FLASH FICTION SATURDAY: Merry-Fucking-Christmas by M.F. Wahl

Thomas had to piss. He pulled the truck over to the side of the snow-packed road and popped open the door, letting in an icy burst of winter into the cab. With shoulders hunched he stepped down, cursing the weather, and the goddamn piece of ass that brought him all the way out here.

She was a redhead—they were all redheads—and not worth the money he’d sunk into his gas tank. Merry-fucking-Christmas.

He unzipped his pants and pissed right where he stood, next to his open door, staring at the blinking string of lights wrapped around the bed of his rundown truck. He’d always loved the holidays, but this Christmas Eve certainly wouldn’t go down in his top ten. Christ, it was probably in his top five worst.

“Help!” a voice drifted in on the wind, jarring Thomas back to the present. He shivered, and glanced around, dribbling a bit of urine onto his work boots, unsure if he actually heard it.

The breeze warbled through the trees, and then he heard it a second time. “Help!” It was a child’s voice, but he wasn’t sure which direction it came from. He shook, zipped up his pants, and then leaned into truck bed, reaching for the axe he kept back there and hoping he wouldn’t need it.

He slung the weapon over his shoulder and peered into the dark, wondering which way to go, when he heard the voice again. His heart skipped a beat. The voice was coming from under his truck.

“Oh, God,” Thomas thought, and dropped to his knees to peer beneath. How could he not have seen a kid in the middle of the Goddamned road? How could he run over—blackness?

A thick, black tentacle slapped the ground next to his knee.

Thomas dropped his axe and scrambled back, scraping his hands over ice. He sprang to his feet faster then he’d ever moved in his life, then jumped back into the cab of his truck, slamming the door closed behind him. Shaking so hard he felt like he was sitting on a damn vibrator, he floored the gas pedal.

The pickup fish tailed on the snowy road and black ooze splattered the windshield. “Shit, shit, shit!” Thomas shouted, and leaned into the steering wheel. As the wheels caught and the truck flew forward he almost lost control.

He drove as quickly as he could down the highway, counting his blessings. Perhaps it was a Christmas miracle he survived. Perhaps the creature was a sign. Perhaps it was a hallucination. Whatever it was, that was the last time he answered a personal ad on Craigslist.


Horror, thriller, sci-fi … all are synonymous with author M. F. Wahl. Dark plots and a keen focus on character development will keep you chained to each frightful word. Wahl is a proud member of the Horror Writer’s Association and her first novel “Disease” is will be released by Stitched Smile sometime next year. Visit http://mfwahl.com/ for more information, or to get on the mailing list. You can also find Wahl on Facebook and Twitter.

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