Excerpt, snippet, preview; whatever you want to call it

Friggat - by Kelly Sorenson

“Plenty of people would consider being born on Friday the 13th somewhat unlucky. More people than that like to point out to me that it’s considered unlucky. Out of all those people however, very few would believe in all the good luck I had because of my birthday.”

“Right up until my third heart attack.”

Chapter One

Thomas R. Martin set his alarm for 6 A.M., so it was a surprise to him when he woke up to see it flashing 6:34. Normally the alarm clock’s digits would flash in time with the loud beeping meant to wake him, but there it was; technically half-assing it’s job in silent, unaware bliss. Thomas switched off the alarm, and immediately his bedroom reverberated with an intensified version of the beeping he expected to hear about 35 minutes earlier. When he couldn’t unplug it, he began yanking on the power cord frantically.

“Thomas? Why is that so loud?” His wife turned over just in time to be attacked by the power cord of the alarm clock.
“Oh crap! Honey I’m sorry. I couldn’t turn off the alarm so I tried to unplug it and, well you know… I’m sorry.” His wife smiled, giggling ever so audibly.
“Happy Birthday Thomas.”

Thomas believed his alarm clock’s behavior to be the result of a power surge, but when no other appliance seemed defective in any way he started to wonder. Either way, the powerful aroma of freshly ground coffee stayed his wandering mind, removing whatever sleep was left after such an exciting morning. Nothing else exciting would happen today, but exciting things were in development.

Before we get into that, we need to do a little digging into his past. Thomas was indeed born on Friday the 13th, April 1951 and every subsequent birthday on a Friday brought him tremendous luck:

On his fifth birthday an invitation was mistakenly mailed to a little girl that would someday be his wife.

On his 11th birthday while riding his bike he noticed a flash of silver on the ground and stopped to examine it. Seconds later a car screamed past where he would have been had he not stopped.

His 22nd birthday brought him an interview with a major accounting firm. Exhibiting such confidence from knowing what day it was, he aced the interview getting the job no problem.

When he turned 28 a wrong turn during a drive with his wife brought them to their dream house whose price had just dropped for lack of a buyer.

At 33 he was looking to add-on to his house when he won big on a scratch ticket making it possible.

His 39th birthday didn’t yield such results. After a routine day at work, Thomas lied in bed still expecting a burst of good luck to happen upon him. His wife wasn’t even wearing anything special to bed. He felt jilted now that he thought about it. Why should this birthday be any different when others with the same circumstances were amazing? Beyond extraordinary. He felt now was the time to say something.

“Julie?”
“What is it Thomas?”
“You remember the day we met right?”
“Well of course, it was your fifth birthday party.”
“When we found this house?”
“Yes, that was your 28th. Honey why are you-“
“And when I won the lottery I turned 33.”
“I know sweetie, I was there. Is this about your superstitions again?” Thomas smiled and rolled his eyes. He didn’t mind being called superstitious because he knew better. He knew the truth.
“It saved my life and got me the job I love. You can’t just put a stamp of simple coincidence on any of them. We’ve been over this.”
“Thomas I know we have.” Julie loved teasing her husband, but she knew this subject was off limits. “But you can’t expect it to continue. Luck always runs out.”
“This is beyond luck Julie.” Looking at his wife, Thomas saw how beautiful she was and felt reassured that his luck was still fully intact. “Don’t worry though, let’s just get some sleep.”

They smiled at each other as they turned over in bed, reaching to click off their respective bedside lamps. Thomas leaned over the side to set his alarm clock when a blunt force struck him in the chest.

“Thirteen.” His brow furrowed.
“What? Thomas, what is it?”
“6:34 equals thirteen.”
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind, it’s nothing. G’night.” He turned over and soon fell asleep.