Flashes of Inspiration

The Calling

Liza was cross. They said she was a young adult, now, and she didn't feel she should have to go to bed early. But she'd sassed back one too many times, and her father had had enough. On her way up the stairs, she heard her mother try to take up for her.

"Jonas, it's her time of the month. Cut her a little slack, hon."

"There's only so much I'm willing to take, Geraldine, for any reason." He paused, then continued softly. "Besides, I'd rather she be asleep during the meeting later."

Liza didn't hear anything more, but could sense her mother acquiesce. She sat on her bed in her room, frustrated. She was thirteen, old enough for her body to behave like a woman, but she was being treated like a little girl! She huffed and walked over to her dresser and lit the white candle with the picture of a green flame on it. The legend: "Relaxation:" aromatherapy for when her hormones went crazy.

She was surprised when it did work, and she began to feel sleepy. She blew the candle out and laid down, and soon dozed off.

So she never heard the "meeting" downstairs, the solemn beckoning words. She never heard the rattling dishes, or the hoarse, frightened shout and sudden scuff of chairs pushed back in fright; never heard the people leaving the house hurriedly, talking about how this must be the last meeting, something might have come through!

Later, in the middle of the night, had she heard the dark laughter and opened her eyes, she might have screamed, waking the house and changing the course of the family's subsequent bitter history. But she stayed peacefully asleep, and so she never saw the malevolent smile hovering in the dark just above her head.

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the words dark, smile, candle