This once-flourishing farm community, wasting away —
Resorting to superstitious custom.
Disgusting.
Their only physical evidence was the crazed bust that once topped her tombstone —
inexplicably smashed; curious, but insufficient.
“Gentlemen,” VanKirk declared, “since you insist, you may exhume my daughter. I sincerely doubt you will find her. . . a vampire.”
Preposterous.
This flash fiction in 50 words was crafted for the M3 blog’s Flash in the Pan (crazed).
Rob's Surf Report 
People get strange notions, don’t they?
Right? How could he not expect a vampire??
Preposterous indeed!
😀