Flash Fiction: Inheritance

As soon as I closed the car door behind me, energy coursing through the air electrified every nerve in my body.

My cousin stood on the front porch, arms crossed, trying to bar my entry. 

“He left it to me, Melissa,” I reminded her. 

What I’d come for wasn’t inside, anyway, so I followed the path around the side of the house.

“You don’t understand,” she called after me, “and by the time you do, it’ll be too late.”

A humming sound wormed its way into my ears as I turned the corner to the back yard. There, propped up on a platform (as it should be), my uncle’s greatest (and stolen) find, a statue of an Aztec god, stood tall, its golden arms gleaming in the afternoon sun. Selling this thing would net me a fortune.

The head turned slowly, and the thing fixed me with many emerald eyes, its gaze feeding strength into the hum that now shook my entire body. Then I was on my knees in the dirt, desperate to sacrifice whatever, whoever it required.

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