Tis the Season

The first and only horror story I've ever written. Just for you, lovely bloggy friends.

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Across the patterned brick pavement, the kiosk in the middle of town square stood battered, a bat twenty yards off. The clock, once mounted above the small structure, lay shattered nearby, the time, 5:41.

Across the square lay the remains of a sorrel terrier, swollen, covered in welts. Beside it, a swim suit-clad boy of about six, head-to-toe boils. In heaps lay millions of tiny bodies, spent once they’d found their targets. Littered around the square, more children, melted ice cream cones, strewn cotton candy, sticky soda.

Screams in the distance. A faint humming, angry and wild.

Here in the silent square, however, movement. Two men, clad in hazmat suits emerged from an alley carrying medical bags. From one still form to another they moved. Never opening their bags. Checking pulses, closing glazed eyes.

Finally a medical bag opened, a biohazard pouch removed, along with an envelope and a pair of large tweezers. Carefully tweezers pinched a tiny body and dropped it in the envelope, sealing the envelope before dropping it into the pouch.

Circling the square a final time, the men moved back toward the alley. They paused. Turned. From a mound of tiny bodies, a deep buzzing. The mound shimmered, moved, rose toward the men. As one the killer bees swarmed on the hazmat suits, seeking a way in to the soft flesh. Latching on, crawling to wrists, neck, waist and ankles.

Screaming, running, beating themselves. The men disappeared into the alley. All would soon be quiet again.

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I hope you enjoyed it.

Until I write again ...

Flea