The Lit Bedroom

As nightfall descended, a feathery latecomer gathered crumbs from Vi’s patio. Lights in a nearby house turned off, except for one.

It shone from a second story. An elderly woman was seen looking out the window.

When Vi met the house owner at their communal mailbox, she remarked on the upstairs light being left on at night and asked how long the guest would be visiting.

The neighbor looked perplexed. She said it was her mother’s room, until her death a year ago.

Vi wondered if her imagination played tricks. Since their conversation, that bedroom light no longer lit up.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, primarily residing in Edmonton, Canada.

The Final Letter

Thelma raced to the door when she heard the clang of the mailbox. She looked forward to the mail. It gave her hope on these bleak days. Only one envelope today. It was from PFC Herman Davis, dated July 14, 1944.

She ran back in the house, her hands shaking. The screen door bounced closed behind her. “Jesse, Jesse,” she called for her husband. It was too soon. She just buried Freeman last week.

“What’s wrong,” Jesse asked.

“Here, here,” she said handing him the envelope.

Jesse instantly knew what it was. This was Freeman’s last letter before he died.From Guest Contributor David W. Cofer

Murder In The Grass

After choking down the pill, Leonard found that his scale of perspective had changed drastically. It wasn't that he was small, but now he saw the world as if he were only three inches tall.

The house, the trees, the mailbox, they all seemed like skyscrapers. The lawn was a forest, and the sidewalk might as well have been an ocean of concrete.

Leonard immediately began to run. He never realized that so many creatures wanted him dead. He was being chased by a million silent ninjas.

When the drug had worn off, Leonard swore he would never trip again.

The Fine Print

As soon as the door opened, Jackson sprinted from the school bus. He could see the parcel sticking out of the mailbox from a hundred yards away. It had finally arrived.

Jackson ripped open the package. There it was. His brand new death ray. It looked just like in the magazine.

He suspiciously eyed the warranty at the bottom. He could barely read the fine print, but he would have bet his life it said something about his soul being forfeit to the devil in event of actual use.

Whatever. He had a death ray. Now, where was Chris Jenkins?

The Daily Theme from Figment for February 13, 2012

A character receives a parcel in the mail--something he or she was expecting. However, when this person opens the package, in addition to the anticipated item, there is something else. Something very surprising.