I am a flasher, a fiction flasher.
When I think of flashing I remember when a friend and I were in a small mall using pay phones. For those of you who don’t remember pay phones, there were usually four to six phones near the bathrooms. If you had enough quarters (the price had gone up from a dime to a quarter), you could call and talk to friends or family. The phones were always in use. We thought we were lucky when we found the phone area empty.
My friend and I were calling. (no, cell phones hadn’t been invented yet,) when a man in a taupe coat, flashed us. Yes, he was standing there showing all of his private parts.
I was mortified. We got mall security, (yes, in the 80s there was mall security), but the flasher had left. The security guy walked us to our car. So yes, I am flashing my fiction today, but I won’t be flashing on street corners or by the bathrooms. That would be ewwwwwww.
So with no further fanfare, here is one of my flasher ebooks:
I’m a Flasher:
A collection of ten very very short shorts of the supernatural. The stories in this collection include “The Aliens are Here,” “Haunts at the Edge of Town,” “The Hunter,” “How to become a wizard,” “The Confession,” “A Choice,” “Under His Spell,” and “Road Trip.”
Under His Spell
When Anne needed time alone, she would get into her car and drive. Sometimes she would drive to the store and assuage her yearnings with retail therapy. Other times she would drive to Tahoe, park on the side of the road, roll down the window, and watch the animals, birds, people, and lake. Once the yearnings subsided, she would start the car and drive back to the house.
At two thirty her children would rush through the door, excited about school. She would pull out some milk and cookies, and then set them up for homework. Mark would come home around dinner time. Anne would get ready for work. Mark would give her a quick kiss and she was gone.
If Anne had time to explain what she yearned for, she would probably say that she needed alone time. Or maybe she would say that life had her by the throat. She didn’t know what she wanted. It was some nebulous thing that didn’t include husband, children, or survival.
As she stood behind the counter, helping folks check-in, Anne didn’t have time to feel that empty hole. Not until she saw a black-haired young man with a diamond earring, his arm around a girl with spiked hair. They didn’t seem to notice anyone around them as he kissed her.
It was three a.m. when Anne walked back to her car to go home. To her surprise the black-haired young man was sitting on the hood. He smiled at her. His canines looked slightly longer than normal, but it was hard to tell in the darkness.
She ignored him until he grabbed her wrist when she tried to turn the lock in the door. Anne looked into his eyes. “What do you want?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you today,” he answered. He pulled her closer to him. She pulled back.
“Here’s your chance,” he said. “To dance with the devil.”
This time she let him pull her close. In seconds his canines snapped out and he was drinking from her neck. It was the most sexual thing she had felt in a long time. Her yearnings died as she let him drink.
A few hours later her body was found drained of blood and decapitated. All that was left was the mourning