Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy


February 6th 2017 in Microfiction

They opened the first bottle of champagne and prepared to toast. “I have to ask; forgive me,” Russell interjected and they all smiled. “You DID follow the burial instructions to the letter, yes? Down to the very last detail?” He looked at Emily, who sighed. “I’m sure the funeral director thought I was completely insane but, yes, I did everything.” Russell exhaled loudly and shook his shoulders. “Everything but shoving a piece of yew wood in the lock. I don’t even know where to find yew wood.” “What?” Russell whispered, suddenly tense and trembling. “You didn’t … ” “I did everything else – absolutely everything. RELAX,” Emily responded. “How long until official sunset?” a panicked Russell asked Zachary (who was chugging down the contents of his glass and pouring a refill). “Three minutes past,” he replied. “We are so dead.” The sound of a door opening downstairs broke their horrified silence; footsteps moved to the stairs, accompanied by the scraping sound of nails dragged along the wallpaper. “We are so dead,” Russell repeated, moving to the window, looking at the courtyard three stories below.

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Watson chides me for the syringe I keep in my writing drawer and, as a doctor, I would expect nothing less.
He does not fail me.
Yet, in liberties taken, he is incorrect in his assessment of cause and effect; there is no weakness that has bred addiction.

The mind must remain clear while the body is grounded […]

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