Flash Fiction: Sorry, It's the Robert Bloch in Me

Bobby asked nicely: “Are you done?” All according to plan. Worn work boots dangled fresh laces a metre in front of a slab of meat and bone hooked. Bobby smiled with pride at his work. Its bold statement.


A stylish white-haired lady poured tea into an ornate teacup.

“Ma, I’ve always liked your blend of tea.”

The server smiled. “Oh, Bobby, you were always a sweet boy.” The son sipped, self consciously, as his mother continued: “I was a little worried at first; what you did to those poor little creatures when you were just two really worried me.”

Bobby sipped his hot beverage with more assuredness. “You’re right, Ma. I went on to bigger things.”

Mother had to add “Awww, sweet to the last”. She took a sip then looked concerned, hesitating, unsure if she made English Breakfast, Earl Grey, Orange Pekoe, or… something else.