On Blackened Wings

On Blackened Wings

37 Reads 2 Votes 1 Part Story
Michelle King By MichelleKing524 Updated Nov 25, 2013

They'd been driving for at least four hours, maybe five. Dionne's back ached, her bad knee throbbed and her eyes were dried out and burning. Time to get off the road. 

The village was one of the empty ones--creepy, but better than the alternatives. Past the clusters of cottages, the tiny post office and dark stone church, she saw a big white building with wide leaded windows, three tall chimneys and a tangle of ivy climbing the brickwork to a sloping thatched roof. A wooden sign at the front called it The Willow Tree Hotel.

She knew the sort of place it must have been, once. Locals on their regular stools at the bar, visitors driving in for rustic, homely food and pints of amber coloured ale beside the fireplace. Music from a jukebox, maybe a live band on weekends. Good days.

Old days.

Dionne drove into the car park and waited for the others to catch up. For a moment it looked like Julian's car wasn't slowing, that he was going to carry on straight past. But at the last minute he t...

  • horror
  • post-apocalyptic
  • short-story

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