Creeping Beauty- Friday Flash

CREEPING BEAUTY

By Melissa L. Webb

The Prince stood in the overgrown woods. Weeds and roots had taken over, coating everything with a dark, slimy feel. He moved through it the best he could, but the plants seemed to squirm under his feet, creeping around his ankles every now or then.

He used the glowing white sword in his hand to hack through them, freeing himself once again. It was slow going and he never expected any less, but at least his destination was now in sight.

A castle loomed in front of him. Its dark shape illuminated by the moon above. The Prince shivered at the sight of it. Its aura was thick with the evil that had taken place inside so many years ago.

He heard a horse neighing in the distance and cringed when he realized it was his. He prayed to God Charger was alright. He hadn’t wanted to leave his stead alone when evil lurked so close, but it was all he could do to get through this overgrown hell. The horse would have never stood a chance this close to the castle.

Taking a deep breath, he chopped another root as it moved towards his feet. The closer he got to the place, the more he could feel it trying to keep him out.

As he neared the castle walls, thick with dark rotten vines, the ground shuddered beneath him, throwing him off his feet. His hands groped across the cloying dirt, ripe with mildew and age, looking for his sword. If he lost that, it would be all over.

The sword was the only thing that could ensure his triumph. Without it, he would become just another set of bleached bones tangled in the vines on the castle walls.

His fingers finally touched cold steel as a vine wrapped around his body. It squeezed him tight, trying to crush the very life out of him.

“Oh no you don’t,” the Prince growled as he swung the sword. It once again shone brightly in the darkness, taking strength from his life force. He brought it down, hacking clean through the vine. It screamed like a living thing, shrinking away from him. The cleaved edges smoking where the blessed blade had touched it.

Getting to his feet, the Prince hurried through the opened portcullis as fast as he could. He was so close now. He didn’t want to give anything else a chance to slow him down.

She was in there.

He needed to get to her. Awaken her from her dark slumber. The fate of his world depended on it.

The Prince raced across the shadowed courtyard. Skeletons grinned at him as he went. He turned away from them, setting his jaw, determination steadying him.

He couldn’t let himself think about all the lives that had been claimed here because of this evil. Sadness and grief would only distract him. There would be plenty of time to mourn for them later.

If he stayed alive.

Something scurried behind him and he quickened his pace. It didn’t matter what lay behind him, only in front of him. Ignoring the movement, he entered the castle, the light from the sword leading the way.

The stench wafting off the walls was enough to make the Prince gag and he shuddered to think what might be the cause of it. What secrets did the shadows keep around here? He wasn’t sure he really wanted to know the answer. It didn’t matter though. Once he awoke the girl this would all be nothing but a distant nightmare. Everybody could live happily ever after. Including him.

“Oh, look. Dear sweet Prince thinks he can save everyone.”

The Prince stopped, trying to find the source of the mockery, but there was nothing around him but cobwebs and rot. He let it go. It was only a distraction anyway. Digging at his fears was just another game. And he refused to play it this time.

“You can’t save anyone. Not even yourself,” the voice said with a chuckle. “Either flee or cower before me. Those are your only options.”

The Prince didn’t stop. Words would not get to him. Not when he had purity and truth on his side. The foul thing could dribble lies all it wanted, he would never fall for them.

Ascending a long staircase, he rushed down a hallway towards a chamber at the end. Candlelight flickered behind the door, spilling out through the cracks in the wood. The girl was in there. The ones who entrusted him with the sword had confirmed that. His quest was almost at an end.

A growl erupted from behind. Before the Prince could turn around, something slammed into him, pinning him to the ground. He squirmed underneath it, trying to free the sword from underneath himself. He managed to roll over and found himself face to face with a very large demon.

It snapped at him, its jaw only inches from his face. Its rough grey skin dripped a black substance which burned as it came in contact with any uncovered skin.

The Prince groaned in frustration and in pain. He didn’t have time for this. Not now that he was this close. He could practically hear her breathing from behind the door. This could be over in only a matter of minutes if the damned thing would just get off him.

He could only imagine what was going on in his kingdom right now. Or in other kingdoms. Hell, in all the lands. The demons and monsters which roamed the countryside because of this curse were destroying everything. He had lost so much already. He refused to lose anything more.

Pulling his free hand back, he punched the demon square in the face. It snarled and reared back, giving the Prince the chance he needed.

Lifting the sword, he drove it deep into the demon’s neck. It wailed loudly, shaking the walls around them, then pitched to the side, falling lifelessly to the floor.

The Prince got to his feet, wiping the gore from his clothes. Enough was enough. It was time to finish this.

He strode down the hallway, sword raised as his blood hummed for the victory.

More growling sounded behind him. It caused his step to waiver, but he kept the sword raised. If it was a fight they wanted, they could bring it.

Turning back to the chamber door, he met the first rushing body with a swipe of the massive sword. It fell harmlessly at his feet, the entire body cleaved cleanly in half.

“Who’s next?” he called as more demons rushed him. He laid them too out next to their friend on the floor. They were no match for the sword of glory. As long as it was in his hand, nothing would stop him.

The Prince pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. He lifted a booted foot and kicked out, knocking the thin door from its hinges. He stepped through, looking around the room.

Candles lit the darkness, making the room glow in a way the rest of the castle could never. A huge bed sat center, its carved wooden frame and plush bedding making it look more like a throne and less like a place to sleep. And he supposed in a way it was a throne.

For there before him, slumbering peacefully, was the Princess. Her long dark hair was fanned out around her head like a halo and her milky white skin gleamed in the candlelight. She was breathtakingly beautiful and the Prince yearned to reach out and touch her.

He moved closer to the bed and staring down at her. She looked so peaceful, so content in her sleep, it was hard to imagine she was the key to the curse. All he had to do was wake the Princess and it would be over. The world would be safe from the evil consuming it.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for what was to come. His heart raced in a way it never had before as he stared down at this beautiful creature. He was responsible for her now. He must free her from her slumber.

“Are you really ready for what it means if you do this?” a voice called out to him.

The Prince moved from the bed, locking eyes with a creature on the other side of the room. It sat in a chair, watching him with curious red eyes. Its long dark robe hid the rest of his face. A black rusty sword sat across its lap.

“I suppose you are the Guardian? You’re here to stop me from doing what I must do.”

It rose from the chair, taking the sword into its hand. “I must prevent you from breaking the curse. That is my duty. I will kill you, unless…you turn around and walk away. Forget about this castle and the darkness it contains inside.”

“I can’t. People are dying out there. The world is falling apart. I can’t turn my back on that. I can’t give up everything I love.”

The Guardian raised its sword. “Very well. The castle will have a new set of bones when I am done with you.”

The Prince raised his sword as well. “This sword will have its triumph. But not from you.” He spun around, turning his back to the Guardian and stepped towards the bed.

“Are you too much of a coward to face me,” the Guardian called.

“No, I just know fighting you is pointless,” the Prince told him calmly, staring down at the beautiful girl in the bed. “You’re not the real threat here.” Lifting the sword of glory high above his head, he brought it down, straight into the heart of the girl.

She screamed, waking suddenly. Her dark crimson eyes locked onto the Prince as her hands groped uselessly at the sword in her chest. “You stupid mortal. How dare you slay me. Most men couldn’t have resisted my allure. They would have kissed me and burned to death for their forwardness,” she hissed. “But you, you knew the truth and you went right for the heart of it.” She glanced down as blood pooled around her. “My heart.”

The sword glowed brighter in her flesh, spilling fire into her veins. It consumed her, eating her body from existence.

The Prince stepped back, smiling as the Guardian faded as well. The castle was returning to what it had been before the evil Princess had invaded this kingdom and murdered his betrothed.

Justice had prevailed where it had failed before. The elders thought it would be enough to curse her into a never-ending sleep. But their compassion had been the world’s downfall.

The demon Princess had been more powerful than anyone could have imagined. She continued to plague the world through sleep, dreaming into reality monsters and demons to take over the world.

Her death was the only thing that could save them; and the Prince’s heart already belonged to someone else, even if she was dead. That love was armor enough to protect him where others had failed.

© 2019 Melissa L. Webb

Advertisements

Wet Work- Friday Flash

Wet Work

By Melissa L. Webb

The blood splattered the walls as if it was abstract art. I watched as the patterns danced around me. Damn, I wish I had my camera. The gory masterpiece before me should be documented for posterity.

I slide the blade from her skin as she moaned causing more blood to flow, staining the white sheets to a dark crimson. What little life she had left in her struggled against me as I worked, even as it ebbed away.

I tossed the knife aside, wanting to feel her fleeting life force against my skin. My fingers curled around the pale flesh of her throat, digging in. She gurgled against me, trying desperately to suck in her last remaining breath as I tightened my hold, watching the life fade from her eyes.

With a final failed gasp, her muscles relaxed. I grinned as her body went limp. All life had been spilled from her. I reluctantly withdrew my hands from her neck and got up; staring at the lifeless beauty sprawled across the bed. How exquisite she looked in death.

Everything always seemed more beautiful at the end. I don’t know why that’s true, but it is. I guess death strips away the pretenses and leaves us with nothing but honesty.

I stepped back, sadly drawing my eyes away from my dark creation. It was time to clean up. I got busy, removing all evidence I had been there. I am saddened by this part because the dance of death cannot be done without a partner, but I can’t let them find me.

I finished and quickly looked around the room, my eyes taking in the perfection of death one last time. My eyes linger on the blood splatters, taking in their whisperings of mortality. However, as I walk away, the sadness is fleeting, for I know, there are always more walls to paint.

© 2019 Melissa L. Webb

Ghost of the Moon- Friday Flash

full moon near snowcap mountain

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

Ghost of the Moon

By

Melissa L. Webb

 

The moon reflected off the water, harsh and cold, like glass on a snow-covered day. A lone figured stood on the sand, staring out at the searing refection. He stayed motionless, his head cocked to one side, mesmerized by the sight.

It stirred a memory in him. One he couldn’t quite place. It nibbled at the edges of his sanity, threatening to resurface with the weight of a 20-kiloton blast.

He didn’t know why it stirred. He had no obvious memories of ever standing on this shore, staring out at the bright shape of the moon as it caressed the water’s surface. Yet, there was something inside him, screaming at the sight of it.

A ripple stirred in the water, branching out like a spider’s web in the cold moonlight. The strands reached the shore as the water shivered underneath their touch.

The man stepped back, frightened by the sight, but frightened even more by his desire to touch it, to see if it was as solid as his heart longed for it to be. The fluttering in his mind became more frantic, a wild rustling that strained at the confines of who he was.

He would never understand what the subconscious wanted if he clung to his reality. He was trapped. He wasn’t the only one, though. Everyone was as trapped as he was and they didn’t even know it. They lived in an illusion, confined by the turmoil of humanity.

But, that was the joke, the big sickening scheme. There was no humanity. Not at all. They were all prisoners trapped in the flesh of those who would play creator.

He sighed as the old memories became clear. He was never meant to be human. No one was ever meant to be human. The shell they’d shackled to him had suppressed so much, but he had finally seen the light and it was beautiful.

The world was as flat as a postcard, just a relic from the days when the soul wanted what it couldn’t have. They had thought that life could be caught, could be shaped and molded to give meaning to the pain. But they were wrong. They were so wrong and they all knew it.

The man smiled as his skin cracked and peeled, dropping off like strips of wrapping paper on Christmas morning. The body was nothing more than a dustjacket and just as archaic. It was time to toss it aside.

His body split open, falling to the ground in a sickly, wet thump as white light poured out, drifting up like tendrils of fog, eager to dance with the crashing waves.

A long, dark arm rose out of the refection of the moon, pulling the swirling light into itself. “Welcome home, my son,” a beautiful voice cooed as the arm dropped back into the ghost of the moon once more.

 

© 2018 Melissa L. Webb

 

 

The Message-Friday Flash

THE MESSAGE
By Melissa L. Webb

 

Three days ago, I made a terrible mistake. It was an honest one…one that anybody would have made. I know that. If I could rewind time, I know I would do it the same way. I can’t be blamed for my actions, but I can still suffer from them.

I made a mistake that altered my life.

I answered the phone.

I didn’t recognize the number when my cell phone rang. I wasn’t surprised by that. I get a lot of calls from people I don’t know. That’s what happens when you run your own business. There was absolutely no hesitation as I answered it, but the sobbing on the other end did give me pause.

I was speechless as my mind whirled with images of people who might be hurt or worse. That was the only reason I could imagine for this call. But when she spoke, I realized I didn’t know this crying woman. She was only a stranger weeping into my ear.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she told me through tears. “But…I need to talk to someone; to tell them this and it can’t be anyone I know.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. How could I turn away this woman when she was so distraught? So, with a sigh, I spoke, “What can I do for you?”

“Just listen, please. That’s all I ask. Just listen to what I tell you, it will only take a minute.”

I reluctantly agreed. She took a deep breath and began to tell me about a conversation she had the other day. A woman had stopped her on the street, asking if she could spare a moment. This woman needed to speak to her. She told her a story of how she had been asked to hear a tale of woe from a stranger and ever since that day, her life had been a nightmare.

This stranger on the street told her she was having nightmares; that her luck had changed for the worse, and she was being stalked by some unseen thing. She was sure some negative force had entered her life and now she feared for herself and those she loved.

The weeping woman on the other end of my phone took a shuddered breath. “I told her I didn’t know what to do for her. She said it was okay, just telling me this would be enough to help her. She just needed to talk someone. She walked away from me then. It was the strangest conversation I ever had,” she whispered to me. “I didn’t think anything more about it. It was just someone with problems.”

I took a deep breath. I could understand that. “Is there a point to this?” I asked.

“It’s happening to me,” she sobbed. “I’m having nightmares. I lost my job. Everywhere I look something is going wrong. And…” She stopped, letting the silence surround us.

I couldn’t help myself. “What?”

“Something is following me. I feel it,” she told me. “I’m never alone anymore.” She was silent once more and then let out a deep sob. “I’m sorry. I just randomly picked you. I had to tell someone. I’m so sorry, but this has to stop.” The phone clicked sharply as she hung up.

I didn’t know what to make of the story. I shoved it to the back of my mind and went on with my life. I should have taken what she said to heart.

It’s started now.

The bad luck and the nightmares, I have them both. The unseen force? It’s here, too. I feel its breath on the back of my neck even as I write this. It’s watching and waiting, looking for the next person to be infected by this story. This tale is no longer my burden. I have finished writing it and you have read it, so I am free.

My only thought now is, “Who will you call tonight?”

© 2017 Melissa L. Webb

Pink Tutus and Blue Cheese

Pink Tutus and Blue Cheese

By Melissa L. Webb

 

I first heard God speak to me yesterday. It wasn’t a “Greetings from the Exalted One!” type message, more like a “Hey, how’s it going?” I have to tell you, I was quite shocked. Here I was in my skivvies, getting a bowl of fruity flakes, when a voiced filled the room and said, “You’re overflowing the milk, Gary.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Not to mention my hard-earned fruity flakes went all over the floor. Which is a bummer, cause I really like them. They’re like the nectar of the breakfast gods or something.

I scurried for the paper towels, throwing them down on the rainbow-colored milk. I leaned over, ready to soak up as much of the liquid as I could when the voice spoke again. It told me, “You can do that later, Gary. I need to talk to you.”

Why God needed to talk to me was puzzling. Why would I be important enough to talk to? I was just your average slacker. I didn’t do much in this world, good or bad. It wasn’t as if I should have caught his attention for any reason.

However, when God comes a calling, you don’t say no. So, I sat down and listened to what he had to tell me.

He rambled on and on about the weather, his disdain for retail stores, and his love for pink tutus and blue cheese. God really seems to love blue cheese. He puts it on everything. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that’s what clouds in heaven are made from.

I listened patiently as he talked away the day. I didn’t mind. It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do. I think the guy’s lonely. Floating around all day, watching everything but interacting with nothing, will do that to you.

As the sunlight was fading from the house, God wrapped up telling me about the doctor who decided to treat only squirrels before asking a favor from me. I would have thought listening to him all day would have been the favor, but as I said before, you don’t tell God no.

I told him whatever he needed, I would see to it. It would give me something to do, and if it was God’s work, all the better.

He then told me about his dislike of white shoelaces. How he couldn’t stand them. He said it had something to do with an experience when both the world and he were young, but that’s all he would say. I think even God has things he would rather forget.

White shoelaces and those who were associated with them had to go. He didn’t care how I did it, just as long as I rid the world of them. So, that’s how I started this quest. I must make this world a better place for God. He has given me purpose. No longer will I waste the life I’ve been given. I will serve him.

My God of the pink tutus and blue cheese.

I will cleanse the world of those who wear white shoelaces. I will destroy them because God told me to. This is my purpose. This is my calling.

Now I must ask: what color are your shoelaces?

© 2017 Melissa L. Webb

The Puppy- Friday Flash

 

 

Warning: Due to disturbing content, reader discretion is advised.

 

 

 

 

The Puppy

 

By Melissa L. Webb

 

cute-little-puppy-eyes

 

More than anything the girl wanted a puppy. She’d listen to her friends talk about their dogs or watch people taking theirs for a walk, and think, someday that will be me.

Every chance she got she’d ask her parents for a dog.  “Please, can I have one? I’ll take very good care of it.”

But, no, they would not give in.

“A five-year-old is too young to be responsible for a dog. We’ll talk about it when you’re older.”

Day after day, that’s what the little girl heard. She wasn’t old enough. She wasn’t responsible enough.

Her parents were wrong about that. She was practically an adult. She could take care of a puppy. She could take care of anything. She needed to prove that to them.

So, the little girl came up with a plan.

Every morning, she would get up early and fix a small plate of leftovers. She’d take it out to the backyard and bring it back empty. She’d wash it until it shined and then put it away, better than before. She would do the same before bed as well.

“What are you doing?” her parents asked her.

“I’m taking care of my puppy,” she replied.

“Do you think we should worry?” her father asked one night after the girl was asleep.

“No,” her mother answered wisely. “She’s only doing this to prove she’s responsible. She’ll stop once she realizes we’re serious about no pets.”

The little girl did not stop.

She gathered blankets and stuffed animals and took them outside as well.

“What are you doing?” her parents asked her.

“I already told you,” the little girl said dramatically. “I’m taking care of my puppy.”

“Should we worry now?” her father asked her mother.

“I’m sure she’s only building a fort out there,” her mother replied, but inside she was beginning to wonder. Did her daughter really have a puppy? “Maybe we should go check on her.”

The parents made their way out to the backyard, looking for their daughter’s fort. The door to the shed stood open, light spilling out across the ground.  A soft whimper rolled across the lawn from within.

“Sweetie,” the girl’s mother called as they approached the door and peered in. “Are you in there?”

“Yes, Mommy,” the little girl called back. “I’m playing with my puppy. Do you want to see it?” Her words were punctuated with a thin, watery whine.

Her father frowned. She had gone behind their backs and brought home an animal. He wondered which neighbor she’d taken it from.

“Sweetheart,” her mother said as they came into the shed, her eyes scanning the rows of boxes and shelves. “Daddy and I need to talk to you.”

“Okay, Mommy. I’m back here. Come see how responsible I’ve been.”

They silently followed her voice to the back of the shed, each one contemplating a fitting punishment. She couldn’t go around taking people’s pets.

The girl sat with her back to the wall. Something small lay across her lap. A blanket covered it from the neck down. Above that, the girl had tied an old jump rope around its neck as a leash.

Her eyes lit up, a smile covering her face as she looked at her parents. “This is Cupcake,” she said, patting the small brown doggy head in her lap. “She’s a good puppy.”

Her parents leaned down, staring into the puppy’s glassy brown eyes. They held no sparkle, no trace of life at all.

“Sweetie,” her mother said, looking back up at her daughter. “This isn’t a real puppy. It’s the stuffed dog Grandma gave you last Christmas.”

“No, it’s not, Mommy,” the girl insisted. “Cupcake’s only borrowing its face.”

The blanket twitched as a whimper came from under the dog face.

“What do you have underneath it?” her father asked, reaching for the stuffed head.

“I told you. It’s cupcake.”

Her father pulled the dog’s mussel. The head lifted away, nothing more than a hollow mask.

“Oh no,” her mother gasped as she stared down in horror.

A baby looked up at them, its large, blue eyes pleading as it made another whimpering sound. Bruises covered its swollen face and a black tint settled over its neck where the makeshift leash dug tightly into flesh.

“See,” the little girl said, petting the baby’s bald head. “I can take care of something all by myself.”

 

© 2017 Melissa L. Webb

 

 

Way Station

I am a way station.

Not a person. Not someone.

I am simply a moment in time,

Here to be used as others pass through.

I am only a temporary stopping point for those in need.

The broken, the scared, the weak,

Those with the tattered souls.

They all find me sooner or later.

I am a reprieve from their pain,

A balm for the cutting edges of this world.

I don’t ask to be, yet my words soothe them.

Somehow, I pick them up. I dust them off.

I put them back together,

Replacing shattered pieces of them

Like they were a puzzle I didn’t even know I could see.

They become themselves with me.

They emerge, better, happier.

The who they were meant to be.

The strays of the world become free

And they move on, without a single glance back.

They return to where they belong,

To where they’re meant to be.

And this port shines a little less with each fleeting traveler.

I am a way station.

I am not a destination.

No one stays

And I end up broken and alone.

 

© 2017 Melissa L. Webb

Black Keys- Friday Flash

 

Black Keys

By Melissa L. Webb

antique-typewriter-keys

 

The typewriter stood silent. Black metal glittering in the harsh florescent light. Ivy stood mesmerized by the way the keys called to her. “Why does it have to stay in that display case, Daddy?” she asked, turning to look at the man behind the desk.

“What was that?” he spoke, barely even glancing up from the laptop in front of him.

“Can’t I just use it once?” she asked, trying to get his full attention.

He looked up at her, his eyes resting on her wrinkled brow and sighed. “I’ve told you before, Ivy. That typewriter means a lot to me. I started my career with that thing.” He glanced over at the display case, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve created our lives with that. Everything I have, I owe to that hunk of metal. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to it.”

“That typewriter gave you the inspiration to write your first story?” she asked, thrilled by the idea.

Her father nodded. “In a lot of ways, it did, pumpkin. I would never have found the courage to share my words with the world if it hadn’t been for that thing.”

Ivy eyed the typewriter with awe. “I want to be like you, Daddy. I want to share my words with the world too.” She turned and looked at her father, putting on her best pout. “Maybe it can give me courage. Please, Daddy? Please?”

He shook his head as he closed the laptop and stood up. “You don’t need that relic to be a writer, Ivy. You can use the computer downstairs.” He walked around the desk and wrapped an arm around his daughter. “And if you decide you really like writing, I’ll buy you a laptop of your own.”

She looked up at her father and grinned. “Really?”

“Really, pumpkin,” he told her as he led her towards the door. “Now, let’s go downstairs and see what your mother’s making for dinner.”

She let he father lead her out of the room before glancing back at the silent back keys shimmering in the light.

 

***

 

 

Ivy tiptoed silently down the hall, taking the cold doorknob in her hand. Glancing around her, she opened her father’s office door, quickly slipping in. Reaching blindly, her fingers collided with the plastic switch and the room was bathed in the fluorescent light once again.

She looked around the room, her eyes instantly falling on the display case. All evening her mind kept wandering back to the archaic machine. She had no clue why it fascinated her so much. All she could think of was how wonderful her words would look on a sheet of paper from that typewriter.

She slipped across the room to where the display case rested on a table against the far wall. Her hands slid along the glass as she peered adoringly inside. She wanted to be a real writer like her father. If this was what started his career, it could start hers as well.

Ivy carefully lifted the glass box from the typewriter, setting it to the side. Holding her breath in awe, she brushed her fingers over the sparkly black keys. How exquisite it was compared to the boring, everyday computers which filled the world. She could see herself writing the next great novel with this machine. This was the romance of being an author.

She looked down at the paper still in the paper guide. Curiously, she pried up the paper release and pulled the paper towards her, taking in the typed words. It must be the last thing her father wrote on it. Her eyes fluttered over it, her lips turning down in a frown as she read it.

I will be a famous writer. I will have a wonderful wife and a beautiful daughter named, Ivy. They will both love me very much. I will be happy and have everything I ever wanted. My life will be good.

Ivy stared at the words. Why would her father leave something like this in the typewriter? Her eyes drifted over the words again, when suddenly they began to fade. Lighter and lighter the ink became until it disappeared completely. She gasped in shock, letting the paper fall to the floor.

She looked around her nervously. How had that happened? Words didn’t disappear like that. She stepped back, away from the display case. Something wasn’t right with that typewriter.

Ivy turned towards the door, opening it as she heard her father cry out.

“What did you do, Ivy?” his voice carried down the hall. “What did you do?”

She shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. How could she have known? Things like that weren’t possible. She wanted to scream, to cry out how sorry she was, but she stayed silent as she watched herself fade from reality.

 

© 2015 Melissa L. Webb

 

A Heckler’s Tale- Friday Flash

 

A Heckler’s Tale

By Melissa L. Webb

youth-football-1414061597ZRY

 

 

The mist hung heavily on the field as the spectators watched from the stands. Sarah pulled her jacket tighter and sighed. Her school was losing to the visiting team. What a way to ruin Homecoming.

“Are you cold?” her boyfriend whispered, pulling his arms tighter around her.

She nodded, scooting closer. “Yeah, this is a miserable night, Charlie,” she told him as she wiped the moisture from her cheeks.

“We can leave if you want.”

“No, we promised Joe we’d be here for him.” She frowned down at the players on the field. “After all, his team is getting slaughtered.”

Charlie frowned. “Your brother is going to be unbearable after this.”

It was true. It was going to be a long night.

Sarah let her gaze drift back to the field. She watched as a blanket of fog rolled in, settling over the field. No one could see what was happening down there now.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Charlie whispered, hope clouding his voice. “Maybe they’ll call the game on account of fog.”

She grinned slightly. “I doubt it. Our team couldn’t play any worse even if they were blindfolded.”

A whistle pierced the night as one of the teams scored.

Charlie sighed. “At least we don’t have to watch the bloodshed.”

Sarah smirked and settled back against him, staring at the thick fog swirling in front of the bleachers.

“Hike!” Joe’s voice rang out above the fogbank as the kickoff commenced.

An object shot up in the air and headed for the crowd.

“Look out,” a lady next to Sarah cried. “Ball’s coming.”

Charlie shook his head in exasperation. “Not again.” It flew straight towards him and he caught it on reflex.

“No,” Sarah gasped as she stared at the thing in her boyfriend’s hands.

A head stared back at her, a look of horror permanently etched into its face.

Charlie dropped it as the people around him scattered. “What is that?”

Sarah shook her head as she scanned the field. The fog had cleared, leaving in its wake pure chaos.

Body parts covered the field. Some of her brother’s team was on their hands and knees, feasting on the remains. Others left the field, making their way into the stands, drooling with anticipation.

A cheerleader’s bloodcurdling scream filled the night air as the tight end tore her captain apart.

People shoved their way out of the stands, escaping the oncoming savagery.

“Sarah, we have to go,” Charlie said, trying to pull her with him.

She stayed, frozen with shock. “Charlie. Look.”

Joe made his way up the stairs. His eyes were glazed over and blood dripped from his mouth. “You,” he moaned as he pointed at them. “You laughed at us.”

Charlie looked over at Sarah as the zombie moved closer. “Maybe we should learn to keep our comments to ourselves.”

 

© 2015 Melissa L. Webb