The Fruit Cellar

SciFi Flash Fiction for Halloween

Bob blocked the fruit cellar with a sturdy 2 by 4, his heart pounding in his ears. The groaning and scratching from inside the door caught him off guard. He shuddered and grabbed his kerchief from his back pocket to wipe the dripping sweat off his brow. A candy floss sunset glowed in the distance as he wedged another piece of wood against the door.

“Watchya doing, Bob?” his neighbor, Sam, called from behind the fence. “You tryin’ to keep somethin’ from getting out?” he chuckled.

Bob quickly rose up from squatting on his haunches and stared at Sam. He looked back at the fruit cellar door. “None of your business.”

Sam stared back at his neighbor, his mouth slightly agape. That son of a bitch, Bob was a weird one, Sam mused. He never smiled, and kept to himself most of the time. Bob had moved into the old Templeton Farm next door with his wife and his Tesla Cybertruck. He took over the property, quietly growing corn and raising dairy cattle on 800 acres. Sam noticed that every evening for the past 3 months, Bob would take out his telescope and study the stars, and then scribble with a pencil in a small note pad. Strange thing for a farmer to do. The night before, a glowing green meteorite had streaked across the sky over Bob’s house, which Sam thought was really strange. And now this.

Sam pretended to walk back to his house, and then crouched low. He scurried back to the fence and watched Bob through a crack. As soon as Bob left, Sam crept onto his property and snaked over to the fruit cellar. He bent over the cellar door and listened. Silence. The door vibrated, and he jumped back. This is nuts. His pulse pounded in his neck. A groan escaped from a gap in the door. What the hell’s in there?

“What are you doing?” Bob came back with a shotgun.

Sam spun around, almost knocking the glasses off his face. “I came to see what you’re hiding, Bob. Is there a dog in there? Or did you finally hit someone with your weird ass truck and you wanna get rid of the evidence?”

“You dumbass,” Bob said, staring at Sam with stony eyes. Darkness covered them like a blanket and a chill shot though Sam’s spine as he eyed Bob’s gun. “I told you to mind your own damn business.”

Sam clenched his hands into fists. “What’s in your cellar, Bob? What the hell are you hiding?”

An anguished cry bellowed from the fruit cellar. Sam grabbed Bob’s shotgun, prying it from his hands. He pointed it at Bob. “What’s in the cellar, Bob? Tell me now.”

Bob raised his hands and glared at Sam. “Put the gun down, Sam and I’ll tell you.”

“No. Unbolt the door, right now!” Sam yelled. The groaning and scratching from the cellar door crescendoed. Sam’s heart beat wildly.

“Sam, you don’t want me to do that, trust me, it’s not a good idea…”

“Do it!”

Bob slowly crouched down over the fruit cellar door and pulled the planks of wood away. He stared up at Sam with narrow eyes. Sam motioned to keep going as deep groans rose up from the door. Bob unlocked the latch. An 8 foot mantid leapt up and grabbed Sam’s face with its pincers.