by T. K. Mancia © 2002

Where is it?

Where is it, where is it, where is it?

It's got to be here, somewhere. I've been looking for ages, well, no, not looking. Looking would infer that I was able to see. Searching would be a better word. Blindly I've run my hands, one soft and smooth, the other rough and calloused, over gritty surfaces. I've poked them into cold, damp places and dusty corners.


I can hear him now, his voice taunting.

'You'd lose your head if it wasn't screwed on.'

The Doctor had said it was okay, said it was secure. Said I should leave it alone and stop fiddling or he couldn't be held accountable for the outcome. Now it's happened.

I keep searching, growing more desperate as the minutes tick by, and then, strangely enough, I hear the grim creak of the front door and the muffled thud as it slams shut. It must be near. Footsteps echo down the hallway. They're home.

Clumsily, blindly, I duck behind the curtains. I can't let them see me like this. I stay as still as can be, but it's no good.

'I believe I have something belonging to you,' says the Doctor. 'Come out, come out, dear boy.' There is scuffling and giggling as I emerge from my hiding place. I would hang my head in shame, if only I could.

'Sit, dear boy, sit down.'

And then, with a flick and a twist, it is over.

'Didn't I tell you not to play with the bolts, hmmm?' said the Doctor. This time I could nod my head, and did so humbly. 'You know, the next time it falls off, it might never be found again, and then what would we do?'

I shrugged and caught Igor's eye as he peered out from behind the Doctor's coat. 'I told you so,' he gloated. 'Aren't I always saying Doctor Frankenstein, that he'd lose his head if it wasn't screwed on?'

x x x

Read more Flash Fiction?
Chat about this story on our BBS?
Or, Back to the Front Page?