The Puddle

106 words
Short Story
Written by Audrey Francis-Plante

An irritating noise in the other room—like a mouse nibbling paper—brings me to the door. A pungent scent infiltrates my nose when I open it, and I catch my distorted reflection in a puddle of water.

Here and there, the wood is wet, and crippled notes form a path to the kitchen. I take the first paper; a huge letter marks it. F.

I step forward and grab the next note. I.

The next. R.

Last. E.

FIRE.

“Who’s here?” I ask.

Scratch.

At the end of the hall, a lit match falls into a puddle, and I realize too late it’s no water.

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