The Frame (misc horror short story for open mic night last night)

On the wall was black portrait in a gold picture frame. The portrait had no reflection nor gloss nor did it have any discernable texture. The picture in the frame was black.

“Step, right up, ladies and gentlemen! Hurry Hurry Hurry. It’s the dog’s bark, it’s the cat’s meow; it’s hip; it’s cool; it’s what’s happening NOW! AND, HOW!” Shouted a moustached man in a top hat. His eyes were wide with deep bags. His perfect, unsettling grin beckoned passersby indiscriminately.

A “Wow, what’s that!” followed by several “Whoa!” and “Oh man’s!”

Strangers whispered, muttered and passed rumor.

The carnival man escorted a crowd to the peripherie of a tattered wood trailer set on wheels and a makeshift trailerbed.

“Closer, anyone?” the man asked.

No one volunteered.

A few moments passed.

Not a sound.

Wind whistled through warped plywood.

Onlookers exchanged glances.

An old man stepped forward.

He shrugged and smirked.

“Okay, where do I stand,” he asked approaching the framed abyss behind the carnie.

The carnie glanced at the man infront of the portait. Said nothing. He look at the crowd.

“Let’s see what happens,” the carnie announced.



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