Flash of Fiction

“Guys, wait up! My bag’s caught on something!” My gang of pirates circle back, eyeing my candy bag. Two of my friends grab my arms, and we yank the bag free. But the bag’s not all we got. A real severed finger is stuck to my bag, the hand it belongs to reaching for us.

There are certain things you say because they’ll never happen, like pigs flying or a zombie apocalypse. Well, I take them back. Everything like that I’ve ever said. Every. Single. One. Because I was wrong. Zombies are real, and they want to eat me. In fact, they’re banging on my door right now. Meanwhile, Greg and I are trying to get my bedroom window open. “Come on,” I say, stealing a glance at the door. It’s rattling. The frame looks about ready to give. “It’s stuck,” Greg says. His face is turning purple as he strains to lift the window. I push him aside. “Then we’ll just break it.” I slam the butt of my dad’s hunting rifle into the glass. It shatters on the first try. “Mom and Dad are gonna kill you.” I gape at him. “Seriously? You think they’re gonna care more about the broken window than the zombies busting down the door?” “You have a point,” he mumbles. “Yeah, now go.” I nod toward the window. “Why do I have to go first?” “Because I’ve ...

“See ya tomorrow, girls!” My friends parroted the words back to me as I started down the block toward my car. It wasn’t even ten yards away, but I only made it halfway there. A hand clamped over my mouth, and an arm curled around my waist. The hand muffled my yelp of surprise followed by my screams for help. They were audible, but only just. Behind me, my captor shivered. “Ooh, that’s it, baby. The more scared you are, the sweeter you are.” The hand over my mouth yanked my head so hard to one side, my neck cracked. My captor’s chest pressed against my back as he leaned forward. His nose ran the length of my neck, and he inhaled deeply. My screams intensified as I tried to wriggle away from the creep who had me. He dragged me further back into the darkness, his grip strong as steel. He let go of my waist, but I still couldn’t get away. The hand over my mouth held me in place. My captor ran his free hand over my neck. He stroked it, running his fingers up and...