Flash Fiction entry. Less than 300 words. Prompt: You aren't supposed to be here.
|Calvin stood, his left foot on the bottom step, flakes of dirty white paint peeled up from the wood and arched away from his red and white Converse. He looked over his shoulder at the three other boys crouching in the distance, and for a brief second thought he should turn back and run, run all the way home.
He didn't, he couldn't, he was the new kid and everyone would find out he was chicken. He looked up at the house. It was dark. The tattered yellow curtains pulled tight over each window. Calvin climbed the stairs to the back porch. Creaking sounds screamed and popped as loud as fireworks with each cautious step.
He looked back one more time at the grinning faces of his so called new friends and reached for the door knob.
Calvin opened the door, his heart pounding so fast and loud in his chest that he thought he might explode. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut. He stood silently, ears straining to hear signs of life. Nothing. He needed to make this quick, just grab something, anything and go.
"You aren't supposed to be here."
Calvin froze at the sound of the voice, his bladder suddenly aching for release.
He couldn't see the old man, but didn't have to. The image of a haggard face with a wiry gray beard and eyes as black as coal, formed in his mind.
He choked out a barely intelligible, "sorry," then turned and ran back the way he'd come. He took all three steps off the porch with one stride and blew past his three wide eyed friends without a word.
When he got home, a note on the kitchen table read, "You were supposed to be here. We're at the hospital."