My first story of 2024 to share with readers of dark fantasy, The Last Stray weighs in at about 400 words. Some readers may find the ending abrupt and disturbing. It’s that kind of story. You’ve been warned.
The Last Stray
by MK Eidson
Wishing for the strength to plant one more flower, Helga dropped her small shovel and turned around. She held up empty hands and shook her head. “I have nothing left to give.”
Jacob shrugged. “I can’t take him for free.”
Draco’s haunting, canine eyes pleaded with the old woman.
How had it come to this? Helga had found a way to be content with retired life, staying busy in her garden and caring for every stray finding its way to her. She’d given them all names. Alvin. Yogi. Sylvester. And many more. This last one was such a fiery spirit, she’d named him Draco, meaning dragon.
All the poor lost things stayed with her as long as needed until Jacob showed up to relieve her of the self-imposed duty of looking after them. But rather than paying her for the animals, Jacob required payment to take them from her. She’d always paid his price before, and yet today she was down to her last dregs.
“Then maybe it’s time….” Jacob looked towards the house, his gaze sliding over to the bedroom window.
They’d discussed a less than desirable option many times… in fact, it came up every time her ability to pay came into question, which had been quite often of late. “What the hell. I’m a dried-up, old husk.”
“I’ll be gentle.”
With a nod, Helga went to her bedroom, changed into something nice, and lay on her bed to await him.
He entered her room with measured pace, saying nothing. Looming over her bedside, he paused.
She gritted her teeth. “Let’s get this over with.”
“A moment.” Jacob leaned over her, savoring her scent as he breathed her in. “Ah, yes.”
After Jacob took everything that Helga could give, he placed a silver quarter on her nightstand. Then he trudged outside, where Draco patiently waited.
A howl of gratitude echoed off the hillsides as Draco jumped aboard the skiff. Feeling young and invigorated, Helga sprang to her feet, snatched up the coin, and ran outside in time to wave goodbye to her last stray.
Dressed nicely and having exhaled its final breath, Helga’s wrinkled corpse remained on the bed, its burial or cremation now the responsibility of those still occupying the physical world. The medium waited patiently for her own ferryman’s arrival as she fingered the silver quarter, instinctively aware it would suffice to pay for her own passage down the river Styx. She wouldn’t become a stray herself.