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flash fiction, prose

68 Jericho Street

image courtesy of Desmond Kavanagh

This is an abattoir of souls. We feed on souls and you’ll be next.

Gorse dotted the house, irrationally cheery in this abandoned place. All the nasty news Ruth heard tumbled inside her head.

A housekeeper hung herself here. A young woman was mutilated in the bedroom. A little girl fell over the balcony and broke her neck. Oh how the mother wept and the father raged.

Ruth felt a tap on her head and looked up but did not register those bare feet. She could only see the housekeeper’s decayed face, the rope around her neck. Suddenly, its large, swollen eyes looked down at her hatefully.

A little grinning girl in red blocked her path, neck bent at an egregious angle. Behind her was a woman drenched in blood – a demented version of Death.

The next day, in the paper’s “Missing Persons”: a black and white photo of Ruth.


About Anna

Awed/delighted/floored with anything horror. Indulges in chocolates, blogging, writing, and reading. Attracted to the offbeat and the quirky / the odd and the strange / the weird and the eerie.


4 thoughts on “68 Jericho Street

  1. Great use of the prompts: very natural, very creepy. It read like a horror and I enjoyed it immensely.

    Posted by J.M. Blackman | November 20, 2012, 2:21 am
  2. Very well done – especially in setting the atmosphere.

    Posted by LupusAnthropos | November 20, 2012, 4:53 am

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