Flash Fiction - Harbinger

The old gas station attendant knows best

My gas station is old and barely clinging to life. Back in the day, it was the last stop before the once bustling Mirror Lake Campground. Tragedy closed the resort, with rumors that body parts might still be found there if you took the time to look hard enough.

Those who made it out spoke of an assailant that wasn’t fully human. Some said werewolf, while others said it was more of a hybrid thing that was all muscles and claws and tearing teeth. The resort died that day, taking my business down with it. I survive, though, living off the scraps of the fools who dare come to this place for answers. Some are curious, while others come with video equipment hoping to capture something special for their YouTube channels.

I warm them all, but not all of them listen.

The latest bunch openly mocked me, pointing their cameras at me. They told their audience that I was an old fool plucked straight out of Central Casting to play the harbinger role in some cheesy B-flick destined for some godawful streaming channel. As soon as the taunting started, I stopped with the warnings.

You can only do so much.

I watched them go, tanks filled with my gas, their red taillights disappearing around the final curve leading to the campground. The night was drawing in, so I flipped the sign on my door to CLOSED and headed for the trapdoor at the back of my gas station.

My hands trembled as I undid the lock and threw the doors open. It took a minute, but before long, my boy climbed out, licking his chapped lips as he grinned at me with teeth too large. He stretched out his lean body, muscles and tendons popping and muscles appeared from out of nowhere, all topped by coarse black hair tipped with orange highlights from the setting sun.

I snapped my fingers to get his attention, pointing toward the campground. I needn’t have bothered. He sniffed the air and immediately picked up the scent of the rude bunch that had mocked me. He also smelled my shame, which further fueled his rage. He was an abomination, but he was still my good boy.

I watched him lope of through the trees, sometimes on two feet, others on all fours. He would feed well tonight and might even bring me back a prize for my own pot.

I should feel bad, but I did warn them, just like I had warned all the others.