(Author’s note: Been having some trouble getting to this earlier than I should. A lot of it is due to the fact that I have a trainer that I go to after work, so I don’t get home until about 5. So you’ll just have to read me last…if you can find me under all the other good folk out there. At least you have today’s fictioneers…)

© Ronda Del Boccio

Classical Gas

by Miles H. Rost

Rotten cheese, mixed with overcooked fish, and spoiled raw meat.

That was the description of the smell coming from the Racine residence, “Frankenstein’s house” to the rest of the neighborhood.

“Frankenstein” took great care of the plants in the boxes around the windows. A hybrid of wheat and onion, he called it.

The plants started to smell terrible, getting worse as the plant grew or as the humidity got worse.

A great sound, like a balloon letting go of it’s air occurred in the middle of the night.

The next morning, the plants were gone.

The neighborhood never woke up.