By Katie Holloway
My sister stomped through the woods, towards home, annoyed that nothing happened. That I was relieved. Stillness, quiet. I picked the anemones at my feet. Too quiet. My skin prickled. Had I felt something? The seance was her idea.
A chill, like the sweep of remembered lace, traced my body. I pinched the stem of a flower so hard its head popped off, whirling downwards in death. The back of my neck felt exposed.
I straightened. Something was close… The shimmer of a shadow. Dark. The sweet smell of rot.
It was NOT Nana.
Katie Holloway has a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of East Anglia (UEA). She’s had careers in publishing, office administration and activity coordination in a nursing home. She is fueled by strong tea and can’t help herself writing flash fiction over breakfast. You can find her on Twitter @KatieLHWrites or Instagram @loseyourselfbooks