The Warning

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.


The prompts: This story must contain the words: wagon, thunderstorm, money


The Warning

The worn old wagon rocked back and forth on the cobblestoned road that led to the center of the village. There was nothing particularly interesting about the wagon itself, nor the old man that drove it.

The beast that pulled it along was another matter altogether.

It was a giant creature that stood nearly eight feet tall - hard to tell exactly as it leaned forward into its yoke. There were two large horns coming out of the sides of its head which was the size and shape of that of a large ox. Its blue skin could be seen beneath the patches of black curly fur that covered most of its body. One might think it was a giant ogre until close examination revealed hoof-like feet at the base of its two hugely muscled legs; the tell-tale sign of a messenger from the Underworld.

As the wagon approached the town center, there was a crowd following along, curiously reluctant. They found the spectacle at once terrifying and captivating.

The wagon stopped. The old man got down and walked to the communal fountain and filled a bucket. He gave it to the beast that drank as if it had been a long time between drinks.

The town elder was pushed forward. Shakily, he approached the old man.

“We, we don’t know what you want. If its money you’re after, we can give you what we have which is very little.”

It was the beast that spoke. He raised a finger and pointed towards the dark thunderstorm clouds that appeared to have followed him in from the south.

He roared.

“Run! The gates have been breached and evil this way cometh!”

The old man jumped onto the wagon. They left the village heading north as fast as the beast could go.

REM Warfare

Written for the Daily Flash Fiction Challenge with a word limit of 300.


The prompts: This story must contain the words: nightmare, window, coffee


REM Warfare

Bloodshot eyes stared unblinking at the blade as it swept back and forth across the wetted stone. The rasping sound kept cadence with the ticking clock on the wall.

Click, rasp, click, rasp…

The rhythmic dance of hand, blade and clock was abruptly interrupted by the alarm clock.

Calvin silenced it with a practiced slap. He walked into the kitchen to start another pot of coffee. While it brewed, he picked up a letter opener from the counter and quickly stuck it into his arm.

The superficial cut drew blood, but more importantly, it hurt like hell. That was good news. It meant he was still awake.

Ten minutes later, the pot was empty and Calvin was back on the couch. Around him was an arsenal of sharpened weaponry. He had hatchets, spears, swords and knives. He would need all of them if he was to survive.

It had been three weeks since they had first attacked him. They had tried to take him as he slept; sneaking in through a window that was not a window. He had fought them off that first night using only his hands. Later, they had come in bigger numbers. He thought he was prepared; armed with two pistols and an assault rifle. He quickly discovered guns wouldn’t work “over there.”

Their world, born of his mind, had its own rules. No fires and no guns. That only left blades and he had plenty of those.

The beasts of his sleep were large and powerful, but they were only animals and when they were cut, they bled.

He set his alarm for another thirty minutes and then picked up a blade.

Click, rasp, click, rasp…

The room began to soften. A window irised open on the far wall.

Let the nightmare begin, he thought.