The Foster Home – A Flash Fiction Horror Story

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“Ouch!”
The prick on her finger produced a deep red drop of blood, but Danny resisted the urge to move it toward her mouth.
She had not expected it to hurt this bad.
What the heck.

“Oh hold still, you are such a baby.” Tess shook her head at the younger of the pair.
“Yeah right, and who was the one who got all squeamish earlier?”
“I don’t like guts and gore, all right? I prefer clean deaths, singular shot, a quick prick with a syringe filled with poison, a quick snap of the neck. Not the messy kind.”
“You mean my kind.”
“Oh don’t be such a baby, I did not mean to criticize your style of murder. You got the job done, all that matters. And your blood sugar is fine, hon. You don’t have diabetes. I told you not to listen to her bullshit.”
“Well now I don’t have to listen to her bullshit anymore, do I?”

Her friend laughed, looking toward the end of the hallway, where the closed door separated them from the still warm bodies.
“Want some of the cookies?”
“Nah, but that coffee smells good.”
She took a quick sip. “Taste good too – you want some?”

That was one thing the Tyrant had been really good at, making coffee, pouring it into the delicate flower cups with the thin golden rim and the tiny handle. Her favorite cups, which the kids were never allowed to touch unless there was a visit from the Department. Then, it was time for delicate cups, and delicate cookies, and beautiful clothes reserved for special occasions.

Tess shook her head, the blond strings of her hair moving down into her face, which she snapped back quickly,  a gesture Danny had come accustomed to over the last 10 years they known each other.

They were more sisters than friends, foster sisters, knowing each others greatest secrets and fears, discovering them one by one, as they were both held in this barbaric household, that had provided the perfect environment to create disturbed individuals.

Or killers.

They had spent most of their pre-teens and teenager years in this pretty home with so many secrets. Secret beatings, secrets starvation’s and secret men who liked little girls. Hey, the Tyrant knew how to make the most money out of her projects. She had been a business woman to the core.

That ugly lady with the crooked teeth but perfect smile, hiding behind that prim and proper exterior of Sunday school teacher dresses and gentle voice, the real monster only the children got to see.
On a regular basis.

But no more.
No more monster, no more beatings, no more days locked up in moldy closet in the basement.

Danny smiled and lifted up her head, glaring at her friend, who freed the large and very sharp kitchen knife from blood and fingerprints.

Free at last.

Copyright Claudia H. Blanton 2014

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