He was eating a burrito when the call came in that there was a disturbance at a local Inn…
… the odd thing you see, was the Inn was no longer occupied and hadn’t been for over a half of a century, which poised a mystery to Officer O’Reilly…
the Inn was once a landmark of fame where the wealthy came, but had hit on hard times many years ago, it’s interior splendor disguised by dust and rust, a sad and forgotten tableau…
Officer O’Reilly read the report by a citizen who walked by the Inn that night claiming he heard noises and saw an eerie light…
approaching the front door O’Reilly remembered the local lore that told of a hidden horror lurking there forevermore…
and peeked into the window instead, hoping he wouldn’t see the walking dead, when he suddenly saw a head and let out a moan of dread, because it was moving until it disappeared into the dark interior…
flashlight pointed straight ahead O’Reilly kicked in the front door and plunged into the dark gloom rapidly moving his flashlight around the room…
when he saw a man with an old-fashioned lantern in his hand, barely able to stand, O’Reilly called out and asked why he was there, but all the man did was stare…
deciding he was a harmless old vagrant seeking shelter he let him stay for one more day, and he went on his way when the old man had nothing to say, unaware he disappeared the moment he walked away.
When Harold saw the thing slithering out from beneath his bed he felt both vindicated and horrified.
His parents wouldn’t listen to him the first time he became aware of it’s presence. That’s why he wasn’t on the bed tonight and hiding behind his chest of drawers with a baseball bat.
When the thing slithered on top of his bed and wound itself around his pillow, he rushed out and smashed it into a bloody pulp!
The next morning.
“Have you seen a boa constrictor around?” his mother asked. “Billy next door said his pet boa escaped.”
“No,” he lied.
Zack pulled out the canvas bag of specially selected scat and poured it out. He picked up the two wooden sticks with extra large feet and carefully walked them away from the scat while disguising his footprints with a tree branch.
He hid in a tree so he could see the reaction of the Bigfoot hunters that he knew where nearby. Years playing the game watching men make idiots of themselves looking for a mythical monster. It was good for local businesses, like his.
The hunters came into view the same moment a powerful hairy arm choked Zack to death!
Raymond turned away from the radio in time to see his Mother’s worried eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “This is just nostalgia radio with Orson Wells narrating War of the Worlds.”
Suddenly static. Sounds of people panicking. A man’s voice “This is not a drill” Fading. Static.
“It’s not for real, Mom. It’s from a 1938 broadcast.”
Static stops. A man’s voice. “The president was able to flee in Air Force One when…”
“Son! When Franklin Roosevelt was in office in 1938 there was no Air Force One!“
They both turned to the window in time to see the mushroom cloud.
Sgt. McGruder realized two things; he wasn’t going to get back to the base in time, and he couldn’t keep driving in the near white-out conditions.
He saw a Burger King. Went inside. It was empty except for one nervous counter clerk. He ordered a burger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw shadowy figures outside the glass door.
They came in. Two Hispanic teenage boys with desperate eyes. One reached into his pocket. McGruder’s instincts kicked in.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, watching the teen’s concealed hand.
“Si,” they echoed, as one pulled the stump from his pocket.
(Author’s note: this is my first attempt at writing flash fiction in 100 words. Quit a challenge. Props go to The Drabble blog site.)