‘Substack Slasher’
flash fiction
I take the keys out of the ignition, the car is still idling. I have to be careful, lest he sees me. I’ve studied every minute detail.
Funny, he wasn’t supposed to write today.
He’s slowly getting out of his car.
What’s taking so long? How much time does he have anyway?
He enters the house, double locking the door behind him. There are no cameras outside the house, but the front and back entrances are still too risky. Instead, I’ll take the garage which has one fatal flaw; the automatic door is busted.
It started a couple of weeks ago when I noticed that it all of a sudden stopped working. Upon this discovery, he anxiously scanned the perimeter to make sure nobody saw this. Now he has stopped using it altogether.
You can’t fool me though.
Using a metal lever, I cranked the door just enough to squeeze through. I hear footsteps above me, perhaps getting ready for his nightly ritual. The back door is unlocked, and I slide through without breaking a sweat.
I go upstairs to the bedroom, to find him dead asleep. I cower over his body, raising mine like a floating apparition, swiping a notebook from his desk.
I retraced my steps, quietly dashing to my car. Peeling out of the neighborhood, I immediately floor it to my apartment. Filled with so much adrenaline, I nearly veered off the road before entering the parking lot.
When I finally went inside, I had to take a minute to regain my composure, this revelation would demand it. The object of my desire finally laid before me, but when I turned the pages, my heart stopped.
They’re Empty.
You had me hooked. Perhaps they were written with invisible ink paint lemon juice on a page then heat with a hair dryer if you have one or put in a very low oven if you don’t. I’m nobody but I watch a lot of spy dramas on TV.
Finally got round to reading this! I'm gripped. What will come next?