Hey Dear Bloggers – This is my second flash fiction – let me know your thoughts. Thanks for your kind read
The evening was crawling in with a mighty speed. The gray shadows of tall trees on the lone dirt road were getting darker by each passing moment. The car pale light spread was battling hard to irradiate the surrounds. Stephen was certain he had taken a wrong turn. The GPS had stopped working a while back and the phone had no signal. He was in desperate need of help but couldn’t find a single soul for the past half hour.
The lane soon became a narrow dyke crossing over a small creek. The car teetered and Stephen had to steer it to a snail pace. And under the subtle pastel spread of the car headlights, he saw a shadow right at the edge of the approaching wooden bridge. He rolled down the window and with an appealing voice he screamed, “Excuse me, do you know where is 12 Parkinson Street?”
The man was about 6 feet tall. His frail structure was draped in a black duvet head to toe. The darkness by now had engulfed the cold environs and Stephen couldn’t get any glimpse of his countenance.
“Keep going straight for about 600 yards, the house is on the left. What brings you to this abandoned place”
A surprised Stephen smiled and said, “Gerald Larkson had invited us for his house warming party. Thank you for your help.”
The dark shadow kept looking at the car’s disappearing brightness and wondered when did Gary buy the house? For the last 200 years, the gorge beneath the wooden bridge was their abode.
Copyright © Shantanu Baruah
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