Congratulations to Laurie Boris, winner of our weekly Flash Fiction competition. Thanks also to everyone who participated – excellent entries!
The winning entry is rewarded with a special feature here today and a place in our collection of winners which will be published as an e-book at year end.
Without further ado, here’s the winning entry:
by Laurie Boris
He arrived home four hours late. Detoured by fallen trees, flashing lights, and standing water, he finally spun down the road to the house, all the while thinking of the boy. How angelic his face had looked in death, so achingly horrific that Detective Joe had wept, in front of his partner and hot new medical examiner. How the old woman knew it had to happen bedeviled him. He’d ferreted through her clues, now sitting in a box on his bed. She had predicted all of it. But what had she meant by the rest? The house standing, the home in ruins? He’d paid her good money but now she wouldn’t take his calls. Said it was time for her to move on to other clients.
Mashing the garage-door remote, nothing happened. Of course. The power was out. Cutting the engine, he left the car in the driveway and bounded to the door. Locked! He rummaged through his pockets for his key, knowing that each second could make the difference between life and—
“Hello?” he called out, once he’d gotten the door open. No damage downstairs. So the woman’s prediction was partly true. The house was still standing. Then he tried the stairs. And he knew immediately what she had meant. The manuscript. The only copy he’d printed out, and more importantly, the copy with the gypsy’s edits scribbled all over it, lay in a wet, shredded mess and in the center was a little, white and very angry dog.