The Drive-Thru Girl (Part 2)

This is the second half of the flash fiction horror story from last week. Again, parental guidance is suggested…


The Drive-Thru Girl (Part 2)

by Adam Huddleston


I phoned my wife on the way to Driver Street to tell her I’d be a little late. Head Honcho was coming in tomorrow. Had to do some paperwork. She said okay and be careful. I said okay and I loved her. Did I though? What kind of husband has an affair with someone he met at a fast food drive-thru line?

Twenty minutes later I was pulling into the entrance of a massive home sitting behind a brick wall and iron gate. A pole with a small keypad stuck out from among a thick collection of greenery. I hit the button marked “six” until the mechanism beeped and the gate slid silently open.

The driveway to her house was completely clear, which was surprising because her yard was covered in large oaks and they should have shed their leaves weeks ago. There was something else odd too; it was almost totally silent. No birds, no wind in the branches, nothing.

I pulled up in front of the house and killed the engine. Double glass front doors; swanky. I fingered the doorbell but when she didn’t answer I let myself in.

“I’m upstairs! Take a left at the top! Last room on the right!”

My legs grew weaker with each step I took and a nervous excitement began to grow in my gut. By the time I’d made the top of the stairs, I was sucking in great gulps of air.

I came to the door she’d told me to and peeked in. There she was, sitting up in bed with her back against the headboard. She was wearing lacy, black lingerie.

Oh my.

“Come in and close the door.”

I obeyed and instantly regretted it. As soon as the door clicked behind me, she leaped to her feet in the bed and opened her mouth wide. What was inside will haunt me for the rest of my life. Row after row of tiny, sharp, blood-stained teeth glistened in the light of the room’s lone bulb. Then she began this low, gravelly moaning. I’m not gonna lie, I threw up a little on the floor beside me.

The eyes I had loved to gaze into during my twenty seconds in the burger line morphed into these black…slits. I could see the pupils spinning behind what used to be eyelids.

I think I screamed for a second and when I reached behind me, the door was locked. I didn’t think I’d locked it, but, whatever. She moaned for a few more seconds then just…came at me! Her mouth actually got wider as she ran.

“Stop! Please stop!” I yelled.

She didn’t.

I tried to dodge out of the way but she was so fast, so incredibly fast. I mean like, too fast to be real. She grabbed me and bit into my cheek. The pain was beyond anything I’ve ever felt. I kicked hard and managed to flip her off me for a second.

Without thinking, I sprinted for the bedroom window and jumped through it. I didn’t care. Anything was better than being eaten alive!

The fall was bad. The landing was worse. Doctors say I broke both legs and most of my ribs. Morphine does wonders for the pain but I do have to eat on a full stomach or I’ll toss my cookies.

My family came by a few minutes ago toting a white, paper bag with heavenly aromas drifting from it. The wife said a nice, young check-out girl asked how I was feeling and to get better soon. She told her that she couldn’t wait to see me in the drive-thru again.


Maybe I’ll switch to Taco Hut.

The Drive-Thru Girl

This week, I’m posting the first part of a flash fiction horror story I wrote some time back. It’s only been slightly polished. Oh, fair warning, it’s probably a PG-13 rating.


The Drive-Thru Girl

by Adam Huddleston


So, there’s this girl that works the drive-thru at the Burger Barn on Alton Street. I’ve only seen her at the first window, you know, the one where you pay. She always smiles as she’s giving me my receipt; and she’s gorgeous. Light blonde hair, a little below shoulder length and blue eyes that reflect the glow of the register monitor in front of her. Well, this morning something pretty weird happened.

I drove through and ordered my usual sausage biscuit combo. I had my fingers crossed that she was at the window, and sure enough, there she was. I paid and when she handed me my receipt, I noticed there was this little card there; a business card. On the back was a phone number scribbled in blue ink.

I looked up at her and she gave me a wink and pressed her finger to her lips (lovely, full lips) in a shush gesture. I literally felt a buzz run through my legs. I opened my mouth to say something, not sure what exactly, and she slid her window closed with a snap.

Pulled forward, got my food. It was good as usual. Hot and greasy constitutes “good” in this case. I spent the rest of the day running my fingers over the smooth paper of that business card in my pocket. Should I call? I always thought of myself as a faithful husband, but how often does a chance like this come around?

I thought about my wife and kids. Then I thought about those red lips and how I wanted to explore them and every inch of her wonderful body. What if I just called and talked? That wouldn’t be cheating, right? Maybe she just wanted to talk?

I stuck around for a bit after the office closed this afternoon. I stared at that phone number for a few minutes then dialed.

The voice that answered after the second ring was soft and sensual. My heart melted and if I hadn’t been in my cushioned office chair, I’m pretty sure I would have slid into the floor.

“Hello?” I answered back.

“I’m glad you called,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if…so, how’s it going? Your biscuits were great!” I winced.

“Hehe, thanks. So, what are you doing now?”

I thought for a second. I couldn’t tell her I was about to go home to my family. If this was going to work, I had to play it cool. Super cool.

“Not much, not much. What are you up to?”

“Do you want to see me? If you do, I’m at 6700 West Driver. There’s a code to get in. Just type all sixes.”

My brain was scrambled. I blurted out something incoherent then hung up the phone. It stared at me accusingly so I jumped up and headed out the door.



by Adam Huddleston


I picked the literary term this week because my kids know what it is…and I like the way it sounds: onomatopoeia. It is defined as the usage of a word that sounds like the sound it is representing. For example, the word “buzz” sounds like what bees do. The word “drip” sounds like what water drops do. Using onomatopoeia breathes life into your work and grounds the reader in the story.

Happy writing!

Bard’s Intrusion

This week, I’m presenting a short story I wrote after choosing a writing prompt from It’s very rough, and the ending is quite weak, but I’m pretty sure it’ll work for a children’s story for my kids.

Enjoy. Maybe.


Bard’s Intrusion

by Adam Huddleston


Bard took a moment to gather his strength, then ran straight at the wooden door. It shattered inwards in a shower of splinters and bolts. The warrior rolled along the stone floor and sprang to his feet, raising his sword skyward. He opened his mouth to scream the triumphant monologue he had been preparing for years now, but stopped short.

The giant beast before him, the bane of their kingdom since the death of the last great hero, stood hunched over, pointing a skeletal finger at another identical creature.

“You listen to me, Borok! Your mom and I have been over this with you. We don’t want you attacking and plundering with those Kirnee boys. They’re horrible influences, son, especially for a youngling like you!”

“Da-ad,” the smaller beast whined. “They’re not that bad. Just the other night-“

Bard cleared his throat and the two creatures spun around and glared wide-eyed at their intruder.

“Uh, I’m sorry to disturb you two,” the human said. “Is there any chance that we could battle to the death right now?”

The two creatures looked at each other than back at the warrior. The taller beast looked down and shook his deformed head.

“Yeah, well, about that Bard, I’m really sorry. Is there any way we could push this to next week. The “fam” and I are kinda having issues right now…you know how it is.”

“No, Blortok, I don’t. You ate them all, remember?”

Blortok raised his head and laughed.

“That’s right! I totally forgot about that! If it makes you feel better, they were pretty tasty.”

Bard sighed. “No, you moronic heap of filth. That doesn’t make me feel better. And I really don’t want to postpone this. I’ve been journeying for a long, long time to get here. I mean, what am I supposed to do for a week, sit around here watching ya’ll argue?”

“I know, I know. It’s just that-“

“Ah, c’mon Dad,” the son interjected. “Just fight him. Don’t be such a scaredy-chicken!”

Blortok turned around and frowned at his son.

“Stay outta this, boy,” he said.

“Look,” Bard began. “I don’t mean to butt in here, but maybe your son is right. It won’t take very long, I’ll dispatch you quickly, and then everything will be fine!”

Blortok rolled his yellow eyes.

“Oh, whatever, Bard! You’re honestly going to stand there and claim that you can defeat me. Me? In combat?”

The human thought for a moment before responding.

“Well, yeah…I guess. I mean, I am the savior of mankind and all…”

“Alright,” the monster said. “Alright. If that’s what you think, let’s do this.”

Bard held his sword up and slid into his familiar battle stance.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Bartok shook his head. “We aren’t fighting in here! I’ll spill your juices all over the place…and do you have any idea how hard it is to get human blood out of a carpet?”

Bard looked at the ground then back up and rolled his eyes. “Ugh! Fine! I’ll meet you outside.”

The battle-hardened pair filed out of the room and walked to a grassy clearing a stone’s throw from the monster’s house. They stood several yards away from one another and crouched into fighting positions.

“Ready when you are, Bortok.”

“I was born ready,” the beast responded.

Bard rolled his eyes again and charged. He pulled his sword back, ready to swing in a wide arc. Bortok bore his sharp fangs, preparing to drive them into the warrior’s muscular flesh. Just as they were about to land their massive blows, a tremendous shriek came from the monster’s house.

A huge creature, even larger than Bortok, plummeted out of the front door of the home.

“Bortok Bartholomew Slaverpot! What are you doing!”

The two combatants stopped in mid-strike and turned to the giant being. Before they could respond, it stomped over to Bortok and smacked him on the back of the head.

“Sorry honey,” Bartok said. “It’s his fault! He talked me into it!”

Both warrior and beast looked at the ground and kicked at the dirt.

“I don’t care who did what,” Bartok’s wife responded. “I’m sick and tired of all the fighting! You’ve got a son that needs a good talking-to inside, and here you are, dancing around with some scrawny human! You two shake hands and make up. After that-“she looked at Bard, “you get on outta here before I show you some real fighting.”

“Heeey,” Bard whined. “I’m not that scrawny.”

Bartok’s wife took a threatening step toward him.

“Yes ma’am. I’ll be on my way.”

The two fighters’ faces turned red as they slunk over to one another and shook hands. Without saying a word, Bard turned and mounted the horse that had been tied to a nearby tree. He spurred the steed and sat tall in the saddle as it sauntered off into the distance.

When the warrior had disappeared over a hill, Bartok turned to his wife and put a wart-covered arm around her shoulder.

“Thank you, Fugbunch. And I’m sorry. I promise never to fight a human again without your say-so.”

The two creatures clasped hands and walked side-by-side back to their home.


Favorite Poems

Favorite Poems

by Adam Huddleston


Some time back, I wrote a blog concerning poetry. It discussed the benefits of writing poetry for the average author. As I reread it, I noticed that I failed to mention a few of my favorite poems. Since poetry is a very subjective art form, these particular verses may fail to “float your boat” but, to each their own.

In no particular order: “The Road not Taken” by Robert Frost, “The Raven” by Edgar Allen Poe, “The Wreck of the Hesperus” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “Jabberwocky” by Lewis Carroll, and “Two Dead Boys” a nonsensical poem by an unknown author.

I suggest giving these poems a read, and if you don’t care for them, keep exploring the wide world of poetry until you find some that you do.

Happy writing (and reading)!


Literary Terms

Literary Terms

by Adam Huddleston


Many weeks, the subject of my blog involves literary terms or devices. You may wonder, “Does Adam possess that great of an inventory of knowledge that he can spout out definitions and examples of these topics?”

I say, “Nay.” Allow me to impart the sources of my weekly knowledge.

Two excellent websites: and are full of excellent definitions and examples. Although the lists may not be exhaustive, for my intents and purposes, they definitely suffice. I hope these resources will help you in your craft.

Happy writing!

Writing Prompts

Writing Prompts

by Adam Huddleston


As writers, we sometimes suffer that dreaded phenomenon known as, gasp, writers block. One of the best ways of breaking through that block is to work on a project outside of the main piece that you are trying to finish. It’s funny, but sometimes just getting the words flowing is enough to help you with your main work. But where, pray tell, do you get ideas quickly and conveniently? I’ve found a great resource!

The forum website is a very valuable tool. There is a metric ton of subreddits that you can “subscribe” to and converse with folks from around the world about any number of topics. The resource of which I speak is the /r/WritingPrompts site. It is constantly being updated and you can reply with your work, or submit your own prompt. Most are sci-fi/fantasy related, but almost all are entertaining in some way.

Happy writing!

Current Reading Material

Current Reading Material

by Adam Huddleston


I’ve nothing too deep (or intellectually stimulating for that matter) this week. I’m just letting ya’ll know what I’m currently reading.

My bookmark currently rests about a quarter of the way through the second novel in Stephen King’s Bill Hodges trilogy; Finders Keepers. I finished the first novel Mr. Mercedes awhile back and have the final book, End of Watch sitting on my bedside table. I’m also making my way (slowly) through the graphic novel Watchmen.

What wonderfully written works are you reading?



by Adam Huddleston


“Where do you get your ideas?”

It’s a question asked to authors of all shapes and sizes, levels of fame, and years of experience. The answers are as varied as the individuals being queried. If I may take a moment to surmise, I believe that most of the answers amount to the same thing: observation of the world around us.

Several of my story ideas, from themes to opening lines, originated from something my kids or wife said. I take those little quips and extrapolate them into something bigger and better. For example, one of the many stories that are in development (a particularly nasty from of writer’s purgatory), concerns an android whose battery is dying. The inspiration arose when my young daughter was reminded that daddy’s phone battery was low. I took the simple statement and ran with it.

The same offspring recently began explaining to me that a tiny door resided under her bed. Said door opened to a magical world. Suffice it to say, I jumped on the opportunity to encourage her to write down everything she saw, smelled, heard, tasted, or felt. The way I see it, the earlier I can instill a sense of wonder and love of literature in a child, the better that baby’s life could be.

So, if you are a writer, I repeat my question.

“Where do you get your ideas?”