Twisted: Flash Fiction

Bat Out of Hell

I'll give you a head start. Go on, now, get running.

He doesn't have to tell me twice. I take off like a bat out of hell, frantically trying to think of a place to hide. I need to find one quick. It's unlikely he'll keep his word.

I sprint toward the woods behind the garage. Seeing the scraggly line of trees, I realize I won't make it ten feet without being caught. I could hide in the boat alongside... the garage! I slip in through the side door.

The air is stifling, and it stinks of gasoline, but it's too late to turn back now. I've made my decision. It could be my best chance or my worst idea. I close the door behind me, cringing when the damned thing shrieks in protest.

I look around, eyes darting this way and that, scanning over my options as quickly as possible. Should I hide in the old Chevy up on cinder blocks? No, too obvious. When I don't see as many places to hide as I thought there would be, suddenly I can't seem to get enough air.

Sweat covers my face and trickles down my back. Three words are stuck on repeat in my mind. I'm. Dead. Meat. I'm. Dead. Meat. I'm. Dead. Meat.

Come out! Come out! Wherever you are!

My heart lurches into overdrive when I hear his voice. The faint sound of gravel crunching under his shoes gets louder and louder until he reaches the garage door and stops.

The time for thinking is over. My instincts kick in. I've got to move. Now. I quietly dash around the car and duck under the workbench just as the garage door begins to lift. It's an up-and-over deal, which buys me a little extra time to scramble deeper into the recess, but not much. The scream of rusty wheels sliding against their tracks rips through the silence as I curl into a ball in a shadowed corner.

I try hard not to make any sound, but the adrenaline coursing through my body forces my lungs to inhale the hot, musty air in short, ragged gasps.

He closes the garage door, making sure there is no chance of escape. He's not playing. He's hunting, determined to ferret me out of my hiding spot by any means necessary. After a few moments, I hear the car door squeak open. He could have just looked in one of the windows. He's taunting me.

Nope. Not in there.

What was I thinking? Of course this is the first place he would look. Now the only thing on my side besides luck is doubt. Can I contort my limbs into smaller, freak show worthy versions of themselves in order to fit into a hiding place half my size? I guess we'll both find out.

The backs of my knees are slick with sweat. My hunched and twisted body aches. There are cobwebs in my hair. Part of me wishes he would just find me already.

No. I can't afford to think that way. There's too much at stake.

I see his feet making their way around to the workbench side of the Chevy. He stops in front of a metal cabinet and flings open the door. He slams it shut with a huff a second later. He's getting frustrated.

I know you're in here, so you might at well just come out.

I will my aching limbs to hold on for just a few more minutes. They need to wait until he gives up. Goes away. He's standing at the workbench now, so close I can reach out and touch his leg if I want to. I don't, but under different circumstances it might be funny to see him jump. What's he doing now? It sounds like he's digging through a toolbox. That can't be good. Not good at all—

Gotcha!

Bright light assaults my eyes. I squint and blink like mad, trying to shield them with my hand. It's over. I bow my head and go limp with defeat.

"No fair!" I bark at him as soon as I've unfolded the rest of my shaking limbs and crawl out from under the bench. "You can't use a flashlight."

"Just did," replies my older brother. "We didn't say anything about not using a flashlight."

I can't argue because he's right. He's always right. I should know better by now.

"I found you fair and square... and now you've gotta do all my chores for a week straight!"

His laugh infuriates me.

"Maaaaaa!" I scream. And for a second time in just under an hour, I take off like a bat out of hell, frantically trying to think of a place to hide.