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Friday Flash – Talent Show

April 6, 2012 by Icy Sedgwick 18 Comments

Simon Powell sat at the table in the village hall, and motioned for quiet. The dull hubbub of voices in the audience died away, leaving behind a silence so pregnant it almost gave birth on the floor. A young man stumbled forwards onto the stage, forced on by an assistant in the wings. Simon recognised him as Edmund Rock, the butcher’s boy.

“Hello there, Ed! What are you going to do for us this evening?” asked Adrina Sayle. She sat beside Simon, draped in fur and smelling of mothballs and violets. Simon thought she was a little overdressed to judge a local talent contest, but Adrina didn’t get out much these days.

“I, er, I-” Edmund broke off to dash across the stage and into the wings nearest Simon and Adrina. Faces twisted and handkerchiefs were held to mouths as the sound of retching filled the hall. Simon waved to the assistants backstage. Nervous contestants shuffled among themselves.

A girl pushed her way to the front of the gaggle and strode onto the stage. A hush fell across the gathered villagers as they recognised Melandra. Her bushy hair wafted in the faint breeze from an open window near the stage. She sucked at her crooked teeth and stared at the judges with her mismatched eyes.

“Is that the girl from the beach?” whispered Adrina. Simon nodded. The whole village knew, and avoided, the old beachcomber’s hut in Piper’s Cove. Parents told their children tales of a mad old witch who would eat their pudgy feet, and even the village drunkards gave the hut a wide berth. Apart from the fishermen, people largely stayed away from the whole stretch of coastline. It wasn’t safe.

Melandra cleared her throat. Simon jumped, and fought to regain his composure. Ripples of unease spread throughout the audience. The tension hummed so loudly that Simon wondered if one of the boys backstage was practicing the cello.

“Yes, dear, what were you planning to do for us?” asked Adrina. She pasted a false smile on her face, the lines deepening around her scarlet mouth.

“I wanted to sing for you tonight.” Melandra’s voice grated on Simon. He saw Adrina suppress a shudder out of the corner of his eye.

“Very well, Melandra. When you’re ready.”

“This song is for my mother, who cannot be here tonight,” said Melandra.

“I’m sure she’s here in spirit, dear,” simpered Adrina.

“She is closer than you know,” replied Melandra. She glanced at the stuffed siren above the village hall doors. Simon caught the eye of the talent show host – also the man who harpooned the siren. Reuben Fens spread his hands wide and shrugged. Outsiders often condemned the villagers for their attacks against the sirens but they didn’t know, couldn’t know, what it was like to fear that mournful wail every night.

Before anyone else could speak, Melandra pushed her shoulders back and forced herself to stand straight. She opened her mouth and launched into her song. Simon’s eyes widened to hear the liquid notes slide through the air, tumbling over one another like flakes in a snowstorm. Gasps and exclamations of amazement quivered among the audience.

Simon tried to lean sideways to speak to Adrina, but couldn’t move. He forced his eyes downwards, and saw his hands folded on the desk where he’d left them. He looked to his right. Adrina sat bolt upright, her face frozen in a mask of amazement. He couldn’t see the audience, but the only sound in the hall was that of Melandra’s silvery song.

A siren song.

Simon’s heart hammered in his chest but his hands refused to follow his commands. His body remained rigid, unable to move. All feeling in his tongue had gone, and the warning died in the back of his throat. Panic fluttered its shimmering wings at the edge of his mind.

The windows flew open and a cold wind ripped through the hall, tearing the flames from the oil lamps. Simon stared into the sudden darkness, and saw only the silvery outline of Melandra, painted in moonlight. The doors of the hall burst open, and screeches from the depths of damnation itself filled the air.

Simon wanted to close his eyes and his ears against the wet tearing sounds behind him, but Melandra’s sisters brought their retribution to the whole village. It was their sole act of mercy that he didn’t feel a thing as they tore him apart.

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Filed Under: Creative Writing, Flash Fiction

Reader Interactions

Comments

  1. storytreasury says

    April 6, 2012 at 2:09 am

    Ohhh I like. I can’t blame the sirens really, but I also kind of feel sorry for the boy.

    Reply
  2. Helen says

    April 6, 2012 at 3:58 am

    Oh there’s nothing like a good dose of revenge! The lesson don’t go harpooning Sirens, they don’t like it. ^_^

    Good story!

    Reply
  3. Tim VanSant Writes says

    April 6, 2012 at 4:36 am

    Now that’s what I call talent. [You and the siren.]

    Reply
  4. Peter Newman says

    April 6, 2012 at 9:21 am

    Is this a dream given form? Fun idea. I like the idea of a silence nearly giving birth.

    Reply
  5. Sulci Collective says

    April 6, 2012 at 9:35 am

    if only we could really do this to talent show judges. Very nice take on the song of the siren. Particularly intrigued by your choice of names for the characters – would love to know how and why you opted for them?

    marc nash

    Reply
  6. Larry Kollar says

    April 6, 2012 at 11:43 am

    Nicely done! Loved the little touches of humor in here that led to The Twist. As it is written, payback’s a b**ch! I knew something was about to go down when Melandra said “She’s closer than you know.” 🙂

    One technical comment — poor Edmund seems to be a throwaway character. Maybe the butcher’s son should be butchered in turn? The dark humor in that would have fit very well with the rest of the story.

    Reply
  7. Tony Noland says

    April 6, 2012 at 12:41 pm

    Ah, beware the way you treat subjugated minorities. Either be respectful and inclusive, or wipe them out to the very last one.

    Reply
  8. Steve Green says

    April 6, 2012 at 3:04 pm

    Oh, what a turn up it would be for Melandra to audition for BGT this weekend, it would certainly give the audience something worth shrieking at for a change. 🙂

    Reply
  9. modernscheherzade says

    April 6, 2012 at 7:22 pm

    Simon Cowell should have been in that audience:) No reason – he’s so mean and always right. Enjoyed the story the retribution felt right – enjoyed the vivid imagery – the wicked witch on the prowl for pudgy children’s feet etc.

    Reply
  10. Aidan Fritz says

    April 7, 2012 at 1:03 am

    I like how you’ve used the siren mythos here and the way you captured the helplessness once the song begins.

    Reply
  11. John Wiswell says

    April 7, 2012 at 7:47 am

    What a gruesome end, Icy! And strong sense of narration all the way to the dismemberment.

    Reply
  12. Michael Tate says

    April 8, 2012 at 5:31 am

    I read “Simon Powell” as “Simon Cowell.” Was that supposed to be a play on words there?

    Also, loved all the metaphors and similes. I wish I was as good at them as you are. (This piece in particular was wonderful!)

    Reply
  13. brainhaze says

    April 8, 2012 at 8:27 pm

    Superb hahaha. Revenge is sweet and a nice twist on these talent shows (which I do admit to watching!)
    And I really love the word ‘hubbub’-awesome!

    Reply
  14. jackkholt says

    April 8, 2012 at 10:35 pm

    You’re not a BGT or X-Factor fan then!

    The “silence so pregnant..” line really caught my eye, too. Not sure where you got it from, but I like it!

    Reply
  15. Steve Green says

    April 9, 2012 at 10:52 am

    Hi again Icy, if you would like to pop over to my blog I have something for you. 🙂

    Reply
  16. afullnessinbrevity says

    April 9, 2012 at 12:02 pm

    The second sentence gave me a real giggle, but overall the whole piece is fantastic as always. And the sound of wet tearing is gruesome yet wonderfully understated.
    Adam B @revhappiness

    Reply
  17. Katherine Hajer says

    April 10, 2012 at 10:50 am

    Susan Boyle eat your heart out…

    I liked how the atmosphere was built up in this one, and the small-town attitudes were drawn in beautifully.

    Reply
  18. Icy Sedgwick says

    April 10, 2012 at 10:31 pm

    Glad everyone enjoyed this. And yes, that was a riff on Simon Cowell!

    Reply

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Who is Icy Sedgwick?

icy sedgwick

Icy is a folklore blogger and host of the Fabulous Folklore podcast. She is based in the north east of England, where she was born and raised amid the folk tales and legends of Tyneside and Northumberland. Icy is fascinated by history, cinema, art, and the occult, and griffins will always be her favourite mythical beast. She also writes dark fantasy novellas, Gothic short stories and the occasional weird Western, and she holds a PhD in Film Studies!

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