Thursday, June 6, 2013

Flash Fiction: Meta-Lovecraft.

“No!” screamed James. “That chant is for certain to bring forth one of the Old Ones!”

James tossed the knife into the chest of the necromancer, hoping to forestall the inevitable. But he knew it was too late. James noticed a black form oozing into existence in front of the gateway and his blood turned cold.

A strange feeling came over Bob as he finished typing, a strange, sick reverberation that got to his very bones.

“Hah!” He said out loud triumphantly. “If that can make me feel creepy just by typing it, it’s gonna knock the socks off my readers!”

He clicked “Save” with his mouse and leaned back in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. Black and glistening, it filled the doorway to his room. His eyes had little time to focus as the blackness surged forward. It knocked him off his chair and he was completely enveloped by the cool moistness. Almost immediately, the pain began - searing, burning pain, as if acid was burning through his clothes, his skin, his eyes, his throat.

It was quick, as death’s go, but he felt every nanosecond of it. And as his body dissolved and even his fear was absorbed by the blackness, his last thought was: “This would’ve been a great ending for the book!”

Rich looked at the screen and sighed. Another flash fiction story finished, he sighed to himself. Rich grabbed his Mountain Dew and turned, only to face the blackn

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