My First Published Flash Fiction Story - Harvest Time

The folks over at Unscooped Bagel, an online magazine, http://www.unscoopedbagel.com/ ,

have graciously become the FIRST publication to officially publish one of my short stories.

Harvest Time, a flash fiction work of 450 words, is now online/on their Facebook page and is also available on their website. Check them out for other indie authors.

Harvest Time — By Sue Rovens

• January 27, 2016
• Fiction, Short Stories
• Published by Unscooped Bagel

 

Harvest Time

A pair of glistening eyes watched as my friend and I walked down Jackson Street. We never suspected. Ten year old girls were too enmeshed in the traditions of trick or treating; devising ways to gather the most treats in the least amount of time.
Earlier in the evening, the sidewalks bustled with ghosts and witches and the occasional unidentifiable masked creature, but as curfew neared, the neighborhood’s population seemed to disappear. Drapes closed and porch lights dimmed. Occasional bursts of wind blew scattered leaves into rolling tumbleweeds that rolled silently down the street. As the hour drew long, the drop in temperature chilled our cores, but we were steadfast and determined to stay out as long as possible. Candy was a strong motivator.
As we approached the middle of Jackson Street, I reached into the paper bag for the flashlight my parents had forced me to carry. Blindly fishing through bite size bars, packages of gum and the soft jabs of lollipop sticks seemed endless.
“I can’t find it,” I whispered.
“Looking for this?” Allison asked, holding my flashlight underneath her chin. Her face took on an eerie glow as she pushed the ON button.
“Give it back. It’s mine.”
She giggled and ran down the sidewalk, flashing the light on and off, on and off. The clicks of her princess high heels faded as the distance grew between us. I couldn’t run after her; my costume was far too cumbersome. I stood, motionless, and watched her go until she ran out of breath. She paused under a streetlamp and held up the flashlight.
“Come and get it if you want it so bad,” she hollered.
Perfectly timed to answer her demand, an adjacent pile of leaves at the end of a driveway rustled and shook. She never saw it coming, but from my vantage point, I watched as an arm extended and piercing yellow eyes peered out from the shapeless mound of foliage. A claw hooked around her leotard-covered leg and yanked her from the world. She barely had the chance to scream.
I panicked. Without thinking it through, I clumsily hurried over to where she last stood. The flashlight sat atop the pile; its bright beam pointed toward the emptiness of the sky. With only a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed it and tossed it into my bag.
I scuttled down the sidewalk, half undressed; parts of my costume now trailed off my shoulders while other parts had sloughed off on the sidewalk behind me. I didn’t care. I only wanted to make it home. But as I looked down the block, I noticed a multitude of leaf piles standing between me and my front door.
© Sue Rovens