Fantasy Drabble #230 “Resignation”

There was fire everywhere, and she could hardly breathe. The demon was still crashing in the kitchen, blinded, lashing out indiscriminately at cabinets and appliances; she was crawling towards the front door, blood dripping from her chin and ear.

“Leaving so soon? I don’t think he’s done with you.” She didn’t look up, but the black patent leather shoes between her and the door told her everything she needed to know.

“I’m done with him. And with you.”

“This isn’t the Girl Scouts, you don’t just quit.”

He couldn’t stop her, not physically, she knew that. She kept on crawling.

SF Drabble #299 “Box”

The crate came by courier. A smartly-dressed woman supervised the unloading and the hauling into the house, and gave him a gold-embossed card with a phone number to call, “If sir is in any way dissatisfied.”

He cracked open a beer and sat staring at the crate. He would be paying this purchase off for years, and it would change his life, if he opened it. He could call the number on the card and the woman and her crew would return and whisk it away no questions asked.

If he did open it, he could go anywhere, any time.

Fantasy Drabble #229 “Wolfpack”

Room service took an hour, but given everything they’d ordered it was understandable: fifteen people in the middle of a three-day-weekend-long Bacchanal develop a respectable hunger, and an equally disrespectable thirst. They let the bellhop come and go unmolested: they let him see human faces, tipped him handsomely, and sent him on his way with a smile. They weren’t ready to quit the hotel yet.

Another ten hours and they would slip quietly away into the night; until then they would up keep the masquerade. When maid service came Monday morning, all they would find would be blood and bones.

Zombie Drabble #318 “Silver Fox”

It pushed the door open slowly, shuffled in, arms outstretched, just like in those movies her grandson liked so much. Eunice was too old to be scared; even in her youth she hadn’t been the type to panic or faint.

It took some doing getting out of the recliner, and even more doing getting all the way into the kitchen without her walker. She managed to make it, though, with enough time to spare to grab her grandson’s Louisville Slugger.

When she finally spoke, Eunice’s every word was punctuated by a blow to the zombie’s head. “This… is… my house!”

SF Drabble #298 “Low Country Cooking”

“What is this? it’s delicious!”

The waiter looked at him quizzically until he remembered he had shut off his translator. He turned it back on and repeated: “This food, what am I eating?”

“It’s a boiled arthropod from Gwolb. A particular favorite of both my mates.”

“Arthropod? Is that like a spider?”

“I don’t know what a ‘spider’ is. You can look up the creature on your table computer: enter ‘Chiktakchit’.” The waiter shuffled away. 

He took another bite and while chewing, activated the computer. When he found a picture of a Chiktakchit, he spat it out onto his plate.

Zombie Drabble #317 “Fireball”

“Wait for the signal.”

His had was resting on the controller — a repurposed theater lighting controller — but his finger was nowhere near the important button, which had been repainted in red nail polish.

The zombies shuffled and lurched their way through the field towards them, past where he could see the sun reflecting off of the propane tanks. Above them on the roof of the 18-wheeler, Ed stood with binoculars. “At least it ain’t raining.”

“Shit, yeah. I’m still wet from last time.”

Ed took the binoculars away from his eyes. “Hit it!”

“This is gonna be loud.”

Fantasy Drabble #228 “Forest”

I shouldn’t have left her, I know; but I was young and frightened. I didn’t know what to do. The tree had her, and had almost had me, and I ran as fast as I could until I couldn’t run any more, and then I hid. By the time I had the courage to make my way home, it was dark and far too late to save Millie.

So, now, I never leave the house, and she’s out there in the woods where we don’t go, and we don’t talk about her or the tree she’s become a part of.