Instead, I bring you 3 flash fiction pieces from Midian authors, David Rex Bonnewell, Midge Cline and John H. Howard. Enjoy!
John H. Howard:
Screeching awoke Gillian from a sound sleep. In her dreams, it had been the wailing of a mother grieving a dead child, a bitch mourning pups pulled too soon from the teat, the anguish of a tormented soul ripped from the world prematurely. In waking, the sound was worse. It seemed to be coming from just outside.
She slipped from the warmth of her bed and crept on bare feet across the cool wooden floor to investigate. She met her bleary-eyed father in the hallway, 12-gauge in his hand.
“What’s that sound, Da?”
“Sounds like a wolf, Gill.”
“You’re not going to kill it, are you?”
“Dunno about you, but I can’t sleep with all that howling outside my window.”
“Da, please don’t kill it. Miss Beck says it’s bad luck to kill a wolf.”
“Why you been talking to that ol’ witch? I don’t want her filling yer head with such nonsense.”
“It’s not nonsense. Da, please.”
Mr. MacLeod grunted noncommittally as he unlatched the kitchen door.
Outside stood the largest wolf Gillian had ever seen. It bared its teeth and growled as Gill and her da appeared. Its eyes glowed hellfire red.
The screeching came again, but it wasn’t the wolf. Gillian’s gaze was drawn upward.
Hanging under the eaves was a woman clad in filthy gray rags. The horrible keening sound was coming from her.
“Dear Christ!” her da yelled. He fumbled with the shotgun, not knowing where to aim it.
Gillian tugged his arm, frantically seeking to return to the safety of the house.
The gun fell from his hands.
A deafening bang and a blinding flash of light.
The keening stopped. As Gill’s eyesight returned, the image of the banshee’s grinning face was imprinted upon her memory, even as the specter itself faded. The hellhound was gone, as was her father’s body.
As the tears came, one thought entered her head: He said the monsters weren’t real.
~~*-*~~
Midge Cline:
She held her breath, peering through the cracks of the closet door, praying they did not see her hiding there. Fear engulfing her as silent tears, left streaks through the dirt on her face. She fought to stay silent while she watched them thrust their blades into her father’s heart. She swallowed hard as the men slowly rose from the lifeless body which once held her father’s soul.
The masks were terrifying. Demonic` masks of red and black appeared to be made by Hollywood professionals. Even the eyes glowed with an iridescent red in the window light. The man threw his head back with an animalistic howl before he descended once more and began devouring her father’s flesh. He was eating him! Gnawing, ripping sounds filled the air. A sob escaped her lips. One of the men raised his head, he had heard her! He rose and stepped toward the closet door. He thrust open the door, finding her cowering in fear on the floor. His strong arms lifting her as she struggled.
It was then she discovered he wore no mask. His demonic grin revealed uneven, haggard fangs where teeth should have been. Pain seared through her flesh as the realization wracked her soul. Demons had killed her family, and now her. Demons are real.
~~*-*~~
Little Dillan kicked at a can as he strolled somberly down the street. Halloween was just around the corner, yet he was haunted by dread. This feeling did not arise from the holiday itself, for little Dillan loved Halloween. The problem was that he had no mask worthy of the special day, nor the money to buy one. Sure, little Dillan tried making his own mask. Many times, in fact. Why, he put the very spirit of Halloween into each one! But none could satisfy. Then little Dillan saw his salvation. It lay half-buried in a heap of garbage in the corner of the street, glinting in the moonlight like a beacon.
Little Dillan shooed away the rats that were hungrily gnawing away at the food and filth that had dried onto the discarded mask. Little Dillan spit-polished the gem of a find with an old rag. Moments before putting it on, he noticed the name KAJA scrawled on the inside. Little Dillan projected what most terrified an old man nearby, and relished in his reaction.
He saw himself in a tall, oval mirror. His reflection soon became a rotting corpse. It stepped out of the mirror and gave chase. The old man hobbled away into the night, ever screaming, “It’s not my time!” Others looked at him and thought, Crazy old man. Little Dillan thought nothing more of it, instead feeling anxious to do some trick or treating. He rang the doorbell of the nearest house and held out his small hands. A woman answered. Little Dillan said, “Trick or treat!”
He saw himself in a tall, oval mirror. His reflection soon became a rotting corpse. It stepped out of the mirror and gave chase. The old man hobbled away into the night, ever screaming, “It’s not my time!” Others looked at him and thought, Crazy old man. Little Dillan thought nothing more of it, instead feeling anxious to do some trick or treating. He rang the doorbell of the nearest house and held out his small hands. A woman answered. Little Dillan said, “Trick or treat!”
“Halloween’s days away, sweetheart. I don’t have any candy for you. I’m sorry,” said the woman. “Trick,” moaned Dillan, and he relished in her nightmare before moving onto the next house as darkness (and madness) continued to fall on the city.
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