Dead Ends

This once-flourishing farm community, wasting away —

Resorting to superstitious custom.


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.”


This flash fiction in 50 words was crafted for the M3 blog’s Flash in the Pan (crazed).


Feel free to share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s