Source: Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers – Week of April 4, 2017
Words count: 175 words
Out of all the landscapes I’ve seen, while I can’t claim that windswept, marsh-like landscapes are my favourite, they always inspire a strange feeling in me: awe, sadness, and bleakness rolled into one. I also end up inevitably thinking of (surprise, surprise) Wuthering Heights and gothic horrors. No prizes for guessing where the inspiration for this piece came from then!
It smelled of damp, mulch, and rot, the mud squelching uncomfortably beneath her feet. If Lillias didn’t stop moving, she might’ve ben sucked into the ground beneath.
A trilling giggle filled the air, faint, lilting. She tightened her grip on the cloth bundle, and pressed on.
When a draught blew past her, she ignored it, pulling her jacket closer. When she heard singing, she rolled her eyes. But when she was hit in the face by a tree branch, she whirled around.
“Right, stop it.”
A ghostly, stringy-haired girl stood a few feet behind Lillias, arms dangling limply, eyes bloodshot. She shrieked at her. Lillias didn’t flinch.
“No, really. Do you want rest or not?”
The ghost stilled. Then, faintly:
Lillias sighed, and stretched out her hand.
“I know. We’ll be there soon. Promise.”
Minutes ticked by. Then, the ghost shambled forward. When she took Lillas’ hand, it felt like it’d just been plunged into ice cold water. Lillias didn’t let go. Instead, she gave the ghost a faint smile.
“C’mon. Let’s go.”