Drabble Wednesday: Crones

Today on Drabble Wednesday, beware the little old ladies...

Granny’s Little Helpers

Somewhere, an old woman stands on a back porch at dusk, a large canvas sack at her feet. She murmurs into the night...

“Come my little darlings, Granny has a treat! A sup or two of blood, a morsel of fresh meat. That’s right, that’s right, the tastiest delight. Slink my pretties, from the shadows dim, and slither forth, from the graveyard grim. I need your teeth and your claws, to tear and chew, devour with your jaws.”

Blackness shimmers, and tiny voices chitter.

The old woman smiles.

“Come, come, time to eat. Granny has a body, the finest treat.”

~*~

By the River

The old woman cackled, her scrawny jowl flaps bouncing a little. “You should’ve listened, fool. Them old legends you scoffed at, should’ve listened. I ain’t never lost a challenge. And I wasn’t sure going to start with the likes of you.”

Rupert started at the dice, and the old lady squatting on her haunches by the riverbank. “It’s not possible. You couldn’t have won the game.”

“Why? ‘Cause those dice of yours is weighted? All rigged to cheat? That don’t matter none to me. Game’s always rigged in my favour.” She laughed again. “Pay up, fool. One soul, as promised.”

~*~

Reflections of the Soul

Arabella didn’t like mirrors.

She didn’t primp and she didn’t preen, despite her perfect face with its pristine complexion, or her soft blond hair with its ideal curls. She avoided her reflection as often as possible.

“Such a vain thing,” she’d say with a laugh. “I have better things to do.”

Perhaps she did. Arabella did like to dabble in things dark and unseemly.

Her nature, really. She liked to pretend otherwise, but nature won out. Especially in the mirror.

There her true face reflected back at her, all three hundred years, and all the wear of being a witch.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Scavengers

Today on Drabble Wednesday walk among the carrion and join the devourers, the eaters of the dead...

Reclamation Duty

You know the worst part of this gig? The smell. Not what I imagined. I figured it would be the process itself. Loading the flesh, hauling everything to the factory. Watching it be ground up, knowing what went into the general food supply. I figured that would get to me.

Funny, it didn’t. Guess you can adapt to anything. But the smell. Some of those bodies plain reeked... human decomposition has an odor let me tell you.

I’m just glad this job came with real food perks.

No way I wanted to eat that processed stuff they feed most people. 

~*~

Crow

Her stilted gait picked its way past the corpses, her body hunched, her bobbing head tilted to one side. Her feathered head ruffled in the breeze, and her yellow eyes darted across the battlefield, looking.

Where, where? Which one, which one?

Her bony arms fluttered slightly. A movement echoed by the hoards of her kind waddling their way through the dead. Each one searching, like her, for their perfect carcass. Suddenly, she stopped. She sniffed the air.

There, there. He’s the one.

Like many of her fellows, she trundled over to a fallen warrior, knelt down and began to feast.

~*~

Soul Stalker

I hunt for a living.

It ain’t pretty, no glory, no adventure. It’s boring, mostly, just waiting around. Stalking some poor hapless oaf, following him until he dies. That’s the only fun part, after the person kicks off.

I can smell them you see, humans about to die. Doesn’t matter if they’re sick, or about to be murdered, or hit by a bus. The stench of impending death clings like maggots on a rotting corpse.

So I wait. For their last breath.

Then I swoop in, a nameless shadow, and devour their soul.

That’s the prize. Humans are so delicious.

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved