“The Concrete Slab”, a Friday Fiction Story

The Concrete Slab

concrete-pad-on-the-median-by-me

“Hey Dad! What’s under that concrete slab?” Davy craned his neck to get a second look at the grey block sunk into the median strip. He wasn’t quite big enough to see all the way out the car window but he had seen something, he thought. It was dark and the light wasn’t great.

His Dad barely glanced. “Probably wires or switches for the traffic light there. You think?”

Davy nodded — a motion that his Dad could only see if he looked in the rear-view mirror — but frowned. He was sure the slab had…what? Moved? Yeah, it had moved. He had seen a gap of darkness then something green and rough and then…eyes? Yes, eyes. Yellow. Hungry. Cunning.

Not wires or switches. Something else.

“Dad?” A feeling of heavy, hot danger filled his stomach. “Can we go now? Fast?”

Davy’s father looked at him in the rear-view. “Light’s still red, son. Red means stop, remember?”

He remembered. But it was late and the intersection was empty save for them. Sure it was.

From outside the car Davy heard a heavy scrape of concrete. He closed his eyes tightly and rolled up his window.

“Huh,” he heard his Dad say. “That’s weird. What the–?”

Davy screamed. “DAD! GO NOW OH PLEASE GO DON’T LOOK PLEASE GO!” He heard his Dad gasp and the car leaped through the intersection. He waited ten shallow breaths to open his eyes and look up.

The eyes in the rear-view mirror were yellow and hungry.


I think this is the first time I’ve ever used one of my own pictures at a story prompt. This is a real concrete slab in the median strip of the main intersection in the crowded town where I live. It most likely covers an access point for wires and switches that run the traffic lights on the pole next to it, like Davy’s Dad said. Just to be safe, though, I think I shall avoid looking at it when I have to stop in that turn lane at night. And I’ll roll up my window. And make sure the doors are locked.

Play along with the prompt here.

(Photo Credit: ME!)

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