Flash Fiction

From the Mist

Hey everyone. I know it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on here. Let’s just say life has been rather challenging. Anyway, I did dash out a quick response to the ever awesome #SwiftFicFriday prompt. This time we got the picture here along with out 300 words. Tonight, with thoughts of Halloween in my head, I give you this spooky little ghost story.

From the Mist

A deep mist wove through the town, obscuring almost everything. Even the buildings had become little more than vague dark suggestions in the velvety white blanket. Nothing moved.

Nothing except a lone figure moving down the main street at a snail’s pace. The road had long since disintegrated back to gravel. Each step seemed oddly loud despite the muffling effects of the mist.

The teen had agreed to walk through the town on a dare from his friends. He’d scoffed at the fear they showed of the place. True, they’d abandoned the town after a series of bizarre disappearances that culminated in the grisly discovery of the missing people’s bodies—or what remained of them. But those events happened over fifty years ago. Whoever had done it back then had to be dead.

As he approached the dilapidated church, he heard a door squeak. He froze, his heart thudding in his ears so loud it drowned out any sound that made it through the mist. Swallowing hard, he took several more steps. All he had to do was make it through the center of town and his buddies would pick him up on the far side.

Something crunched on the road to his left. His body went rigid mid-step. A lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Before he could move, it came again. Closer and to his right. The noise spurred him to move.

When the crunching steps came from both sides of the teen, he broke into a run. He knew he should yell, or call out, or something, but his voice stuck.

Out of the mist, black blurs hit the boy from both sides. One shoe lay in the street, a few drops of crimson down one side.

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