It Killed The Cat- Friday Flash

Curious Chartreux cat on tree looking downwards.

Image via Wikipedia


By Melissa L. Webb

Curiosity is a strange thing. It’s overpowering, forcing you to your knees. It doesn’t matter how long you fight it, curiosity will win in the end. Every single time.

It gnaws at your edges, consuming you slowly until there is nothing left to do but seek out that one thing haunting your mind.

Curiosity has you hooked at this point. All you can do is squirm as it pulls you down into the unknown, where knowledge is lurking in the shadows, waiting to sink its teeth into you.

I know this more than anyone. I have seen it happen time and time again. It’s all I can think about as I prepare my cursed objects. The world will suffer and all because I laid my curious wares out on this table and opened my shop for the day.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb


Killer Idea- Friday Flash


Image via Wikipedia


By Melissa L. Webb

Tiffany awoke to a thought. It was the strangest thought she’d ever had. It overpowered her mind, causing all rational thought to flee from its presence.

She bolted up in bed and sat there, her eyes focusing on nothing. Her mind was too busy forming a plot. It would have to be bloody. The bloodier the better and the body count had to be astronomical. The serial killer prowling through her imagination had a taste for mayhem.

She froze, her thoughts coming to a grinding halt. What was she doing? This wasn’t her genre. She wrote romance, not horror. Hot and heavy, she could do. Light and fluffy? She could knock that out of the park. But write about people being butchered? It took a sick and twisted mind to be capable of that.

Tiffany laid back down and closed her eyes. She had to forget about this. Let it silently drift away to the place where abandoned ideas go. She didn’t want anything to do with this insane thought.

She tried to fall back to sleep, but the killer kept slicing and dicing through her mind, leaving bloody smears on the back of her eyelids. With a sigh, she sat back up and looked at the clock. It was only midnight. It wouldn’t kill her to work for an hour. She pushed the covers aside and slowly got out of bed. Maybe if she wrote some of this awful story, she could get some sleep.

She plopped down in her computer chair and turned on her laptop. The screen’s soft glow welcomed her as she settled in. With a deep breath, her fingers met the keyboard as she started in on the perverse tale.

Time seemed to drift away, as Tiffany was lead, by force, through the night as the killer picked his prey. Slowly the fodder culminated in a deadly chase scene, when a child had escaped from the killer.

Her fingers froze as she stared at the screen in horror. Her depraved words seemed to mock her from the screen. She looked away in disgust. How would she ever live with herself is she finished the story? She couldn’t. It was that simple.

She quickly deleted the document, not wanting it to remain on her hard drive. She shut down the computer and made her way back to bed. Repulsed with herself, she crawled under the blankets and shut her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she tried to will sleep to come.


Tiffany’s eyes popped open and she stared into the darkness in her bedroom. Something woke her up. She tried to focus as she looked around. Was someone in the room with her? “Who’s there,” she spoke, the fear turning her voice hoarse.

There was a chuckle from somewhere in the room. “Good. You’re awake,” a man’s voice spoke. “I wanted you to be conscious for this.”

She breathed in, her fear turning into pure terror. A shadow moved closer to the bed. Tiffany’s body was frozen.

“You’re not even going to put up a fight?” the voice asked.

“Please, don’t,” she whimpered. The shape moved in a blur. A body suddenly jumped on her, pinning her to the bed. Cold metal dug into her neck. The man leaned closer, his dark eyes burning into hers. She gasped in shock as his stringy black hair brushed against his face. It was him.

The man grinned, showing her brown, stained teeth. “Yes, it’s me. The one you were supposed to write about,” he hissed as he dug the knife deeper into her flesh. “You couldn’t let me have my moment of fame, could you?”

Tiffany cried out as he sliced into her flesh. A ribbon of blood flowed down her throat. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Please, I’m sorry. I’ll write your story.”

The man laughed, the sound completely devoid of humor. “It’s too late. You had your chance. I gave you the inspiration, all you had to do was write the words.” He looked at her, anger flaring in his eyes. “We could have been famous.”

“No,” she begged as she squirmed against him. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“It’s all the purpose you have left,” he told her as he jerked the knife across her neck. Her blood flowed freely, covering his hand. He looked at the red liquid as her life ebbed away. It seemed like such a waste. “Why couldn’t you just write the damn story?”

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

Dark Flutters: Stories For A Moonless Night

My new ebook  is now available at Amazon.

Dark Flutters: Stories For A Moonless Night

What flutters under the cover of darkness? What lurks in the darkest corners of the imagination? Venture deep into these 26 short stories and you will find out. From a puddle that holds a deadly secret, to a country that will not die, you will soon see what the night holds. So sit back, relax and begin your journey. Just be sure you leave the lights on.

Only 99 cents!











Other formats of the book available to purchase AmazonUK, Barnes&Noble, and Smashwords.

Arrival- Friday Flash

line art drawing of cage.

Image via Wikipedia


By Melissa L. Webb

The cage sat in the empty lot, like a remnant of a long forgotten civilization. The metal, marred with rust, dug into the barren earth beneath it.

The old cage, bleakness personified, would never draw more than a passing glance; yet, the dark fluttering within pulled at me.

As I ventured into the lot, my feet followed the cracked brown earth below me. Making my way closer to the cage, I was surprised to see a small grey bird hopping madly inside.

Its dark eyes locked with mine as I stepped in front of the cage. Chirping loudly, it voiced its terror, beating its wings against the wire bars.

How had this bird come to be here? The cage was obviously a throwaway. Discarded remains dumped long ago. But the bird? It was locked away recently.

Who would do this to a helpless creature? My eyes darted around, quickly looking for someone to blame, but I was alone. Just the bird and I.

I peered closer at the bird. Its wild eyes once again beseeched me. I seemed to hear its erratic heart. Each beat crescendoing louder until it seemed it would shake itself apart. I didn’t know how this bird happened to end up in the cage, but I had to free it. It was the only choice I could make.

“Shh,” I whispered as I leaned closer. “It’ll be okay.”

The bird squeaked again, its wings beating even harder against the cage.

“You’re safe now,” I spoke as I pried up the door. The metal squeaked in protest, evidence of the neglect it had been subjected to. The bird’s wings slammed the cage, shaking it from side to side.

Once the door was open and its freedom imminent, the small grey bird quieted. Certain tranquility descended upon it. It cocked its head and studied me with condescending eyes. A smug look etched its face.

It stared at me a moment longer before opening its beak. “The storm is coming,” it spoke in a cold voice that chilled my soul. Then, with a flourish, it once again unfurled its wings and shot out of the cage, soaring high in the sky until it was nothing more than a dark speck.

I looked around me, shivering in the hot sun and wondered how long I had until the storm’s arrival.

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb

Pink Tutus And Blue Cheese- Friday Flash

Alexandra Danilova

Image via Wikipedia


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 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 heard what he had to tell me.

He rambled on and on about the weather, his distain 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.

So as the sunlight was just 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.

But 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?

© 2011 Melissa L. Webb