The lights are on behind every shining window, but none of them are my home. I don’t want to admit that I’m beginning to grow a little afraid. Is this even the right way?

I waved out the window as I rode past the hardware store. My mother was standing by the door taking stock of the plants they had for sale. The July sun had things warm, even in the shade.

You leaned too hard into being obviously malicious in the last take. There needs to be seduction. The audience needs to feel unease. A sense deep down that something’s wrong beneath the surface but a hesitation to acknowledge it.

Here’s another flash fiction contribution from the Reformed Mallard. Don’t miss his previous story, “The Ghost and the Machine,” here. …

Here’s another honorable mention from our October Flash Fiction Contest. The author has written for Silence and Starsong previously, so …