Flash Fiction, 299 words. What lurks in Grandpa's shed? A curiosity best not ventured.
|Visiting grandpa as to most children is a joyous occasion. An old-style Yorkshire man, living alone with simple pleasures. He'd spend his day's bird watching and making stodgy meals to feed them. Twice daily he'd jaunt down to the garden to his shed, for a reason kept most secret. Not even my dad knew what laid behind those padlocked doors. And to be fair, he didn't hold interest.
Then one visit, my curiosity got the better of me.
That afternoon, I could feel an icy tension in the room. Due to the storm, grandpa hadn't popped down to the shed already. He sat in the chair anxiously, staring into space as my father driveled on about the adventures of accountancy. When the winds calmed, he rose out of his armchair.
"Excuse me, son. Bear with me for a tick." said grandpa as he limped towards the backdoor.
“Alright, dad” replied my father. He picked up a newspaper and got lost in the pages.
I seized the opportunity to follow.
Grandpa unlocked the shed, I remained a few paces behind to sneak a peak.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. There Grandpa was, cramming handfuls of dead birds out of a sack into a metal chute that protruded from the floor. Suddenly a giant limp emerged from the opening clawing at him. I could hear heavy groans and see the steam of a creature's breath heaving into the air.
“Argh! Easy you bloody bugger! I’m feeding yer!” shouted Grandpa.
I panicked, tried to run back to tell dad, and slipped, causing an almighty thud.
Grandpa stepped out to check on the noise. He stood over me with a serious gaze, pointing towards the shed. “Nobody is allowed in here.”
“I’m sorry Grandpa!” I begged.
“You leave your grandmother alone, you hear?!”