Night of the Living Shed
by DJ Tyrer
It wasn’t Hallowe’en, but it should’ve been. Hallowe’en is the sort of night such weirdness should occur, not a warm summer’s evening. Equally, had it been a gazebo, I would have found it more believable; I’ve always felt that word should be the name of a monstrosity. But, it wasn’t. It was a shed, and it was a balmy summer’s evening and I was terrified out of my mind.
It all began innocuously enough. I’d offered to help my girlfriend’s father out, for the same reasons young men have made such offers since time immemorial. He’d bought a rundown house he planned to rent out for an income and the garden needed dealing with. You doubtless have seen such overgrown plots filled with chest-high grass and brambles, with the odd shopping trolley concealed amongst the growth. In the hopes of increasing the chance of physical pleasures, I was busy hacking away at it all with a strimmer and had been for some time. I’d uncovered the aforementioned shopping trolley and the shed and had stumbled into a weed-choked fishpond. The garden still looked awful.
As I worked, the full moon rose in the sky and a pallid glow washed over the garden.
I was startled by a sudden wrenching sound and was startled to see the shed tearing itself free from its foundation to stand on a pair of spindly legs that looked like garden hoes. The door flapped open like a misplaced jaw to reveal teeth made of shears. To either side of it, two small windows stared balefully at me.
It began to chase me.
Have you ever been chased by a shed? Of course not. You probably haven’t even been chased by a tiger and that at least, compared to this, would be a mundane occurrence. Well, let me tell you, being chased by a shed is a terrifying, confusing experience. And, when it chases you down a street and people stare at you in surprise, rather embarrassing, too. After all, nobody should be scared of a shed.
But, believe me, it was scary.
Now, I’d abandoned the strimmer and so was quite unarmed. I called the police as I ran, but the moment I shouted that a shed was trying to eat me, they hung up.
What was I to do? What would you do?
Not one of the gawking onlookers moved to assist me.
I was on my own and I was screwed and not in the manner I’d hoped the gardening would lead to.
A bonfire might have done, but you don’t see too many of those these days.
The shed’s door-jaw snapped open and nearly bowled me over; it was right on my heels.
Then, a thought struck me and I ran towards the highway, the shed snapping at me as I went.
I dodged out amongst the traffic. Thank goodness folk drive out to clubs and pubs in the evening! Horns blared and brakes screeched as I leapt around cars. Then, came an almighty, splintering crash as an SUV ploughed into the shed. I felt fragments of wood strike me.
I let out a cry of delight and began to dance for joy: I was safe!
That was when a Ford Fiesta clipped me, putting me here in hospital. But, still, I was safe.
Only…every now and then, I’m certain I hear the click-clack sound of hoe-blade feet on the passage floor outside the ward…
No; it must be my imagination.
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DJ Tyrer is the person behind Atlantean Publishing, was short-listed for the 2015 Carillon ‘Let’s Be Absurd’ Fiction Competition, and has been widely published in anthologies and magazines around the world, such as Warlords of the Asteroid Belt (Rogue Planet Press), Strangely Funny II and III (both Mystery & Horror LLC), Destroy All Robots (Dynatox Ministries), Steam Chronicles (Zimbell House) and Irrational Fears (FTB Press), as well as issues of Tigershark ezine, and also has a novella available on the Kindle, The Yellow House (Dunhams Manor). http://djtyrer.blogspot.co.uk/
3 thoughts on “Night of the Living Shed”
It’s a pleasure to read a well-crafted flash that manages to both spook and amuse. Well done.
“……being chased by a shed is a terrifying, confusing experience.” You won’t get an argument from me on that! Great story, DJ.
A clever piece, self-conscious in that adds to the humor by making fun of itself. A minor suggestion: Change the last word of the penultimate paragraph to read “…outside my room….” It suggests a prolongation of the faux horror. AGB