The Other Side of the Hill

Druidic

Druidic

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The Hill



The grass was always greener on the Other Side of the Hill.

Always.

Unfortunately, that vibrant green also crawled, swayed and hissed in the absence of all wind, made high keening banshee sounds, stunk like a gangrenous limb and had multiple rudimentary mouths constantly opening and closing. Some of the scaly green blades were thick as a man's little finger.

If Zeke had only tended to his land it would never have run wild. By the time he borrowed Bobby's riding mower it was too late.

"The good news," said the sheriff, "is we found enough of Zeke for a proper burial. The bad news, well, sorry 'bout your mower, Bobby..."

"Oh, that poor dead fool really got the Hill riled," moaned Bobby. "Can it get any worse?".

Suddenly, in the soft blue shadows of twilight, the wild roses began to sing.
 
Hey, Kevin! Glad you enjoyed my piece. I call these things "miniatures" and awhile backI did a few on the short-short horror thread. Gahan Wilson's macabre cartoons gave me the idea; I try to capture the same type of feel in a few paragraphs: There may be a touch of Condensed Bob Bloch in there too. These days I seldom do them, however,
preferring to concentrate on my poems, prose poems and short stories. But they can be fun and Weird and I'm happy you liked it.

But, ladies and gentlemen, think Miniatures. Or vignettes. Or Druidic's Wicked Shorts (Bermuda!). But not flash; I don't do "flash fiction." Ever. It's against my religion; and it makes my cats talk in tongues.

This one's for you, Kevin: It's one of my favorites from the short-short thread:
 
Scorn of a Devil God
(for Cynothoglys)

Chambers was a wealthy private collector of rare and demoralizing Art. Ambrose, a friend and noted Occultist, marveled at his latest acquisition.
“It’s quite remarkable, old boy,” said Ambrose. “The attention to detail is amazing.”
“Yes,” said Chambers, “It’s an amazing work. Please don’t get too close, Ambrose. It’s a delicate canvas…”
“But you say he painted this from a personal vision of the Devil God itself? I can believe it. The malevolent Face and that look of inhuman scorn! Why, the cunning detail work makes it seem so terrible…so realistic…”
“Yes, yes. Please don’t touch it Ambrose. I fear—“
But Ambrose had already produced a small magnifying glass and was practically breathing on the pigments. “Extraordinary detail! How on earth—“
Chambers was moving forward to restrain his overly enthusiastic friend when all Hell broke lose. There was a sudden intolerable stench...a powerful gust of wind from somewhere…a movement out of the canvas—

Ambrose’s screams were still ringing in his ears a few minutes later as he stood alone and trembling in his study.
On the painting was a single drop of blood.
“Ambrose,” he cried, “Why didn’t you listen? I tried to warn you, man! How could you not know the God was in the Details?”
 
Thank you, sir. "Miniature" is a good term for these, in the early 19th century sense of the whole contained in the small. Detail, surprise, and, yes, there's that humor again.

If TL weren't such a humorist in his own right, I'd say pessimism doesn't stand a chance against these small missiles. Thing is, I think it much more likely that we'd all end up laughing at crude double entendres around the last round of ale rather than discussing who should commit suicide first.
 
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