Tansy Undercrypt
Author, Illustrator, Purveyor of Doom & Whimsy

Service

May 16th 2017 in Microfiction

When the serviceman showed up, he tarried by the van for some time unpacking his equipment. Pam stepped out onto the porch to greet him. “I’m glad you could make it on such short notice,” she called out to him. “No problem!” he replied, spritzing himself with something. “Holy water,” he explained, catching her staring out of the corner of his eye. “Can’t be too careful.” He carried his tools to the threshold of the door and sniffed. “Okay … not bad,” he remarked. “What’s not bad?” Pam asked, looking around. “The stench of sulfur,” he replied, not explaining further. Although the door was wide open, he used what appeared to be a ceremonial knife to make an invisible incision in the air and step through it. “Barrier is weak, but it could be a trap,” he commented. Pam nodded, but sensed nothing. When they got into the hallway by the bathroom, the lights flickered; chuckling, the serviceman reached down and opened a tiny door on the wooden box he carried. “Reliquary,” he whispered. “Shit’s about to go down.” Pam was still trying to figure out why Google hadn’t returned any of this in her most recent search when the darkness arrived.


Comments are closed.

She hit “Send” and sighed. This was hard (much harder than she thought) and it was getting old. “Maybe no more personals ads,” she said to herself. “I’m just not meeting the right kind of people.” She poured milk onto her cereal and sat down to eat it. “Same thing every time,” she whispered. “It […]

Previous Entry

“So … what are we going with here?” the tattoo artist asked. Mitchell paused. “Celtic knot design,” he said, pointing to a page in the book. “Great choice,” came the reaction. “Summoning spell or long life?” “Long life,” Mitchell answered, “but just one.” “Really? Go big or go home, huh?” the tattoo artist grinned, loading […]

Next Entry