He’d bought the eccentric doorknocker on the flea market.

“I’d like to see the Jehovah’s get past that,” he’d laughed.

They didn’t, of course, but nobody else did either. In the end, he had to reconnect the doorbell faced with the obstinate refusal of anyone, from the postman to the neighbour looking for her cat, to touch the nasty-looking horned thing.

The joke had worn thin and even he began to find the sneering demonical face unsettling, almost daring him to open his own front door. He decided to get rid of it, but somehow he couldn’t find the right screwdriver and the DIY warehouse was out of stock. When he finally did get hold of one, the screws wouldn’t budge. He called in a professional.

Continue reading: Microfiction #writephoto: Not so funny