Contributor: Rebecca Buchanan
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He was awakened at dawn by a terrific crash, a bunch of smaller crashes, and the shriek of his car alarm. Muttering, he pulled on his robe, grabbed his keys, and staggered down the stairs. The old bat in 3C was already whining about her beauty sleep.
The roof of his Corolla was completely caved in, a large chunk of scaly rock in its center. Smaller bits of rock were scattered around. His toe bumped something that might have been a claw or horn. He stabbed at the key chain a few times. The pretty girl from 4G, her earbuds belching Ozzy, shrugged as she jogged passed him. The alarm squeaked and abruptly cut off. He sighed, wondering what the chances were of reaching his insurance guy on a Sunday morning.
The old bat was leaning out her window now, yelling down at him. He looked up to yell back. And kept looking up. The rest of the flock was perched on the fifth-floor ledge. A couple of them were covering their eyes, wings curled tight. A third leaned down, reaching, eyes and mouth wide: horror and despair petrified for all the daylit world to see.
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Rebecca Buchanan is the editor of Eternal Haunted Summer, a Pagan literary ezine. She has been previously published in Luna Station Quarterly, Bards and Sages Quarterly, Cliterature and Hex Magazine.
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He was awakened at dawn by a terrific crash, a bunch of smaller crashes, and the shriek of his car alarm. Muttering, he pulled on his robe, grabbed his keys, and staggered down the stairs. The old bat in 3C was already whining about her beauty sleep.
The roof of his Corolla was completely caved in, a large chunk of scaly rock in its center. Smaller bits of rock were scattered around. His toe bumped something that might have been a claw or horn. He stabbed at the key chain a few times. The pretty girl from 4G, her earbuds belching Ozzy, shrugged as she jogged passed him. The alarm squeaked and abruptly cut off. He sighed, wondering what the chances were of reaching his insurance guy on a Sunday morning.
The old bat was leaning out her window now, yelling down at him. He looked up to yell back. And kept looking up. The rest of the flock was perched on the fifth-floor ledge. A couple of them were covering their eyes, wings curled tight. A third leaned down, reaching, eyes and mouth wide: horror and despair petrified for all the daylit world to see.
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Rebecca Buchanan is the editor of Eternal Haunted Summer, a Pagan literary ezine. She has been previously published in Luna Station Quarterly, Bards and Sages Quarterly, Cliterature and Hex Magazine.
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Author:
Rebecca Buchanan
