Scribble-Eyed Girl

Xartimon skipped across the pavement, finding little to amuse him. It was night by name but not by yet by nature; the sky remained the colour of bloom-dusted blueberries.

A dog-walker who’d paused to study her phone yelped as she realised her dachshund had decided to warm her shoe. The imp giggled and let the animal’s mind go. Then he sighed. Scents of warm dog and tarmacadam filled his nose, making him want to do something different.

That was when he found the clear rubbish bag outside a house with amber light dripping from its windows. It was full of a child’s paintings.

Xartimon’s eyes glowed as he sliced the plastic with a fingernail. A rainbow. Handprints. Something, perhaps a whale, drifting in a black ocean.

A door slammed in the house but he didn’t turn, engrossed in the treasures.

He flicked a hand and a swarm of jewel-bright butterflies lifted from the paper, scattering into the night. He watched them for a while, their wings gradually becoming monochrome as they flittered further into the orange light cast by the streetlamps.

Xartimon turned his gaze back to the torn bag and absently clicked his fingers.  Seventeen puffs of dust fell from the air. The dog-walker cursed and brushed at her arm, then frowned as the glittering residue faded under her gaze. She looked around but saw nothing, of course. People rarely see anything that doesn’t fit into the world as they know it.

The imp continued flicking though the papers in front of him. The next picture he stopped at was recognisably a girl. The image had wild hair and black scribbles for eyes. A straight smear of pink formed her mouth.

A moment later she was sitting up, flexing her stick wrists and wriggling her fingers.

Now, something for her to do…

Paper on the ground caught Xartimon’s eye. Brown and gold on a black background. Red fingerprint eyes. A wolf, maybe.

The scribble-eyed girl looked around as the newly-animated creature made a crackling, crunching sound. She took a step backwards.

Xartimon sat on the low wall that bordered the garden of the amber-windowed house, balanced his left foot on his right knee and tipped his head to one side.

The wolf snapped. The girl dodged and made a whistling sound like someone blowing across a piece of paper. The wolf dropped back, tail low.

Xartimon clapped.

The girl picked up a stone and threw it awkwardly. The wolf caught it in its jaws as though it were a ball.

Xartimon shook his head. Stone never beat paper.

The beast charged, gaping mouth revealing sharp, white triangles. It caught the girl with an unpleasant tearing sound. She squealed and pulled, losing her left arm. She lurched to her right and grabbed for the wolf’s tail.

It slipped through her fingers and the creature snapped again, catching her head. She pushed and kicked, but it was no use. This time there was no tearing. The beast pulled her into its mouth, chewing and mashing the paper until it dissolved into fragments.

Silence fell and the wolf looked at Xartimon, hopeful expectancy in every dry breath. As one, they looked up at the perfect half moon. There are those that believe that full moons are magical, but there’s nothing magical about something which can only go one way.

A high-pitched sound emanated from the house behind them. Not quite a scream. Not quite.

The imp pointed a finger at the child’s monster.

The jet of blue flame left nothing but specks of ash drifting in the air. Xartimon glanced at the amber-windowed house.

His game was mischief. Evil, well.

That was the business of others.

Author’s notes

This first version of this dark little tale was written for the 2017 Podcastle flash fiction contest. It didn’t win, but it did get a good handful of votes. There were some truly amazing stories, by extremely talented writers, in that competition, so any votes at all was an achievement! You can listen to the winning stories here. At the time of writing there’s still time, just, to enter the Escape Pod flash fiction contest for 2018 – you need to submit your up-to-500-words Science Fiction story by the 30th of April. If you’ve missed the deadline, never mind, sign up for the forums and come and vote for your favourites anyway. See you there!

If you’ve enjoyed this story please considering buying me a coffee at The more coffee I have, the more likely I am to write more stories! 🙂
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© Kat Day 2018

5 thoughts on “Scribble-Eyed Girl

  1. any years ago, I was working on a neighbor’s farm in Yorkshire. It was lambing time. We had the usual weather for the time, quite a lot of snow, which had lost it’s pristine whiteness and was decaying to that translucent grey that makes you wish it would just go. Puddles of bare, soggy, grass were appearing. One of the ewes was having a difficult delivery… Of course she was. The Farmer was a short man, powerfully built, with hands like shovels. We looked at the ewe. She ignored us. The Farmer looked at me.
    ” Your hands are smaller than mine lad”
    ” Aye?”
    “Well, she ain’t delivering on her own…”

    Oh, Bugger.
    At least she had chosen a bit of slush that wasn’t too muddy. Bloody, yes, but to be fair it was hers.
    Oh, Bugger.
    No warm water, No Fluffy warm towels. No hessian sack to lie on.
    Oh, double Bugger.
    Ok, she is going to die if you don’t do something. I had not delivered a lamb before ( and to be honest, never since either ) I rummaged around inside. There seemed to be an indecent number of legs. And heads.
    ” She’s got three in her ”
    ” Nay lad, they nivver have more than two”
    ” Er….”
    Anyway, she delivered triplets. Two ewes and a tup. All healthy, all breathing fine. The old ewe was knackered, I was wet, cold, covered in blood, shit, and afterbirth.. Such fun.
    We had done the ’rounds’ on foot. So to get the Ewe and her offspring back to the farm we had to carry them. The Farmer carried the ewe in the traditional manner, over the shoulders, a big sheepskin stole, I carried the lambs. Normally you would carry them by their forelegs. One in each hand. But there were three. One in the left hand. One in the right hand and one draped around my neck. Here is a little factoid about newborn. They widdle just after birth. I had a ewe in my right hand. A ewe in my left, and the tup across my shoulders.

    I had a warm feeling down the inside of my parka ……


  2. That is missing the beginning..

    Hi Kat!
    That was a tad dark, but bloody good.
    the ‘decided to warm her shoe. ‘ reminded me of something that happened many years ago;

    Ok that should have been at the beginning.. 🙂


  3. They all survived too, which was unusual. I think the ewe brought all three on herself. Usually, one of them, if they survived, would have ended up as a bottle fed ‘pet’ lamb.


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