Yesteryear Fiction

The Sibilant Sin
By James Bloomfield


A turbulent tempest raged outside and, duvet pulled tight up to my chin, I listened to the eerie din; of whistling wind and lashing rain as it whipped my windowpane. With a flicker and a flutter my bedside lamp began to sputter. When in the trees outside a night-owl spoke, the feeling that the sound evoked, was a pang of fear I tried to quell but proved too stubborn and did swell.

Unaccountable and ungrounded; unexplainable and unfounded - needless to say I felt the fool; until my fear was further fueled by my sudden, certain intuition of a supernatural apparition.

All at once, into my midst, came a thing of myth and mist. A shape unclear and unclean; indistinct yet so obscene, that the screams that caught within my throat were so violent they caused me to choke. The darkness stole on tip-toed feet towards me cowering ‘neath my flimsy sheet.

The sibilant sin that sauntered in spread me wide and crawled within. Enmeshed itself within my flesh. Then, dear reader; burned with fever, my body was invaded, violated and pervaded. Made mad with terror I fought my best but this was a power I could not contest; the sickening sin in serpents’ skin spun its webs within my chest.

A helpless hostage held immobile; I could only panic while, in a fierce furor of fear, I felt his many tongues within my ear. Malign and oh so erudite; my choleric cleric spoke of many things that night. Everything that has been and will be. Saviors and scapegoats; monsters and messiahs. Guns, Gods and Governments. Our full story in all its gory, gruesome glory.

Listen closely; for this is what I learned...


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BIO: James Bloomfield has been writing flash-fiction ever since a copy of Stanley Donwoods’ “Tachistoscope” introduced him to the style. He lives on the outskirts of London, England and is lucky enough to be in love with both his job as policeman and his flame haired fiancé for whom he writes.