Photo Credit: C.E. Ayr
Frank said he’d show them. They didn’t know what to expect.
There had been noises coming out of Frank’s garage for the last month. Scraping sounds. Creaks and screeching. Odd lights that did not seem electrical. Scents of things they could not place.
“That’s what happens when you indulge a grown man’s folly,” Mirabelle scowled, bestowing wisdom and a sharp tongue on the gathered neighbors. “Tinkering about instead of doing an honest day’s work.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow in Dave’s direction and he swallowed a laugh. He had no intention of having his wife succeed in making Mirabelle turn her bottomless well of ire onto him.
“He found it,” Tommy whispered. The towheaded boy lived across the street from Frank and was known to make extensive use of binoculars, not always for savory pursuits.
Dave tilted his head in quasi-invitation.
“In the bog. A round thing. Egg-like. Didn’t sound this big before, though,” Tommy fidgeted.
The racket grew and the assembled quieted. Slowly the garage door rose. Something labored out, scraping massive claws on the driveway’s concrete.
Rebecca gasped. Mirabelle fainted. Frank hung back.
Reptilian eyes regarded them, assessing. As food or foe, Dave was not so sure.
For the Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge