| Supernatural Flash Fiction posted August 9, 2014 |
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Supernatural Flash Fiction
Widow Prigstone's Orphanage
by michaelcahill
Supernatural Flash Fiction Contest Winner
An explanation? For what the horde of police officers, paramedics and other agencies will find when they storm through these doors? Four dead attendants and the night watchman chewed to lumps of bloody gristle? A blood-soaked mass grave of young, orphaned children in Widow Prigstone's cactus garden? It transcends any horror even a severe psychotic might spin.
Here they come.
"Don't move a damn muscle! Landon, secure those weapons. Don't stand. Slide to the ground, face down… hands behind your back… feet crossed at the ankles. Cigarette on the ground, mister. Now! Do it now."
Jesus, eight guns pointing at me… what do you think? Okay… calm… "OOOHH! Damn! Not resisting! Ow! Hurting me."
"Shut-up freak! Stop resisting; you're just making it harder on yourself. Okay, Travis, he's secure."
"Get him to his feet. Put him in that chair."
This lump is out of a bad cop movie. "I'm a victim. I'm injured… lucky to be alive."
"Look. I ask the questions. Looks like a pack of wolves were feeding here. Everyone's dead and you're alive. You're a suspect, get it? Name?"
"Samson Faraday, night manager."
"Yeah, nice "management", Samson. These bloody machetes… yours, right?"
"The gardener's, but I had no… "
"Conscience? Humanity? No… what?"
Ha. Ha. Asshole. Real funny. "Look, I was almost killed too. I had to defend myself. You think I did this by myself? With what? Two machetes? It's the orphans. They're not human. I know… crazy. Look around. Does this look human to you? People ripped to shreds. They were feeding on them. Feeding! I don't know what they are. Animals, aliens… hell, baby vampires, little werewolves. It's all insane. You think I don't hear myself?"
"Human? No. We agree. I don't think you qualify."
"Captain Hardbuns! It's sickening. You should shoot this bastard right now. He's killed them all. They're all buried in the back. God help me, Captain. A big hole full of helpless children."
"If you're smart, Captain, you'll fill that hole with gasoline and light a match. Some of them were still moving. I don't know if I buried them deep enough."
A machete in each hand and I'm lucky to be alive. Kids my ass.
I follow the Captain outside roughly escorted by an officer whose name I didn't catch.
"How many, you bastard. I see arms sticking out. How many!"
"There's fourteen, Captain. I'm afraid I didn't bury them deep enough. Some of them were still moving when I threw them in. It's been an hour; they have to be dead by now."
"You buried them alive. Merciful God, man. You twisted, sick… Rivingdale, Provost, everyone! Start digging. Get these kids out of the ground. God almighty!"
I watch as everyone starts digging. I feel uneasy.
"Captain! This one is moving. She's still alive. Medics! Medics! We've got a live one here!"
"Captain. Over here too. Another one."
"Captain. I don't believe it. I think they're… they're all alive! OW! Dammit. One of them bit me!"
An explanation? For what the horde of police officers, paramedics and other agencies will find when they storm through these doors? Four dead attendants and the night watchman chewed to lumps of bloody gristle? A blood-soaked mass grave of young, orphaned children in Widow Prigstone's cactus garden? It transcends any horror even a severe psychotic might spin.
Here they come.
"Don't move a damn muscle! Landon, secure those weapons. Don't stand. Slide to the ground, face down… hands behind your back… feet crossed at the ankles. Cigarette on the ground, mister. Now! Do it now."
Jesus, eight guns pointing at me… what do you think? Okay… calm… "OOOHH! Damn! Not resisting! Ow! Hurting me."
"Shut-up freak! Stop resisting; you're just making it harder on yourself. Okay, Travis, he's secure."
"Get him to his feet. Put him in that chair."
This lump is out of a bad cop movie. "I'm a victim. I'm injured… lucky to be alive."
"Look. I ask the questions. Looks like a pack of wolves were feeding here. Everyone's dead and you're alive. You're a suspect, get it? Name?"
"Samson Faraday, night manager."
"Yeah, nice "management", Samson. These bloody machetes… yours, right?"
"The gardener's, but I had no… "
"Conscience? Humanity? No… what?"
Ha. Ha. Asshole. Real funny. "Look, I was almost killed too. I had to defend myself. You think I did this by myself? With what? Two machetes? It's the orphans. They're not human. I know… crazy. Look around. Does this look human to you? People ripped to shreds. They were feeding on them. Feeding! I don't know what they are. Animals, aliens… hell, baby vampires, little werewolves. It's all insane. You think I don't hear myself?"
"Human? No. We agree. I don't think you qualify."
"Captain Hardbuns! It's sickening. You should shoot this bastard right now. He's killed them all. They're all buried in the back. God help me, Captain. A big hole full of helpless children."
"If you're smart, Captain, you'll fill that hole with gasoline and light a match. Some of them were still moving. I don't know if I buried them deep enough."
A machete in each hand and I'm lucky to be alive. Kids my ass.
I follow the Captain outside roughly escorted by an officer whose name I didn't catch.
"How many, you bastard. I see arms sticking out. How many!"
"There's fourteen, Captain. I'm afraid I didn't bury them deep enough. Some of them were still moving when I threw them in. It's been an hour; they have to be dead by now."
"You buried them alive. Merciful God, man. You twisted, sick… Rivingdale, Provost, everyone! Start digging. Get these kids out of the ground. God almighty!"
I watch as everyone starts digging. I feel uneasy.
"Captain! This one is moving. She's still alive. Medics! Medics! We've got a live one here!"
"Captain. Over here too. Another one."
"Captain. I don't believe it. I think they're… they're all alive! OW! Dammit. One of them bit me!"
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Writing Prompt The character in your story is involved in some way with the supernatural. |
Supernatural Flash Fiction Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
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