Flash fiction prompt from https://www.eadeverell.com/flash-fiction-prompts/. 7. "There were 48 000 gods in their mythology and not one…" This is a Halloween-themed short story filled with mystery! Comment and share if you've enjoyed it!
Quinn's anxious gaze flickered between the watch on their wrist and the bus stop, where the bus seemed to defy the schedule. They teetered on the edge of lateness for a job interview that held the promise of transforming their life – an opportunity they had yearned for since the day they graduated. In pursuit of their dreams, they had sacrificed sleep, trading it for caffeine-fueled nights of poring over textbooks, crafting lengthy essays, and juggling part-time jobs, all in a bid to chip away at the looming student loans. Armed with a degree, they ventured into a job market that felt like an endless labyrinth, where experience was the treasure they hadn't yet found. But every application met the same response, a dismissive, "We're looking for something different at the moment; please try again in the future."
There were 48 000 gods in their mythology and not one answered Quinn's silent plea for help. Their mother's voice echoed in the stillness of the foggy morning: "You can't rely on dead gods to save you," she would say. "If you want something, you work for it; you make it happen." Quinn begrudgingly accepted the truth in those words. The ancient gods they had grown up with offered no solace; every small triumph had been carved by their own sweat and determination.
Desperation now held the reins as Quinn faced an unyielding adversary—time. It slipped through their grasp like water, pushing them toward a choice they would regret. With the pivotal job interview hanging in the balance, they decided to venture through the ancient and long-forgotten cemetery. It was the quickest route, yet even in broad daylight, it remained shrouded in dread, a shortcut most locals wisely avoided. The crooked and crumbling tombs, overgrown with moss and ivy, wove a haunting tapestry of forgotten souls. Murders of crows held a silent vigil in the ominous trees; their beady eyes seemed to follow Quinn's every step, for they were the avatars of the god of death, dutiful sentinels in his earthly realm.
The eerie atmosphere was almost palpable, causing Quinn's skin to prickle, and the thought of turning back gnawed at them, but the job interview was too critical to miss. Without further hesitation, they vaulted over the iron fence and darted through the shaded hill, navigating a path between graves under the watchful eyes of the crows. In the distance, carried by the wind, the whispers of the long-departed dead reached their ears. The words were unintelligible, but they sent shivers down Quinn's spine.
Emerging from the cemetery's embrace, Quinn quickened their pace as they spotted a hooded figure standing at the edge of the adjacent woods. Though obscured in darkness, Quinn noticed a crow perched on their shoulder. The sight was unusual, as no one ventured within this forsaken graveyard. Quinn brushed aside the unease and continued, their destination clear—make it to the interview on time.
Quinn's determination bore fruit; they arrived just in the nick of time for the interview. The rest of the day passed without incident, and their shift at the coffee shop was uneventful. Yet, an uncanny sensation persisted throughout the day, akin to unseen eyes tracing their every move. The presence of crows multiplied, and their curious gazes seemed to haunt Quinn.
As night fell and cast its shadow, Quinn's unease persisted, shrouding them like a suffocating cloak. The journey home, typically a comforting stroll through the safe neighbourhood, now felt tinged with an unfamiliar threat. Even the upbeat tunes in their earbuds couldn't dispel the disquiet. Crows perched in familiar locations provided a strange yet unsettling comfort.
As Quinn approached their apartment building, the unease gnawed at them like a persistent itch. They had almost convinced themselves that the feeling of being watched was simply a result of their anxiety and the eerie experience in the cemetery earlier in the day.
Upon entering their dimly lit apartment, Quinn was confronted with an unsettling reality. Flickering lights painted shadows on the walls, whispering secrets that danced just beyond grasp. While an electrical malfunction seemed a plausible explanation, something more sinister beckoned them to the living room.
Quinn noticed an assembly of crows perched on the window ledge, their obsidian feathers gleaming in the moonlight. At the center stood the hooded figure from the cemetery, surrounded by a multitude of crows that filled the dark room, each one fixing Quinn with a malevolent gaze.
Extending a bony hand, the figure beckoned Quinn closer. Their voice sent shivers down Quinn's spine as they whispered, "You should have never trespassed in the realm of the dead, Quinn."
The world went dark as the crows swarmed, their cawing growing louder and more menacing. The figure's laughter echoed in the obscurity, and the last thing Quinn heard before their world faded into oblivion was the chilling promise of an uncertain fate.
Weeks turned into months, but Quinn's apartment remained eerily vacant. Neighbours whispered about strange occurrences, the inexplicable cawing in the dead of night and flickering lights. Those who dared to ask about Quinn were met with an unsettling silence as if their very existence had been erased from the world.
The truth remains hidden in the shadows, entwined with the mysteries of the old cemetery, until the next soul dares to trespass onto the realm of the dead.
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