Photo credit: oatsy40
I wake in pain, my eyes bandaged, to a voice.
“Kyavak, is that you? Fates be kind, you found me.”
* * *
We’d planned to meet by the bridge. Surely by day, the woods would be safer.
While I waited, a hunched, rag-covered peddler lumbered nearer. Just when I wondered why I hadn’t passed him earlier, the hood fell back. Its face was grotesque, inhuman, like half-melted wax. It sprang.
* * *
My arm’s stuck. No, bound. I’m swaddled, neck to toe.
Something exhales close by, rotten, fetid. I gag. Moist flesh covers my mouth, sucks in.
With my last breath, I scream.
Word count: 100. Written for this week’s Friday Fictioneers challenge. Big thanks to our hostess, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. See below for the original photo prompt, and click here to read the other stories, or join in with your own!
Photo © Peter Abbey