Take a Bite: 25 Tasty and Twisted Flash Fiction Stories

By Christin Haws

Ghost...witches...murderers...werewolves...superstitions...revenge...the unexplained...monsters of all kinds...

25 flash fictions stories, dark, creepy, unsettling, and at 1,000 words a piece, the perfect bite-sized morsel to satisfy a horror craving.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christin Haws
• Release date: Feb 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463070994

Christin Haws

Christin Haws is a writer and podcaster with a fixation on reruns and cop shows, a love/hate relationship with the Chicago Cubs, and a tendency to use humor as a coping mechanism. Decidedly unhip, she occupies space in a small town in the middle of a cornfield.

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Take a Bite

25 Tasty and Twisted Flash Fiction Stories

By Christin Haws

Copyright 2019 Christin Haws

Smashwords edition

This is a work of fiction.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Take a Bite

That Time of the Month

Waiting on a Plane

Tricks No Treats

Static

The Center of a Dying Universe

The Tall Tom Walk on Peach Blossom Road

Bubble

New Moon Work

Playing in the Street

For the Monster

Woman’s Work

It All Comes Back

At the Fountain

Wednesday

The Dead Talk

The Poisoning of Susie Wells

Superstitions

Make it Good

Hide and Seek in the Forgotten Garden

After the Movie

Yesterday It Was Winter

And the Shadows Play

Another Notch

Walk When the Tide Is Low

About

Home

Take a Bite

Take a bite.

A request that repeated over and over in his mind.

So harmless, wasn’t it? Just give it a try. No big deal. If he didn’t like it, he didn’t like it. No big deal at all. He didn’t have to like it. He wasn’t even expected to like it. They only wanted him to try it.

Take a bite. Take a bite.

He didn’t want to try it. Not because he was afraid that he wouldn’t like it, but because he was afraid that he would.

Take a bite. Take a bite. Take a bite.

One bite leads to another, you know. He had a terrible tendency to make a glutton of himself even with things he only marginally liked. What if he really liked it? He’d end up busting all over the place, his restraint giving out like an old piece of elastic. Even if he only liked it a little, he’d still overindulge. It was his nature.

Take a bite.

Gluttony is a sin, you know. One of the deadly ones. It was his worst vice. His only vice, really. He wasn’t prideful. If anything, he was overwhelmingly modest. He wasn’t greedy. He gave his money and time whenever he could and believed that there was enough for everyone if the real greedy people would only share it. He wasn’t lustful. His longing was no more than any average man’s. In fact, he rarely longed for anything at all. He wasn’t wrathful. He kept his temper in check and really had no interest in revenge. He wasn’t slothful. Though he believed in adequate rest and an occasional lazy day, he felt better when he was being productive. He wasn’t envious. Oh, he might get a little jealous every now and then. What man didn’t? But envious? No. He never went to that extreme.

Take a bite. Take a bite.

But gluttony. Oh, gluttony. That was his downfall each and every time. If it went into his mouth, he was guaranteed to overindulge in it. Didn’t seem to matter what it was. If he liked it at least a little, he was going to fill his stomach with it until his own groans of fullness became too loud for him to bear. Only that stopped him from eating; not the pain from his gut being pushed to its limits, which over the years had increased due to pure abuse. He couldn’t stand to listen to his own pitiful moans, to listen to his own suffering. It made him sick.

Over the years he’d tried to put limits on his consumption only to fail repeatedly. Cheat days and sensible portions were dreams to him. The compulsion to finish more than what was on his plate was too incredible to overcome.

Take a bite. Take a bite. Take a bite.

Insatiable. That’s what he was. Not his appetite. His appetite had a limit that he routinely blew past at almost every given opportunity. He was insatiable. It was like a personality flaw. Some people chewed on their fingernails. Some people picked at their skin. Some people chewed with their mouths open. He just never stopped chewing.

Take a bite.

Did they know what they were asking him to do? Did they realize that such an innocent request fell on corrupted ears? To anyone else, it was an invitation to try something new, indulge in something they might not otherwise have the opportunity to experience. It was that for him, too. He had to be honest about that. It was an invitation to try a delicacy that he’d never had before. But it was the consequences of it. The consequences.

Take a bite. Take a bite.

Maybe he wouldn’t like it. He could pray that he wouldn’t like it and maybe God would come through for him this time. Or maybe this time would be the exception and he’d stop after one bite. There were always exceptions to the rules. This could be one. Maybe God would come through for him on that instead.

He salivated at the thought and his stomach gave a fearful grumble.

One bite. Surely, he could take only one bite. Just to be polite. They were all looking at him now. They’d gone to all that trouble. It would be rude to refuse, wouldn’t it?

He shifted in his chair, edging closer to the table.

He wanted to decline. He wanted to demure and say that he couldn’t possibly. He wanted to explain to them about his troubles, his gluttony, his inability to be satiated. Didn’t they see he’d already eaten so much? And now they were asking him to take one more bite.

Take a bite. Take a bite. Take a bite.

They were filling the silence with words, explaining how the dish was prepared, how they acquired the meat. Killed their own, they said. Cut her throat and bled her out like they do with pigs sometimes. It was better for the meat. Didn’t tear it up. They’d only prepared a thigh. A single thigh could feed several people, they said.

They underestimated him. He could eat for several people.

It would be rude to decline. They’d gone to so much trouble. However, it might be ruder to accept if he couldn’t control himself, if his gluttony once again took him.

But he’d eaten so much already. Not as much as he could, not to the point that he was crying while he ate, unable to stop himself. Surely, he could manage just one bite.

And he might not like it.

He prayed that he wouldn’t like it.

He was practically drooling at the sight of the quivering meat, done just so, stuck to the end of the fork offered to him.

They promised it would be the best tasting meat he’d ever put in his mouth, promised him that it would be so good that he’d never forgive himself if he declined.

They promised him.

He prayed.

He took a bite.

That Time of the Month

Lula can feel it coming on.

It always starts about a week out. If Lula hasn’t been paying attention to the calendar, then that tell-tale irritation might catch her off-guard at first. She might wonder why everyone’s voice grates on her nerves, why every question asked is a stupid one, why everything everyone does is the absolute wrong thing to do. But