Frozen in Suspense

It was the scream that made her remember.  She hadn’t meant to forget, but the whole thing had happened in the dead of winter, so what else was she supposed to do?

Another bone chilling scream came from the other room and she remembered that it had happened the winter before last, too.  The goosebumps of surprise on her skin took her back to the day it had happened – well, days it had happened, as they had really both died in similar ways, hadn’t they? She could remember the twisted limbs, the blood and hair stuck to the bars of the cage she had kept first one and then the other in for months.  The shock of finding each one gone so soon, before she could really have some fun with them.

With a sigh of regret, she got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to face the music.

“Calm down, Mum,” she said from the doorway.  Her mother was hyperventilating by the dishwasher, forgotten trays of freezer-burnt meat piled in the sink beside her, already wearing frosty fur-coats in the humid summer air.

“Why are there two dead bodies in my freezer?”, her mother exclaimed between wheezes.

“Well,” she said, “I couldn’t bury them in January, could I?” She reached into the back of the freezer and picked up the two Ziploc bags.

“Well, you get those hamsters out of my kitchen this minute! Out to the back garden with you and bury them deep enough that the cat can’t get to them again.”

“Yes, Mum,” she said, heading for the screen door.  “Sheesh, you’d think I’d stored a human head in there or something…”

The Second Horseman of the Apocalypse

Silvery flakes drifted down, glittering in the bright light of the harvest moon.  The blackbird was startled off his perch in the old oak tree by the approaching rider, taking off with a flutter of feathers and a disgruntled caw.  The horseman was dressed all in black leather, gleaming at the seams where snow and moonlight collected.  He pushed his steed hard, its breath pillowing about them like fine, spun glass.

At the crossroads the horseman abruptly reined in and the horse skidded to a stop in the middle of the intersection.  Standing in his stirrups, the man turned and looked intently in all directions.  All was calm to the north, west and east but behind him to the south there was an approaching darkness.  The wind bore with it a low grumble, the sound of many voices raised in anguish.  Hearing this, the rider spurred his horse to the west and galloped toward the lights of a small village in the distance.

Workshop Flash Fiction – Peter and The Plan

Peter stood frozen, his sock clad toes curling against the linoleum. He could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the laugh track of the TV in the living room. Everything else was quiet. No footsteps. But he better not breathe just yet.

He snuck a peek at Bobby. Bobby had also frozen to the spot, his eyes wide and his arm still reaching forward. It looked like he wasn’t breathing either. Bobby’s eyes drifted towards Peter’s as a drop of snot dripped from his nose. Bobby didn’t even move to wipe it away – they were both too scared to move another muscle.

Workshop Flash Fiction – A Cup of Tea

Sheila took off her boots and padded to the kitchen in her socks.  She plugged in the kettle and turned to the tea caddy.  The day was cold and snowy – a perfect day for a strong Earl Grey.  She took down the china teapot and strainer from their shelf and added a good measure of leaves to the pot.

Beware the Evil Snowman

The snowman grinned malevolently as he watched his prey from the top of the toboggan hill.  This was the longest run in town and the children had chosen its peak as the place for his creation.  But their building had been clumsy and he despised their lack of skill.  His bottom was lumpy.  His middle was full of grass.  And his head was so large and misshapen it threatened to roll right off his shoulders.  But worst of all was his face.  Two stones for eyes.  A small twig for a nose.  And a curl of frozen dog poop for a mouth.  Oh, the indignity!