Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 4)

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The hall of the Dire-Man was filled with boundless cries of woe.

Huge hay bales pregnant with adders and great, fat rats lined the walls and heaved and shuddered with the movement of the creatures within.

Sawdust and hay covered the floors where animals and small feral creatures that had once been children writhed and fought in the fetid muck.

On a throne in the center of the room the Dire-Man sat, picking his teeth with a long, yellow fingernail.

Light streamed through the broken walls but the master of the hall cast no shadow.

Because he is the shadow.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Another Friday Fictioneers story with prompt supplied by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

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18 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers: The Dire-Man (pt 4)

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