Creak
I’m sure the floor creaked. For months, I’d been squatting in a basement where
the homeowner was bed bound on the second floor. I settled my possessions in
the corner of the basement and scavenged a rug to put on the dirt floor. The
house had a gravity furnace with decorative metal vents open from ceilings to
floors above and the rising heat warmed the house. The dirt floor creaked again.
It was not possible. I went to the furnace and looked up the vent and saw an
old woman, lying face down. She creaked out the word Help. Creak, Help.
Paul Beckman
Paul Beckman has two story collections, “Peek” and
“Come! Meet My Family and other stories”. He has had over 300 of his stories
published in print, on line in the following magazines as well as others:
Literary Orphans, Connecticut Review, Playboy, Matter Press, Litro, Thrice
Fiction, The Airgonaught, Jellyfish Review, and R.K.V.R.Y. He runs the monthly
FBomb NY flash fiction reading series at KGB. Paul had a micro story selected
for the 2018 Norton Microfiction Anthology.
My published story website is www.paulbeckmanstories.com
Tags:
Short Fiction