. I didn’t hesitate, I swung again, and then again, until the weight in my arms was gone and the air around us was thick and cloying. I dropped the frog.

Then I called the police.