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1996 Student Short Story Winner, Third Prize

This was not the time to lose my contact.

Halloween Horror

by Jammie Lynn Rivero Salagubang

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, not really. It was dark, but it wasn't stormy; otherwise, I wouldn't have gone trick-or-treating. Now, before some of you gasp with holy terror, let me assure you of my (somewhat) innocent purpose: I just wanted some free candy.

Halloween landed on a Saturday night. I took a shower and then decided to put on my contact lenses, since a nearsighted, glasses-wearing monster didn't quite have the punch I was looking for.

The contact wobbled precariously on its perch atop my finger. Slowly I raised my hand while my eye tried furiously to blink an SOS intruder warning. After a brief struggle, the contact was firmly entrenched.

Happy to see the battle going so well, I was a little less careful about putting in the second one. The next thing I knew, the contact had dive-bombed and gone missing in action.

I checked around the sink. Nothing there. Then I surveyed the shag rug beneath my feet.

"Don't worry about it", I heard my optometrist's voice soothing me. "You have hard lenses, so they're blue and easier to find. Just remember to wash and rinse it well before you put it in your eye".

"If I find it," my cynicism retorted. "It's the size of a corn nut, and the yarn jungle is only slightly below the height of `swallows your feet from view.'"

I debated whether to leave the lens and look for it later. After all, it was getting late, and being half blind might not be half bad.

But I remembered what the Voice of Authority would say: "Do you know how much I paid for those contacts? If you can't be responsible for little things, how can I ever let you handle big ones--like driving?"

I went down on my knees, grubbing around for the piece of precious plastic. As I looked I hurriedly prayed under my breath, "Dear Jesus, help me find my contact. I'm going to be in big trouble if I don't find it."

Finally aching muscles forced me to stand. I was hot and harried, and my hand had been in places no cleaning agent had ever touched.

I leaned on the countertop and let frustration have its way. Man, I thought, I even prayed! And look what it got me--nothing.

My anger exploded in a torrent of wicked words that would have made a sailor blush. Feeling spent but not relieved, I slumped on the toilet seat. I felt worse than before.

Finally I went down on my knees again, not in search, but in repentance. "Dear God, forgive me for saying those terrible words. I am so sorry. Please help me never, ever to say them again. Please help me to become more like You. And if possible, help me find my contact. But let Your will be done. In Jesus' name I pray, amen."

Not the greatest prayer in the world, but I felt refreshed, more relaxed. Although my stomach craved sugary sweets, my soul was satisfied. I prepared for another long search, but this time I looked with more patience.

When I stood up to take another stretch, I bent down to rub my tingling knees. My mouth dropped open and stayed that way. The room seemed to expand as I shrunk.

A high better than a sugar rush overcame me. Directly below my right kneecap was my contact.

In 1996, Jammie Lynn Rivero Salagubang won third prize in our writing contest with this story.