Flash fiction is always welcome, and so are new contributors. TKnC welcomes John Wiswell to the fold...
Devil Gone Missing
Pat shot out of his chair when Conner finally came home. The boy’s clothes were crusted in brown grime and he was breathing with heavy excitement.
“Where you been, boy? Gone for four days without a word!” Pat said, pulling him inside. Conner followed his old man’s lead to the kitchen with such a smile that Pat could barely bear it.
“You look devastated. Like you found Jesus.”
“Is he missing, too?” The boy sucked in air in little bursts, like reverse laughter. “I just spent days finding the devil. You’d have been so proud, Pat.”
He reversed-laughed some more and bent towards the sink. When the water ran over his hands the brown turned a little red and circled the drain. Pat’s eyes widened at the change of color.
“You did what, boy?”
Conner beamed at him from over his shoulder, scrubbing his hands with lava soap. “Finally cornered him at the dump. His tail stuck in an old box spring, and he’d dropped his pitchfork.”
“Boy?” Pat moved nearer to the door. “Boy, what did you do?”
Smoke began to rise from the sink.
***
Bio: John will write anything once. His blog, www.johnwiswell.blogspot.com, features monologues, vignettes, character sketches, list fiction, straight dialogue and other forms of brief prose spanning humor, Horror, History, science, Fantasy, and all corners of the absurd.
Devil Gone Missing
Pat shot out of his chair when Conner finally came home. The boy’s clothes were crusted in brown grime and he was breathing with heavy excitement.
“Where you been, boy? Gone for four days without a word!” Pat said, pulling him inside. Conner followed his old man’s lead to the kitchen with such a smile that Pat could barely bear it.
“You look devastated. Like you found Jesus.”
“Is he missing, too?” The boy sucked in air in little bursts, like reverse laughter. “I just spent days finding the devil. You’d have been so proud, Pat.”
He reversed-laughed some more and bent towards the sink. When the water ran over his hands the brown turned a little red and circled the drain. Pat’s eyes widened at the change of color.
“You did what, boy?”
Conner beamed at him from over his shoulder, scrubbing his hands with lava soap. “Finally cornered him at the dump. His tail stuck in an old box spring, and he’d dropped his pitchfork.”
“Boy?” Pat moved nearer to the door. “Boy, what did you do?”
Smoke began to rise from the sink.
***
Bio: John will write anything once. His blog, www.johnwiswell.blogspot.com, features monologues, vignettes, character sketches, list fiction, straight dialogue and other forms of brief prose spanning humor, Horror, History, science, Fantasy, and all corners of the absurd.
great one!
ReplyDeleteLoved it. It left you imagining the adventure Conner must have gone through.
ReplyDeleteHot...and smoky. Great concept on this one, John.
ReplyDeleteGreat introductory story, John. Look forward to reading more.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the kind words, all! This felt like it toed the edge away from the faint reality of the site, and most of my creepier stuff tends to cross that border. Hopefully I'll have more shorts for Thrillers soon.
ReplyDeleteThought-provoking.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to your next piece, John.
we love creepy stuff too!
ReplyDelete