Coach Peters was less creepy dead, somehow, than when he was alive. Which was funny, because on the face of it nothing had changed. His lungs were empty now, of course, but Nina could still hear the fits and gasps of his ragged breathing through the thin curtain of her shower cubicle. And even though his sockets were empty, she could still feel his eyes burning through the gap in the toilet door as she readjusted her underwear. But when his fingers accidently brushed against her thigh out in the parking lot afterwards, as they did after every Friday night swim class, Nina didn’t feel a thing. And neither did Coach Peters, judging by the ripple of disappointment across his former face.
That’s what had changed, Nina realised. Whatever power the old pervert might have had over her in life, had died with him. She wasn’t scared anymore. Poor old Coach Peters was slower on the uptake though, reaching the hollow mist of his fingers back for another grope as she crossed over to her waiting car. As if he’d forgotten what happened last time.
“Get out of my freaking way, you sicko,” Nina hissed, opening the door into the soft nothing of his not-so-hard-on. “Before I run you down all over again.”
Jennifer Moore is a British writer of both adult and children’s fiction. Her publications include Mslexia, Short Fiction and The First Line, and she is a previous winner of the Commonwealth Short Story Competition.