Ant Smith

Flash Fiction stories

Come and play

(A story in 256 words)
Come down here with us. Look under the compost. No, not IN the compost. Look under the compost. That's right. Nevermind the smell. Just beneath the wet leaves. Push them aside. They only stick to you for a minute. Dig now. Dig. Dig deeper. That's right. Here you come. Come on now. Down here. All the way down. We're waiting for you. He seems a sturdy sort. Let's see how well he does with the ghost. Mostly they don't even see her coming. Until. Of course. Has he walked straight past? It's a lonely road. No wait, see, he's stopped. And turned. He can see her. Sharp black teeth gaping wide. He senses her reaching out for him. Flapping wasted tattooed skin. Oh look, he's so confused. He can't tell who's screaming now. Himself or the ragged banshee. You'd better run. Scramble. Faster. Up the hill. Don't look back, climb. Climb if you can. Don't slip back.

Scramble.

Scramble over the hawthorn bush.
Scramble over that dead wood.
Kick the bird song from the briar.
Scramble. Scramble. Scramble higher.

Scramble over the hawthorn bush.
Scramble over that dead wood.
Kick the bird song from the pyre.
Scramble. Scramble. Scramble higher.


Is he there yet? Did he make it? Does he wonder why he's hot but naked? Flames consume him once again, for there can be no end of pain when sleep is steeped in darkest dreams and daylight brings but brief relief. Come back soon and come and stay, for we will wait beneath the clay.