Monday, March 14, 2016
Flash Fiction: THE LOST HOUR
According to the old lady who read cards and told fortunes, it was possible to get them back during the lost hour. You had to have four things: The location where they died, the desire to see them again, the right ingredients, and the willingness to risk your soul. It was the last part that made most people hesitate, Jack was sure of it.
She had died in their bedroom, so the location was easy enough. The desire was there, too. No one had ever meant more to him than Colleen. No one ever could. The ingredients were his for under a hundred dollars, and he found them with ease: a small gold coin, the tooth of a snake, coarse salt, hair of the person who had passed away and three drops of his own blood.
They could not come back forever, and they could only come back once. One hour. That was the whole of it. One hour.
The ritual was easy enough. A few muttered words. He held his offerings in the palm of both hands and made said the words and waited.
One hour would be enough. He had so much to say to her. So much he needed to ask and needed to understand. Why had she cheated on him? Why had she slept with his best friend?
The ritual completed, Jack waited and closed his eyes and hoped with all of his heart that it was enough.
There was no fanfare, no choir of angels, not even a puff of smoke. When it was all said and done Colleen was there in front of him, naked as the day she was born, her perfect blue eyes wide and nervous.
Colleen looked Jack's way and screamed, her hands drawing up to her face and pulling her features into a distorted mask.
Martin had murdered her when she tried to break it off with him. Her cheating days were over, and she wanted to be with Jack.
She was dead and buried and could only come back for one hour. Just long enough for Jack to take out his rage at her betrayals.
The hammer was heavy in his hand, but he could accept that. A small price to pay for letting her know how much being cheated on hurt.
Posted by James A. Moore
I write fiction, a little of everything and a lot of horror. I've written novels, comic books, roleplaying game supplements, short stories, novellas and oodles of essays on whatever strikes my fancy. That might change depending on my mood and the publishing industry. Things are getting stranger and stranger in the wonderful world of publishing and that means I get to have fun sorting through the chaos (with all the other writer-types). I have a website. This isn't it. This is where you can likely expect me to talk about upcoming projects and occasionally expect a rant or two. Not too many rants. Those take a lot of energy. In addition to writing I work as a barista, because I still haven't decided to quit my day job. Opinions are always welcome.