One morning, when Samantha Gregson woke from what she could only hope were mangled dreams, she remembered it.
It was a whatchamacalit. She followed the ant trail of taffy-like memories. It was at my bedroom window, backlighted, silhouetted by the street lamps. In profile, it looked like all pincers. Snapping at what?
She shook off a shudder as she rose from the bed to begin the day, pausing only to mute a stridulating alarm clock.
A heated bath to steam up the room will make my sinuses chirp hallelujah!
As her gaze flitted around appraising the newly remodeled bathroom, a quick shimmer near the window drew her eye.
The thick window sections resembled segments of a skeleton. A living insect exoskeleton. And it seemed to be steadily extracting itself from the lacy cocoon of wall, curtain, and window casing.
By the time of the first citizen sightings of window-sized lobsters and transparent bugs as large as compact cars, a towel was all that remained of Samantha in the flooded bathroom.
A speculative flash fiction piece that’s a little bit long, at 170ish words, for the latest Friday Fictioneers. Stop by and read the stories, show some appreciation to Janet Webb for contributing her photo (and story), or create your own.