The Shrieking Flesh

Chapter Three

Ken Preston

25 April 2024

A German expressionist illustration of a dark angel with frayed wings.

The window frame rattled in the wind. Like a metronome, out of time, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap.

Tony kept glancing at it, like it was annoying the hell out of him, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and secure it.

His wife Sheila, all peroxide hair, false nails and enough makeup on her face to fill a beautician’s bag, she smoked a cigarette.

Herman and Lori were sitting on the opposite side of a glass-topped coffee table. Herman’s face was glowing from having scrubbed all the clown makeup off. His legs swung off the edge of the chair.

‘He’s late,’ Herman growled.

‘You'd do well to keep your mouth shut.’ Sheila tapped ash into a saucer.

Writing in the Shadows is a reader-supported publication. To continue reading, receive new posts, and support my work, consider becoming a paid subscriber.

>