• Dawn Hosmer

Flash Fiction: Avalanche

Flash Fiction from Round 2!

In the ski shop, my hands shaking, my thoughts were incoherent, save one—my sister was dead.

“Miss, where is she?” the deputy asked.

“She was caught in the avalanche!”

“There’s been no avalanche. Care to explain that blood on your ski jacket and that knife in the pocket?”



Becky flung open the cellar door and shooed away a spider, excited to explore every crevice of her new home. "This'll be the last place I buy. Retirement, here I come," she said into the shadows. Becky climbed down as the darkness closed in on her. An avalanche of spiders echoed, "Last home for Becky."



The house was eerily silent. Where was the homeowner? Who had called the police? Why was there blood all over the kitchen? I walked around looking for something to tell me what happened, and when. There was an avalanche of mail just inside the front door. The only clue as to how long the homeowner was missing.



They never found him. Starting her life over again after the avalanche was tortuous.

It took years before she could let another man into her life. Yet she did, and two children later, she was at last happy again.

Then came the knock at the door. She’d recognize those blue eyes anywhere.



“What’cha drawin’, Sweety?”

“The man.”

Emma cocks her head. “What man?”

“The one who walks me to school.”

An avalanche of dread pours into Claire’s stomach. She surges forward, grabbing the drawing from her son. Her mouth gapes at the uncanny likeness to her father, who died before her son’s birth.


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