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Fireflies (standard:horror, 392 words)
Author: kendall thomasAdded: Dec 16 2002Views/Reads: 2682/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Couple sit on front porch watching fireflies.


By Twisted Wabbit 

Bill and Martha finished their supper around six o'clock as they had for
nigh thirty years now; then, as usual, they watched the evening news 
with Dan Rather. 

“I like his hair shorter, like this,” Martha said.  “It makes him look

Bill didn't reply.  He merely grumbled, for he suspected that Martha had
the hots for Rather, and a retired mechanic with a fat belly and 
double-chin had to come up short, no doubt, in her stern estimation. 

After the news, Martha watched Wheel of Fortune while Bill scanned the
sports section of the evening paper, occasionally stealing glances at 
Vanna White who was wearing a strapless something skintight. 

After awhile Bill began fumbling with his pipe, sucking on it noisily
and stuffing it with tobacco from a leather pouch, dropping a few 
shreds on Martha's pink rug. 

Martha grimaced, then sighed. 

“If you're going to smoke that smelly, old thing we're going out on the
porch and watch the fireflies.” 

The evening was hot and murky.  The sun had set and overhead a purple,
velvet sky was slowly being sprinkled with glittering stars. 

At first there were only a few fireflies, then they were everywhere. 
Mingling in neighborhood bushes, blinking on the lawns and filling the 
decorative spruces, here and there, until they glittered like Christmas 

They watched as the Martin's SUV appeared from up the street and stopped
a few houses down.  Little Timmy and his sister, Christy, were the 
first out.  Their happy voices filling the thick, night air. 

Betty Martin and her husband, Pete, soon followed. 

Suddenly, the fireflies seemed to freeze, their tiny lights becoming
ominous beacons that began to swirl in the air and converge with 
frightening rapidity into a single, glowing mass that moved onto the 
Martins, engulfing them in a blinding light. 

Bill and Martha could hear the Martins screaming hysterically,
especially the shrill cries of little Timmy and Christy as the 
fireflies swarmed over them making loud, slurping, bone-popping sounds. 

Later, when the fireflies moved off, there was only a jumble of cleanly
picked skeletons left, in a phosphorus-like glow, lying on the lawn. 

“Umm, seems like the fireflies were a might bit hungrier than usual,”
Bill said. 

“Humph.  It's a good thing they don't like your smelly, old pipe anymore
than I do,” Martha replied. 



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