It’s Only A Story

The train hurtled through the darkness – and the countryside, all black, rushed imperceptibly past.

“Tell us a story, grampa,” Dean said, “a scary one.”

An eyebrow raised, Charles set down his teacup.

“What would be scary?” he asked.

“Someone dying!” Michael exclaimed.

“Murder!” Sally shouted.

“Rotting bodies with worms in the eyes and guts all out on the ground!” Dean crowed, and they all stuck out their tongues.

“Ewww!”

Charles smiled. The gas lamps sparkled in his glasses from above and glowed pink through the skin of his ears. He sipped his tea and began to nod.

“Hmm, death is scary, but thrilling, too, isn’t it?” he said. “Have you ever seen Him?”

“Him?” Dean asked. The children climbed off the floor and onto the opposite seat.

“Oh, yes, Death is a man like any other – or almost. Except he has no flesh and his head continuously spins, with empty eyes that stare in all directions, seeing everything… and everyone.”

The train took a turn – too quickly, too sharply – and the car shuddered. The lights flickered and the windows rattled, and Charles barely saved his tea from spilling.

“Where is he, then? Hell?”

“Language, Dean. But no, he’s not there – he’s here, in the world. Whenever you can’t quite see in the darkness, or behind the bushes, or down under the floor, that’s where He is.”

Charles turned to face the window and the children did the same, their frightened reflections staring back, blurry in the glassy pane.

“Even right out there, walking under the trees,” Charles whispered, “dragging his bones through the fields, staring through the windows – maybe even looking at your old grampa here…”

“No!” Sally whimpered. She leapt down from her seat and took hold of her grampa’s arm as if to pull him back out of sight.

“Shh, dear, it’s alright,” Charles soothed. “It’s only a story. Besides, I couldn’t possibly leave you kids.”

And the train hurtled through the darkness, blindly, terribly – toward another bend in the tracks.

This is my response to the Trifecta Writing Challenge, where writers are prompted to use the third definition of a given word  as the basis of a short story (between 33 and 333 words. This one is 333). This week the word was Death (specifically as a personification) so I apparently decided to continue my trend of writing about ways to scare children.

I’d love to hear your comments and criticism, so lay it on me! And if you feel the urge (which you should), head on over to the Trifecta Writing Challenge and try your hand at the prompt.