The Prognosticator of Bleak Seasons

By Jonathan Reddoch

Happy Groundhog Day! Please enjoy this brand new flash fiction story inspired by the annual Groundhog Day tradition.

Another bone-chilling February morning brought the village before the annual spectacle. They encircled the creature emerging from its subterranean lair. First, a colossal snout sniffed the dry air. Then massive paws widened the tunnel entrance. Finally, it hurled itself upon the surface with a thud.

The crowd stepped back as the beast listened for wounded sparrows, for injured doves, for the mocking of birds. These would be the first signs. Hearing none, it approached the alderman, who was holding a wooden scepter. A spiked tongue slithered up the staff, acidic juices reducing it to splinters. This was the first token.

A single black snowflake fell to the earth. A long, cruel cry ripped through the glen. This was the last sign. The great blind judge had sensed an eternal winter was upon the land.

The massive beast snatched as many townspeople as its many appendages could carry before diving down deep into the dirt for hibernation. Their skulls and the moon’s red visage represent the last tokens. Now is the shadow of the sun’s dire passing.