The horizon lurches from dark to light. Roscoe hides his shopping cart then shuffles along the beach. He devours dead fish picked over by birds, slurps seaweed, stuffs lost jewelry into his pockets to sell later.
The tide slips back, slaps forward. Suitcases jut from the sand like jagged teeth, water swishing around them like saliva. Roscoe stares at a dark green bag. In the still air, its luggage tag flaps, its wheels spin.
Roscoe tries to run but all around him the sand shifts, rolls. He screams as the first fingers of bone scratch their way to the surface.
Author bio: Madeline Mora-Summonte reads, writes and breathes fiction in all its forms. She is the author of the flash fiction collection, The People We Used to Be. To learn more, please visit her blog.
Undertow is part of 101 Fiction issue 7.
Oh, no. You might have just ruin my summer beach plans. Very creepy.
ReplyDeleteOn the one hand, that makes me sad! But on the other hand, I kind of like that the story creeped you out. :)
DeleteShort and scary. Very good!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Nick!
DeleteExcellent work, Madeline -- as always!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Milo. As always. :)
DeleteExcellent, Madeline! Your ability with words always amazes and inspires me. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you! I really appreciate that. :)
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