Flash Fiction: Reliquary

“Whose finger bone, is it?” I stand in my friend’s living room, cradling the small, violently ornate golden box in my hand, trying to peer through the hazy glass.

Sheila rolls her eyes. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t you care to know who or what might be talking to you in your dreams? What if it’s evil?”

“Where is your sense of adventure? Besides, what do you think it’s going to do to us?” She takes the box from my hand and turns to the newest addition to her collection of antiques: a phonograph. She opens the cabinet door to place the box inside. 

Why does this simple action make my stomach sink deeper into my gut?

She turns the crank. This is what it told her to do. These were the directions. 

The phonograph grinds to life, grating and then melodic as ancient music spills from the horn. At first, the notes are normal, but they stretch thin and tumble away under the weight of some strange, new sound, pushing its way through. A voice.

Then I fade into myself, my consciousness receding down a tunnel within. Sheila stands unmoving, blood dripping from her ear. Where is it taking us? Already, I feel instructions forming in my mind. 

The reliquary hungers, and a singular idea surfaces above all others. It is the call. It is the mission. More.

_______

Like short fiction? How about a whole dang book of it? My newest release is available in both print and ebook forms on the Amazon. Link down yonder.

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