There’s a sour smell and I cover my nose with my sleeve as I creak across the floorboards, towards the cellar. It’s been a stroke of luck spotting the brown, curling paper advertising this place to rent. There are no neighbours for miles. No-one to hear the screams. My fantasy will become reality and my head’s spinning with fear and excitement.
The door’s stuck and I shove it with my shoulder, and creep down the stairs.
This is where I’ll bring her.
A slam. A key turning. The shaft of daylight disappears. Something brushes my neck.
It’s me that screams.
Photo courtesy of Ceayr
Flash Fiction >